Since Mary knew the hymn, she closed her eyes and let Beethoven’s music and the message flood through her. Her voice melded with the others, singing for God’s glory, not personal acclaim.
Her eyes sprang open. That was the point, wasn’t it? The purpose behind your actions. Shining your candle to call attention to yourself was prideful, but when your purpose was to call attention to the Lord, then it was right and good.
With abandon, she let her voice rise, her eyes drifting shut from the sheer joy of it.
Mortals, join the mighty chorus
Which the morning stars began;
Father-love is reigning o’er us,
Brother-love binds man to man.
Ever singing, march we onward,
Victors in the midst of strife;
Joyful music leads us sunward
In the triumph song of life.
The hymn ended with a swell of music. Why had Mary let her fears trap her for so long? Why had she kept herself away from such delight?
“Excellent. Excellent.” Mrs. Gunderson went back to the piano. “Mr. Fanarolli, please come work with me on your solo. The rest of you, please study the anthem.”
Claudia leaned over and flipped through pages in Mary’s folder. “Well, you’re certainly making yourself at home.”
“I am. It’s exhilarating, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Well.” Claudia sneaked a glance to the piano, then gave Mary a sympathetic look. “Do remember, despite what Mrs. Gunderson says, we all know only a few voices in this choir are presentable. The rest of you...” She shrugged. “Keep it down to a soft background.”
Was this why the soprano section was so weak? Why turnover was so high? “Thank you for the advice.” Mary infused her voice with polite distance. “But I’ll take direction from Mrs. Gunderson. I’m sure you won’t mind.”
Claudia’s blue eyes snapped. “Of course not.”
For the rest of the practice time, Claudia spoke not one word to Mary, and afterward she flounced out without saying good-bye.
A wry smile tilted up Mary’s lips. So much for the new friendship.
Mrs. Gunderson beckoned Mary to the music stand. “Thank you for joining us this evening. You have a lovely voice, and you sang with courage.”
Mary laughed. “I don’t know about courage. But I sang with joy.”
“The same thing. ‘The joy of the Lord is your strength.’”
Perhaps it was—or should be.
Mrs. Gunderson patted Mary’s arm. “Please join us again next Thursday.”
“I will.” How sweet that she didn’t pressure Mary to come on Sunday.
In the hallway, two elderly ladies waited for Mary. “We didn’t meet, dear.” The tinier of the ladies—and they were both tiny—held out her crepe-paper hand. “I’m Bertha Wilkins, and this is my sister, Edith.”
“Hello.” Mary shook both their hands. “I’m Mary Stirling. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Not as pleased as we are to meet you.” Edith peered up with cloudy gray eyes. “Not often someone stands up to Claudia. Thinks she’s the queen bee, that one. Drives off all the sopranos, she does.”
“Never you mind her.” Bertha gave a sharp nod. “Come sit with us next week, if you’d like.”
