Horsepeople

Chapter Seventeen

Christmas Eve arrived with the west wind, dark clouds building over the Rocky Mountains. Mary, filled with seasonal melancholy, had organized a Christmas Eve service. She had made enough tallow candles for everyone to hold and had laid out twenty hymnbooks along the pews. She had even persuaded Harold to give the Christmas message, in hopes of bridging any traditional differences between those from Pincher and those from Brocket.

Arriving early, Jo and Will stoked the wood furnace at the back of the church while Mary sat wringing her hands in the front pew. The storm building on the horizon would soon tumble down the mountains to them.

"I'm sure everyone will come," Jo said, even though she was not sure at all.

"I hope so, dear," Mary replied. "I just wanted to do something nice for everyone, but I suppose people just don't trust church anymore."

"I'll go check," Will said, patting her shoulder before slipping from the Church more quickly than was appropriate. Mary sighed.

The Church itself was small, with a capacity of forty people, but made to feel bigger with its whitewashed walls. When empty, the white boards and overall symmetry made the building feel sterile and austere, like a sanatorium, alone at the top of the town. Now, with Mary hunched in disappointment at the front, the Church felt forlorn as well. The light of two candles at the front was barely enough to make out the room. Jo sighed. She couldn't blame Will for slipping away; this was not how she had wanted to spend her Christmas Eve either.

About to suggest that they start just the two of them, Jo was cut off when the door flew open and everyone pressed through the door, stamping their feet in the cold and reluctantly removing their jackets.

"But I'm Hindu—" Jo heard from the back, cut off by the slamming door. Pulling up the rear, Will was on the receiving end of many begrudging glances as he ushered them in.

"Well, Mary, turns out everyone was just on their way," Will called from the back. "Where do you want us?"

Quickly dabbing the corners of her eyes, Mary ushered everyone inside. "If everyone could line up to grab a candle..."

One by one, everyone was greeted and given a candle, lit by Shannae, and seated. What had been weak lighting from two candles was now a warm glow that lit all the faces within. With a flourish, Mary unveiled the old pump organ at the front and seated herself in front of it.

"The first hymn is number forty-three," she said, "Go Tell it On the Mountain." Furiously pumping her feet, Mary put her fingers to the keys and sound rang out. Jaw set in determination, Mary moved her fingers and her feet in time, body swaying to and fro as a familiar melody took shape. Some nearly dropped their hymnals, some their candles, and laughter came from others. For all that they had resented being asked to come to Church, they had not expected to hear music. It was the first music they'd heard since summer and, although never recognizing its absence as significant, it hit them now how much they missed it.

Raising forth her voice, Mary started to sing and some joined her. By the end of the chorus, everyone had joined in until Jo could swear she felt the Church quivering with delight. The boards seemed to absorb their voices and fill the old beams with life, like dry wood would soak up varnish. While they were singing, the howling wind and biting snow could not be heard above their voices.

After running through the chorus one more time the Church fell quiet, waiting for Mary to tell them the next hymn. Instead, Harold limped to front, a box tucked under his arm. In it was a mound of soil and Harold produced a long braid of Sweetgrass and a coal, lighting the coal so that it smouldered against the Sweetgrass and filled the Church with incense. It was a thick, heady smell and Jo recognized it immediately as the smell of Bob ManyHorses, Will's grandfather.