An All-Consuming Fire (15 page)

Then Boxing Day with a pageant rehearsal and two more after that—if all went well, more if not; and Antony would return for three more days of filming—Please
, Lord, let that get done without any more mishaps;
then family would begin arriving on New Year’s Eve and there would be the wedding rehearsal and then the pageant and then… Delicious shivers of excitement overcame her worries as she gave in to imagining their wedding.
Let it be perfect
, she breathed.

Cynthia came in trailing ice pink ribbons. “Darling, I would have these poseys finished, but I ran out of ribbon. Do you think that quaint little shop up the street would have another spool?”

Felicity sat up with a jerk, her daydreams scattered. “Mother, what are you doing?”

Cynthia held out a ribbon-bedecked lace cone. “Making the base for the bridesmaids’ nosegays. Then all I’ll have to do is pop the fresh flowers in when they arrive from the florist on the morning of the wedding. Isn’t that clever? I found the pattern in one of those bridal magazines under your bed.”

When Felicity didn’t respond Cynthia continued. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m sure it’s all right. It was an English magazine. I know you want everything to be proper.”

Felicity remembered her earlier resolve to keep the peace and forced a smile. “No, it’s fine. Very clever.” She set her teacup aside. “I’m sure the yarn shop at the top of the road will have ribbon. I’ll just pop out and get some. I was wanting some fresh air anyway.” She hadn’t been, but now she was.

She bundled into coat, scarf and her red bobble hat from the Dewsbury market and set out at her long-legged pace. Even so well swaddled she shivered as a blast of wind hit her. At least the snow had held off. She would normally hope for a white Christmas, but with all there was to do for the pageant things would go more smoothly without the complications of snow underfoot. At home her father would say it was too cold to snow, but she wasn’t sure it worked the same way in England. Actually, accustomed as she was to judging temperatures in Fahrenheit and with Celsius being a foreign language, she never really knew what the temperature was.

In spite of the cold, though, the wet fields across the valley glowed emerald beyond the crooked, ancient stone houses running higgledy-piggledy up a meandering street with misty moors beyond. Two little old ladies walking their dogs went by, carrying shopping bags. Felicity slowed her step, filled her lungs with the invigorating moist air and looked around with that disoriented-yet-familiar feeling she often had. It was as if she’d been living in England all her life and as if she’d been dropped on another planet all at the same time. Then she had it—it was like living in a storybook. Certainly, if she were ever to write a children’s book this is what she would want the illustrations to look like.

She was headed back to the cottage, her parcel of pink ribbon tucked under her arm, when she encountered a clutch of teenagers and recognized some who had helped with clearing out the quarry a few days ago. What a disaster that had been. She wondered if they had made any more progress on getting the theatre useable. She did hope the project wouldn’t have to be canceled. “Hi. It’s Tanya, isn’t it?” She greeted the small, hollow-eyed girl, then looked around the circle. “Have you been at the centre?”

Tanya more ducked her head than nodded. “Yeah. Practice, like.”

Syd, his hoodie pulled well forward over his face, broke out with a ragged, “Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria,” that seemed to shock his mates as much as it did Felicity. She was delighted with the idea that the sullen, self-appointed leader of the miscreants could have been won over by the Christmas spirit. Then she saw the glitter in the eyes behind the hood and was afraid it was more likely another kind of spirit. Or something worse?

One of the boys elbowed him sharply. “Get ’im. Thinks ’e’s an angel.”

Felicity tried not to show her dismay. “Great. I’m so glad Kendra has you working on the carols. How’s it going?”

“Tanya’s going to be narrator.” The announcement of a smiling Afro-Caribbean boy behind Tanya made the girl’s head droop even lower and her shoulders hunch forward.

Felicity’s heart sank. Could she possibly coach this shrinking violet to project?

“And Balram,” her informant added.

Felicity scanned the group. When her eyes met those of a good-looking Indian youth he all but bowed. Her heart rose. Ah, there was hope. “Wonderful! Are you busy now? Would you all like to go up to the theatre and give it a bit of a run-through?” She made the suggestion with considerable trepidation, wondering in what condition she would find the theatre.

Syd and a couple of the other boys slid away from the group but the others followed her along willingly enough. At the cottage she told them to go on to the theatre as she ducked in to give her mother the ribbon and pick up her script. She caught up with them just in time to open the gate to the community. On the way around to the back she fell into step beside the informative Joaquin from Jamaica who told her with considerable pride that he was to be Joseph and Flora to be Mary. Felicity looked at the bouncing brown curls of the chubby girl he indicated and nodded with approval.

