13. Knox
KNOX
Caroling Hayride into Blue Fern
Morning fog · Afternoon clearing
Supper: Grilled Sausages · Elliot’s Hot Cocoa
Who knew that falling for a woman in secret at a month-long wedding would improve my geography skills.
I knew where Madeleine Price was at all times.
Where she was. Where I was. How many people stood between us and whether any of them were looking.
I could walk into the lodge and find Madeleine in half a second flat without ever turning my head toward her.
I just knew, the way you know where the warmth is in a cold room.
Time seemed to be moving forward at a rapid rate.
We begged off most of the group activities over the next few days on account of my ankle.
Instead we spent nights at the lodge talking in front of the fire.
As much as I enjoyed my buddies, spending time with Madeleine was more fun.
Now that our truce had formed, we couldn’t seem to stop talking.
I’d told her more stories about my childhood and she’d done the same.
We shared a few details about former relationships, but neither of us had many of those.
Madeleine and I did participate in the gingerbread barn activity.
We were partners, of course, because Ivy James might look like an angel but she had an evil streak.
I’ve got to say, the whole gingerbread thing was impossible.
We couldn’t get ours to even stand up and finally, in a fit of laughter, decided to eat the candy instead of putting it on our sad, sagging barn.
My ankle got better each day. By Luci’s birthday on the fourteenth I could walk without the crutches, although carefully—and a little stiff. Luci pronounced me cleared for reasonable activity. Then shot me a look like she knew exactly the kind of activity I had in mind.
It was the best stretch of days I could remember.
The only blight was all this hiding. We’d agreed to keep it quiet for the sake of the wedding and the band and all that, but I was growing tired of pretending I wasn’t an expert on the geography of Madeleine Price.
I wanted, more and more, to stand up in the middle of supper and tell every person at the table that I was in love with the most extraordinary woman in the world.
I didn’t say it, but boy did I want to. Who would have thought what a few weeks in Montana could do to a guy?
Because, yeah. I loved her. I’d loved her a long time. That’s the big revelation the big sky whispered to me, and I’d finally slowed down enough to hear it. Not that I had any idea where any of this was headed. I simply pushed thoughts of reality aside and let myself enjoy being by her side.
On the fifteenth, the group was scheduled for a hayride and caroling into town.
The plan, such as it was, was to head into Blue Fern and carol down Main Street, like a rolling choir.
The boys and I had talked and decided there was no reason why we couldn’t load speakers and microphones onto the trailer.
Beck hauled his electric keyboard on board; Grant had a tambourine and bells for percussion; Jack, Ivy, and I had our guitars.
We set off in two big wagons hitched to draft horses, our entire crew bundled in blankets and heaped in loose hay that smelled like summer in the middle of December.
They’d strung the wagons with lights, making it all seem like a rolling festival.
Finley had sent along several thermoses of something hot and spiked that were currently being passed around.
I sat between Jack and Madeline, guitar in my lap, grateful I could leave the crutches back at the ranch.
Ivy began to sing. “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” And then Jack came in under her, and then all of us, down the valley road toward the lights of town.
Turns out singing and strumming in an open wagon in the cold with the people you love is pretty much my idea of heaven.
We came into Blue Fern over the stone bridge and rolled onto Main Street.
Seemed like most of town had come out to hear us.
That’s a small town for you. You can’t sneak a caroling hayride into a place like Blue Fern.
Word had gotten out. There were people on the sidewalks, kids on shoulders, shopkeepers standing in their lit doorways.
When the wagons stopped in front of the old bank and we started singing “Silent Night,” the whole street went quiet to listen.
Jack took the lead on it with that voice that could gentle a crowd like no other. With his encouragement, the townsfolk started to sing too, creating an almost holy space.
I thought, as goosebumps traveled up my arms, I’ll remember this the rest of my life.
After we sang three carols, Jasper Moon came out of the crowd. “Our little church up the road is available for a concert. It’s a whole lot warmer than this sidewalk. If you’d do us the kindness.”
“Good idea, Mr. Moon,” someone shouted.
“Let’s do it,” Ivy said, bouncing on her hay bail.
Jack grinned and said, “Mr. Moon, we’d be honored.”
And the whole street—I’m talking the entire street—cheered. People fell in behind the wagons on foot, walking us up the road like a grand Christmas parade toward a little white church with its steeple lit gold against the dark and a giant wreath hanging over the awning.
“This is the best moment of my life,” I said to Madeleine.
“It’s hard to beat,” she said, beaming at me.
We arrived in front of the church and got out of the wagons to go inside where it was deliciously warm and smelled like pine and freshly brewed coffee.
Two big Christmas trees flanked the altar, lit up.
Greenery decorated every pew and another wreath the size of a wagon wheel hung over the front.
The town packed in behind us, filling the pews, standing along the walls, kids up front on the floor.
I had the distinct feeling Jasper Moon had planned this all along. Good on him, looking after his town.
Pastor Robbins and his wife introduced themselves to us as they handed out little candles.
The battery kind, on account of a wood church full of people.
When the townsfolk held them up it didn’t matter one bit that they were fake.
A church filled with light of any kind is magical. Especially at Christmas.
The church had a piano, which Beck immediately headed toward. Someone brought stools out for Ivy and Jack, but I stayed standing with my guitar around my neck. Grant was behind us with his tambourine.
“What do we open with?” Jack asked Ivy.
“The First Noel,” Ivy said.
I looked out at that room, filled with people who worked hard for their living every day, enjoying a much deserved respite from real life.
Kids on the floor were all gazing up at us, candlelight reflected in their excited eyes.
This old grouchy guitarist felt his heart turning soft and warm.
If this wasn’t the meaning of Christmas, I sure couldn’t tell you what was.
Madeleine sat in the second pew next to Blake, who had her phone up, recording the event.
Blake must be doing mental cartwheels. Talk about documentary gold.
I held Madeleine’s gaze for a moment, her face lit by the candle she held in both hands.
She smiled at me and for a second or two I forgot where we were.
She had a red knit hat pulled over her long brown hair and her cheeks were rosy from the cold.
Her eyes went all soft when she gazed back at me, rousing the dormant butterflies in my stomach.
Didn’t know it was possible but I guess I’m not immune to romance after all.
Whatever was happening between us, I didn’t want it to end when this was all over and we returned to real life.
I had no idea if that’s how she felt but, for once in my life, I wasn’t going to run from my feelings.
I was ready to face them head on and risk a broken heart if she wanted to end things when we got home.
I could almost hear Gramps’ voice in my ear, whispering encouragement.
Don’t let her get away from you, kid. Kiss her under that full moon.
We played Christmas songs for an hour, with the whole church singing along. At the end of, “Blue Christmas,” someone shouted out, asking for Ivy and Jack to sing their hit, “Finally Home.”
Of course they had to oblige. I strummed the opening chord to get us started. Jack and Ivy’s voices blending together gave me goosebumps for the second time that night. The congregation had gone still and quiet, listening intently. Some had their eyes closed, gently swaying.
We’d played a lot of stadiums in the ten years since our first hit.
We’d even been invited to the White House.
But nothing was as sweet as this moment, singing for folks who desperately needed music in their lives.
This is what I’d hoped for from the first time Gramps had set Carmen in my lap.
Music was a common language, something that united people, soothed their troubles, reminded them of what and who they loved.
And tonight, that’s exactly what we were doing.
No merch in sight. No light show. Just us and the music and people who gave up whatever they’d been doing to come hear us.
There would never be a better concert. I felt quite sure of it.
I said a silent prayer of thanks, humbled and awed, to be in the lord’s house playing for his people.