In the row in front of Mary, Claudia Richards scooted forward in her chair and smoothed her red hair.
Bertha nudged Mary and smiled at her. The two sisters had dared Mary to try out with them for the parts of the three angels, and she’d accepted. What fun it would be to sing with these two sweet friends. And the angels sang from up in the gallery. Behind the congregation.
Mrs. Gunderson lifted a sheet of paper and adjusted her glasses. “The part of Joseph will be played by Ed Fanarolli, Mary by our very own Mary—Mary Stirling—Gabriel by—”
After Claudia gasped, Mary’s ears shut out everything else. Quintessa’s pot roast turned green in Mary’s belly and threatened to reappear. No, no, no. She couldn’t be cast as Mary. She couldn’t. She hadn’t even tried out for it. She didn’t want it. She wouldn’t take it. She refused.
General motion and conversation let her know Mrs. Gunderson had finished the cast list and choir was dismissed. Bertha and Edith were congratulating her, but the words jumbled together.
Claudia dashed to the choir director. “There must be a mistake. I tried out for the role of Mary, not for an angel, and I sang quite well that evening.”
“Yes.” Mrs. Gunderson raised a stiff smile. “You sang angelically.”
“But—but I’ve played Mary five years in a row.”
“And it’s time someone else had a turn.”
Now was the moment. Mary scrambled over, almost knocking over two wooden chairs. “Please, let Claudia have the role. I don’t want it.”
Claudia jutted out her chin. “See?”
“This is how it will be this year.” The choir director gathered her papers and tapped them into a neat stack on the music stand. “Mary, you’ve done so well on Sundays. You’re ready for something more.”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Like an angel.”
Mrs. Gunderson peered at Mary and Claudia in turn over her glasses. “My decision is final.”
Claudia’s face turned cherry red, and she stormed out of the choir room.
“Come with me.” Mrs. Gunderson took Mary’s arm and led her to the corner of the room. “I thought you’d recovered from your stage fright.”
Her eyes burned. “I—I have. But a starring role? As Mary? I can’t. Please let Claudia—”
“No. I prayed about this all week. For several reasons, I feel this is what the Lord wants.” Mrs. Gunderson’s eyes were so soft and encouraging. “First, you have a lovely voice, and a little push would be good for you.”
This wasn’t a push but a shove. She hugged herself harder, willing the nausea away.
“Second, you’re right for the role. Mary needs to be a young soprano, and I only have two. For the past five years, I haven’t had a choice, but this year I do. The mother of our Lord was the essence of humility and gentleness, just like you.”
Mary shook her head, blinking hard. If only the choir director knew how she struggled with pride and selfishness.
“Third, and this is just between you and me.” Mrs. Gunderson glanced over Mary’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “Claudia is a gifted singer, but she’s proud and divisive. She doesn’t represent our church well, and she definitely doesn’t represent our Lord. You may notice she hasn’t had a solo for some time. I’ve been featuring the men and the altos.”
Mary nodded. She’d heard Claudia complain about that several times.
Mrs. Gunderson stashed her music in the cabinet. “I’ve decided to remove Claudia from the limelight for her own sake and for the sake of the church. Pride is a nasty, destructive sin.”
How well Mary knew. She could still feel the swell of pride in her chest, the weight of the blue robe on her shoulders, the pressure in her bladder, the warmth gushing down, the clammy cloth stuck to her legs, the sharp cold of nakedness and humiliation, the darts of laughter. She could still hear the crash, see baby Jesus shattered before her, one glass eye staring at her accusingly.
“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t do it. You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”
Mrs. Gunderson squeezed Mary’s arm. “When the mother of our Lord heard the angel Gabriel’s announcement, I imagine she felt the same way. How could a simple peasant girl—and not yet married—raise the Christ as her own child?”
Mary swiped at the tears tickling her cheek. “I can imagine.”
“What did Mary say? ‘Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word.’”
According to his word? This was God’s will? Yes, it was. It was punishment. Somehow, without even knowing it, she’d let pride worm its way back into her life—in choir, in her investigation, with Jim—and this was her punishment.
