Sondra Lewis.
In a prime center box, Alvirah and Willy were seated with Stellina; Sondra’s grandfather; her boyfriend, Gary Willis; Monsignor Ferris; Sister Cordelia; Sister Maeve Marie and Kate Durkin.
Stellina, the object of countless curious glances, was seated right in the front row, her brown eyes sparkling with delight, blissfully unaware of the stir she was causing.
For two days the city newspapers had featured the story of the reunited mother and child and the recovery of the beloved chalice. It was a wonderful human-interest story and especially appropriate for the Christmas season.
Stellina was standing at the foot of the bed, her profile to them. The soft light seemed to halo the shining gold hair that spilled from beneath the blue veil.
“Nonna, I’m glad you’re awake now, and I’m so glad you feel better,” she was saying. “A nice policeman brought me here. I wanted you to see me in my beautiful dress. And see, I took very good care of my mother’s cup.” She held up the silver chalice. “We used it in the pageant, and I made my prayer-that my mother would come back. Do you think that God will send her to me?”
With a sob, Sondra crossed to her daughter’s side, knelt down and folded her in her arms.
In the hallway, Alvirah pulled the door closed. “There are some moments that aren’t meant to be shared,” she said firmly. “Sometimes it’s enough just to know that if you believe hard enough and long enough, your wishes can come true.”
The articles had featured pictures of Sondra and Stellina, and as Alvirah said, “Even a blind man could see Stellina’s a clone of her mother. I can’t believe it didn’t hit me sooner.”
When questioned about indicting Sondra for abandonment, the district attorney had said, “It would take a bigger Scrooge than even my enemies think I am to press charges against that young woman. Did she make an error by not ringing the bell of the rectory instead of running to a phone? Yes, she did. Did she, an eighteen-year- old kid, do her best to find a home for her baby? You bet she did.”
To which the mayor had responded, “If he had indicted her, I’d have made his life miserable.”
A wave of applause began as the conductor came onto the podium. The houselights dimmed, and the evening of exquisite music began.
Alvirah, splendid in a dark-green velvet dinner gown, reached for Willy’s hand.
An hour later, Sondra appeared onstage to tumultuous applause. Monsignor Ferris leaned over to whisper, “As Willy would say, you did it again, Alvirah-and I’ll never forget that you’re the reason we have the bishop’s chalice back. Too bad the diamond was lost, but the important thing is the chalice.”
“I think Willy deserves the credit,” Alvirah whispered in return. “If his sheet music for ‘All Through the Night’ hadn’t been open on the piano, Sondra wouldn’t have picked out the melody and sung it. That started me thinking; then when Stellina sang it in the pageant, I was sure.”
As Sondra raised her how, they settled back to listen. “Look at that child,” Alvirah whispered to Willy, pointing to Stellina.
Clearly the little girl was transfixed by her mother’s playing. Stellina’s face shone with wonderment.
When the encore came, and Sondra began to play “All Through the Night,” she looked up toward the box in which her daughter was seated. Audible only to those seated right around her, Stellina began to sing. No one could doubt that mother and daughter were performing to and for each other. For them, there was no one else in the world.
When the last notes died away, there was a hush. Then Willy leaned over and whispered, “Alvirah, honey, it’s too bad I didn’t bring my sheet music. They could have used a little piano accompaniment. What do you think?”
