“This is a world traveler, this man,” said Phil, after presenting his two sons. “He’s been regaling me with stories of Midwinter customs the world over—of ancient times and human sacrifice!” Reuben heard the man say his name, Hockan Crost, in a mellow deep voice, an arresting voice, but he heard the word
“Helena,” said the woman extending her hand. “Such a lovely party.” Obvious Slavic accent, and the smile very sweet, but there was something faintly grotesque about her, about her strong proportions, and the very large bones of her beautifully painted face, and her long throat and firm shoulders. Her sleeveless dress was crusted with sequins and beads. It looked heavy, like a carapace.
Maybe there was a scent to his own kind, male and female, that his body recognized even when his mind didn’t acknowledge it. The man regarded Jim and Reuben almost coldly from beneath heavy black eyebrows. He had a hard-cut face but it wasn’t ugly. He looked weathered, with colorless lips and massive shoulders.
He and the lady rose, bowed, slipped away.
“Some fascinating people here tonight,” said Phil. “And why they keep introducing themselves to me I have no idea. I sat here to listen to the music. But this is a lot of fun, Reuben. I have to hand it to your friends, and the food is spectacular. That Crost is a remarkable man. Not many people claim to sympathetically understand Midwinter human sacrifice.” Phil laughed. “He’s quite a philosopher.”
Dessert service began, and people were heading for the big dining room once more, the air filled with aroma of coffee and the freshly baked mince and pumpkin pies. The waiters brought trays of plum pudding, “humble pie,” and mince pies in the shape of the Christmas crib to those who remained in the pavilion. Phil loved the pecan pie with the real whipping cream. Reuben had never had “humble pie” and he loved it.
At the next table little Susie was eating ice cream and Pastor George gave Reuben a secretive reassuring nod and smile.
More and more people were slipping away. Felix came through the tables urging everyone please to wait for the closing music. Some clearly could not. There was talk of the long drive to here and to there, and how it had been worth it. People flashed the commemorative gold coins with thanks, saying they’d be saving them. People so loved “this house.”
The caterers were now giving out small white candles, each cradled in a little paper holder, and directing everyone to the pavilion for the “closing music.”
What was happening? The “closing music”? Reuben had no idea.
The pavilion was suddenly packed. People in the main room of the house were crowded against the open windows looking into the pavilion, and the double doors to the conservatory were wide open with many crowded there as well.
The overhead floods were being turned off, reducing the light throughout to a beautiful gloom. Candles were being lighted everywhere, with people offering their candles to one another. Soon Reuben’s small candle was lighted and he was shielding it with his hand.
He rose and pressed towards the orchestra again, and finally found a comfortable place opposite against the stone wall of the house itself just below the far-right front-room window. Susie and Pastor George moved closer to the creche and orchestra, too.
Felix was at a microphone to one side of the creche, and in a soft rolling genial voice he said that the orchestra and the adult choir and the boys’ choir would now be singing “the most loved Christmas carols in our tradition” and everybody was most welcome to join in.
Reuben understood. There had been many lovely old hymns and songs heard up until now, and some grand church music, but not the great lusty heavy hitters. And when the orchestra and the choirs burst forth with “Joy to the World” in high vigor, he was thrilled.
Everywhere around him, people were singing, even the most unlikely people, like Celeste, and even his dad. In fact, he could hardly believe that Phil was standing there with a small lighted candle singing in a loud clear voice, and so was Grace. His mother was actually singing. Even his uncle Tim was singing, along with his wife Helen, and Shelby and Clifford. And Aunt Josie in her wheelchair was singing. Of course Susie was singing, and so was Pastor George. And so were Thibault and all the Distinguished Gentlemen whom he could see. Even Stuart was singing, along with his friends.
Something communal was happening that he could never have anticipated, never thought possible, not here in this place or this time. He’d thought the emotional temperature of his world far too cool for such a thing.
The orchestra and choirs went right into “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” with the same vigor and after that “God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen.” A whole string of English carols followed, each one more exuberant than the other. There was a jubilant authority to the music, and a spirit that seemed to engulf all present.
When a single soprano led the magnificent “O Holy Night,” people actually began to cry. So powerful was her voice, and so lustrous and beautiful the song itself, that the tears came to Reuben’s eyes. Susie leaned against Pastor George, who held her close and tight. Jim was beside Pastor George.
Stuart had come up to stand beside Reuben, and he too was singing as the orchestra moved into a solemn and urgent “O Come, All Ye Faithful” with the choir soaring over the rapturous strings and the deep throbbing French horns.
A silence fell with the rustling of the little paper candleholders and a few coughs and sneezes as one might hear in a packed church.
A thickly accented German voice spoke through the microphone. “And now I give the baton to our host, Felix Nideck, with pleasure.”
Felix took the baton and held it high.
Then the orchestra struck up the first famous notes of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” and people seated throughout the giant pavilion rose to their feet. Even those slightly confused by this were rising on account of the others. Aunt Josie struggled to rise with the help of her nurse.
When the chorus broke forth with the first “Hallelujah” it was like the blast of a trumpet, and on and on the voices went rising, falling, and rising again, declaring with the orchestra surging beneath them the gorgeous anthems of the chorus.
All around Reuben people were singing, falling in and out of riffs of lyrics that they knew and humming with those they didn’t know. On the voices roared:
Reuben pushed forward. He moved closer and closer towards the overwhelming sounds, until he stood close to Felix between the orchestra and the chorus, vigorously conducting with his right hand, the baton in his left.
On and on in frenzy the music coursed towards its inevitable climax until there came the last great: “Ha Le Lu Jah!”
Felix’s arms dropped to his sides, and he bowed his head.
The pavilion roared with applause. Voices broke out everywhere in a delirium of convivial thanks and praise.
Felix straightened and turned, his face positively glowing as he smiled. At once he broke and rushed to embrace the conductor, the choirmasters, and the concertmaster and then all the players and singers. On and on came the applause as they took their bows.
Reuben pushed his way towards him. When their eyes met, Felix held him closely. “Dear boy, for you, this Christmas, your first at Nideck Point,” Felix whispered in his ear.
Others were reaching for Felix, calling his name.
Thibault took Reuben by the arm. “Easiest thing now is to stand by the door, or they’ll all be stumbling around trying to find you to say good-bye.”
And he was right.
They all took up their positions by the main entrance, including Felix. The medieval mummers and the tall gaunt St. Nicholas were also there, reaching into green sacks for coins and toys to give everyone.
For the next forty-five minutes people filed out, voicing their exuberant thanks. Some of the kids wanted to kiss St. Nicholas and feel his natural white mustache and beard, and he gladly obliged, offering his toys to the adults when there were no more children.
All the musicians and singers were soon gone, some declaring this the best Christmas festival they’d ever
