Part 9 (2/2)
Even with the changed pace of the cla.s.sic, this solo remained a gentle ballad, and she loved hearing the good news proclaimed by one who lived to relay G.o.d's words to others. She doubted she would ever hear a more heartfelt performance.
”And cry unto her that her warfare, her warfare is accomplished,” Milo sang.
A small part of Prissie's happiness dimmed, and she looked to Koji. ”Will your war end?”
”It will.”
”When?” she wondered.
”In the fullness of time,” Koji replied as Milo finished and stepped back. Almost as an afterthought, he added, ”Scripture says soon.”
After rehearsal, Tad came to find them. ”Hey, you two. Neil ran into Derrick in the foyer, and they're talking shop. If you want to head home now, you'd better catch a ride with Grandpa and Grandma.”
”I'd rather stay,” Prissie replied.
Tad nodded. ”I figured as much, and that's fine. Neil may be a while. Wake me up when you're all ready?”
Prissie had to smile. Her big-big brother was just about the hardest working guy she knew, but he had a reputation of being lazy since he tended to fall asleep whenever he had some downtime. ”I'll find you.”
Koji nudged her. ”May I greet the others?”
”Of course! That's why I wanted to stick around.” A quick glance at the people milling below showed that both Baird and Kester were still up front. ”Let's go.”
Koji raced down the balcony stairs, bursting through one of the side doors into the sanctuary, but Prissie slowed down to admire the many stained gla.s.s windows. She could tell by the shadows drifting across the floodlights trained on them from outside that it was snowing again.
”Prissie!” She turned to see Baird jogging toward her. ”Brace for impact!” he warned. Although she wasn't the sort of person who went in for public displays of affection, the exuberant redhead definitely was. Still, he pulled up just short and quietly asked, ”Braced?”
”I guess,” she mumbled, granting permission.
”Good, because you look like you need a hug,” he a.s.serted. Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, he gave her a quick squeeze, then herded her to the front where his teammates waited. ”Rough day?” he asked lightly.
”It was,” she admitted. ”But after tonight, I'm feeling lots better.”
”Glad to hear it!” Baird enthused before his expression grew more serious. ”I'm totally available for hugs any time you need one, 'kay?”
”Thanks,” she whispered, touched by the offer.
”Good evening, Prissie,” Kester greeted.
Something about the way his dark eyes searched her face reminded her of Tamaes, and without thinking, she blurted, ”I'm okay ... really!”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he inclined his head. ”I am pleased to know it.”
The last of the orchestra members drifted out the doors in the back, but Baird didn't seem in any hurry to leave. Instead, he gazed at the high ceilings and whistled sharply. Then he snapped his fingers, still eyeing the architecture. ”Man, it's definitely built for music. C'mon, Kester, let's put this place through its paces!”
”There is the time to consider,” Kester cautioned.
From over on one side of the room, an older gentleman called, ”It's okay, boys. I'm the custodian, and I'll be busy for another hour or so. Knock yourselves out.”
Baird bounded over, introduced himself, and shook the man's hand. ”Thanks, Russ. You're a G.o.dsend!”
With a laugh, the man waved him away. ”Enjoy!”
Racing back to the front, Baird propped his hands on his hips as he considered his options, then made a dive for the harpsichord. The score for Messiah was propped on the instrument's music stand, and as he riffled through the fat book, he called, ”Kester, c'mere!”
His apprentice strolled over, saying, ”Yes?”
”It's not every day we get to play with a harpsichord!”
”That is so,” Kester agreed.
Patting the bench at his side, Baird said, ”Sit, sit, sit!”
The tall angel unb.u.t.toned his suit coat and dutifully slid onto the seat beside his mentor. ”What did you have in mind?”
”Duet, duet, duet,” he muttered, turning pages.
”You are speaking in threes,” Kester pointed out, a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt underlying his tone.
Baird straightened. ”Am I?”
”You are.”
”Well, well, well! Maybe it just comes naturally?” The redheaded Wors.h.i.+per struck a chord and warbled, ”Holy, holy, holy ...!”
Koji tiptoed forward and peered over the redhead's shoulder, and Prissie followed. The young Observer inquired, ”Are you going to sing?”
”Aha!” Baird exclaimed, thumping a page near the back of the score. ”We don't sing all the songs during our performance, but there are some awesome ones in here. Which part do you want, Kester?”
”You may lead. I will follow.”
Hopping to his feet, the redhead strolled around the harpsichord to face his partner, and Kester centered himself on the bench, running his fingers up and down the keys to get a feel for the instrument. Then he lifted dark eyes expectantly to Baird, who dimpled. ”On three?”
Kester's lips quirked, and his long fingers plucked a few notes from the harpsichord. Almost immediately, Baird launched into a ringing solo. ”O Death, O Death, where ... where is thy sting?”
The line repeated, but the second time through, Kester's baritone rose up. ”O Grave, O Grave, where ... where is thy victory?”
To Prissie, it sounded as if the two Wors.h.i.+pers were singing different songs, but the notes wove together and occasionally meshed. It was like a game of tag, with the two melody lines chasing after each other. All too soon, it was over. Disappointed, she peeped at the music and complained, ”It's so short!”
”Again?” Baird offered. Prissie nodded hopefully, and he twirled his finger at Kester. ”Reprise!”
This time, she was able to follow the weaving melodies better, which only added to her appreciation. ”Amazing,” she whispered when the pair brought the song to its triumphant conclusion.
Immediately, the redhead leaned over the top of the piano-like instrument and wheedled, ”Since I spoke in threes, let's sing in threes?”
”Switch parts?” Kester suggested.
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