They had just passed the Calvary beyond the monks’ cemetery and picked up the path to the quarry when there was a rustling in the bushes ahead of them and the assistant groundsman emerged to block their way. “Oh, Alfred, you startled us,” Felicity said. “We’re on our way to the theatre for a bit of practice. There’s no problem with that, is there?”

He looked over the group, then shook his head. “None at all, as long as you’re with them. But see they don’t leave any litter. Just been cleaning up again.” He indicated the trash bag beside him on the ground.

More rubbish since the clean-out? Felicity was dismayed. How could it be worse than before? The grounds were locked to the public after dark. And the monks certainly wouldn’t litter. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” she assured him.

Once into the theatre, though, she stopped and stared. She had left before the work finished Thursday, but she never imagined they had accomplished so much. “This is amazing! I had no idea it would look so great.”

Habib and Aisha beamed. Habib said, “Our father brought men from the mosque. The Imam said it was community service. It would show good will for your winter festival.”

“It is good to work together,” his sister added.

“Absolutely!” Felicity couldn’t wait to tell Antony. This went beyond the scope of even his ecumenical council. One tiny advance for good will. Perhaps there was hope after all. “Right. On the stage, all of you. I want you to get the feel of being up there.”

They scampered across the newly scythed floor of the quarry and up the steps at the side of the structure dominating the far end of the arena. Two or three of the livelier ones began a cavorting dance while others, restrained by shyness or manners stood in a small huddle to the side. Felicity approached the quiet ones. “That’s great, Tanya and Balram, just move downstage a little bit. That should be a perfect spot for the narrators. Joaquin, let’s put Joseph and Mary here for the moment, of course, you’ll enter from the back of the quarry.” In her mind’s eye she pictured them coming down the stone steps and making their way through the audience. She wondered if Nick and Corin had managed to procure a donkey.

It all began to take shape in her mind. She could see the torches flaring around the rim, hear the murmur of the audience, feel the excitement of the performers. She could even smell the smoke from one of the warming braziers. Then she realized what was wrong. She smelled actual smoke.

But none of the youth on stage had lit cigarettes. She spun toward the stairs and was down and behind the structure in moments. “All right, you lot. Come on out,” she called into the stygian understage. She spotted a couple of pinpoint glows. If only she had a torch she would go in after them, but she realized her disadvantage. Their eyes would be accustomed to the dark.

She held her breath. What should she do? Send someone to fetch Alfred? She couldn’t leave the youth here alone. To her relief the red dots disappeared and a scrabbling sound told her they were emerging. She held her breath, praying they wouldn’t be hulks set on making trouble. What had she led her teens into?

“Sorry, Miss. It were just a bit o’ fun.” The first figure took shape in the light.

“Drue?” What was Flora’s little brother doing here? Surely he wasn’t old enough to be out alone.

Two more figures followed. They appeared to be only slightly older. “What is the meaning of this?”

Felicity summoned her most authoritative manner from her short-lived career as a school teacher. Drue hung his head. “We didn’t mean no harm. I was just showin’ me mates this place. It’s wicked.”

“And the cigarettes?” She hoped they hadn’t been smoking anything worse.

Drue shrugged. “Found them there.”

“But how did you get in?”

“Lock’s rusted.” He pointed in the direction of the bottom of the community grounds.

A memory flashed across Felicity’s mind—A wet February day, running with Antony through the back of the monastery, uncertain whether they were fleeing the police or a murderer—or even whether or not Antony was the murderer. They had left by way of the same dilapidated gate on that fateful day.

She nodded. “I’ll tell Alfred. He should have fixed that long ago.” She turned to the two boys still standing just inside the doorway of the structure. “And you are—”

“Ralph ‘n Eddy,” Drue offered.

“Right. Ralph, Eddy, Drue—as long as you’re here you might as well join us. On the stage with you.” At least she could keep them in sight that way. But she would definitely be reporting this incident to the groundsman. Something was going on here that shouldn’t be.

“Okay, let’s just sing the first verse of ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’ then, Balram, you begin the narration with ‘and there went out a decree…’ Remember, nice loud voice. You’re speaking to the back wall of the quarry.”

The rehearsal proceeded, in spite of the fact that the singing was beyond ragged and the narrators inaudible. She tried to hide her consternation from the youth, most of them were overwhelmed enough at the idea of performing in public. And she suspected that those who were the most boisterous were the most intimidated.

“Tanya, ‘when the days were accomplished that she should be delivered…’ is your line. Joaquin, that’s your cue. When she says it you pick up the doll that will be in the manger and hold it up.”

They followed instructions—more or less. How could she possibly convey to them that they were portraying the greatest miracle in the history of the world? The birth of God incarnate. “That’s right, Joseph, hold him out like you’re so proud you could burst. Mary, smile. You’re incredibly happy.” She addressed Joaquin and Flora by their stage names.

She turned to the discordant chorus. “Fine. That’s a good start. Just one verse of ‘Silent Night’ now, then I’ll let you go.”

At least some of them made enough of an effort that she could be reasonably sure they knew the words. Surely Kendra was planning to let them use songbooks. Assuming they could read.

“Great, great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic. “This was just an impromptu, get-your-feet-wet thing. We’ll have the angels next, then shepherds. The Wise Men will be the big finale because that’s what Epiphany is all about.

“You can all go now, after all, it’s Christmas Eve. Narrators, Mary and Joseph, try to read through the script a few times over the holiday to get familiar with it. We’ll rehearse it all on Boxing Day. Thanks for your good work, everybody. Happy Christmas!”

A chorus of “Happy Christmas!” echoed around the quarry as her charges raced across the floor and up the steps. Felicity followed more slowly. What had she taken on? Thank goodness Kendra had promised a sound system. And the singers weren’t Felicity’s problem. But she could only imagine the chaos when two dozen unruly youth took to the stage along with sheep, llamas and a camel, for goodness sake.

Camel. Who had Kendra cast as the wise men? What else should she be worrying about, Felicity wondered. For the moment her priority was to find Alfred and alert him to the faulty security. At least that explained the reappearance of trash in the newly-cleaned quarry.

Alfred, however, was no longer working in the area of the monks’ cemetery, nor was he in the garden behind the monastery. He was sure to be at the service this evening, though. She could manage a quick word then. At one of the services at least. Felicity counted on her fingers—was it seven services they had ahead of them? Last year she had scampered back to London and spent the holiday going to shows and parties with friends from university and from her brief time living in London and teaching Latin in a C of E school. This year she was determined to soak in the complete ‘Christmas in a Monastery’ experience. She hadn’t broken it to Cynthia yet. She wondered what her mother would say.

It wasn’t long before she found out.

“
First
Evensong of Christmas? How many are there?”

“Two. One to start the festivities off and one to conclude them. Like bookends. That is, it will conclude the day—not the season, you understand. We still observe the twelve days of Christmas.”

“Just like the song. How quaint.” Cynthia continued with a decided note of irony, “Festivities, you say. As in Gala, feasting, merrymaking?”

Felicity knew her mother would be skeptical. A year ago Felicity would have felt the same herself.

“Festivities as in one of the great Feast Days of the Church.”

“Somehow I was afraid of that. Going to church, you mean.”

Felicity admitted that was what she meant and made no attempt to explain that she was looking forward to it. She could never explain, even to herself, how the change had come about. The monks called it formation. And that seemed to be what had happened. A year and a half of just living the cycle of seasons by the Church calendar and now she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Miraculously, Cynthia simply said, “I’ll get my coat, then.”

The community grounds were dark and deserted, but when they entered the church the light shone in the darkness. A bank of candles glowed in the austerity of the monastic church, reflecting on the pillars and marble altar against the backdrop of darkened apse beyond. Felicity had become accustomed to Solemn Evensong as celebrated in the community on all feast days so now she held her breath, waiting for the chink of the thurible before the procession began, the gleam of candlelight on gold vestments, the echo of the stately chant. And she was not disappointed. Father George, as presiding priest, wore a splendid white and gold cope and the monk serving as thurifer swung the thurible with vigor, sending clouds of incense heavenward during the Magnificat. The Gregorian Chant was hauntingly lovely as it reverberated among the Romanesque stone arches. Yet, for all the solemn splendor, the service followed its normal rhythm of psalms and canticles chanted antiphonally, a scripture lesson followed by silence and concluding with prayers and a hymn. It was soon over.