By the end of
February, the committee had eliminated all but three of the twelve applicants
for the full-time position as music director. Though many churches
are trimming their music programs, St. Stephen’s can afford to
expand. A trust fund insures the presence of a full-time director
even if the minister can’t be paid.
After
our schedules for visits had been set, I stopped in the parish office to see
Edward. The secretary, another Mary, showed me in. Edward
jumped to his feet and held a chair for me. His large book-lined
office had a small conversation area near the French doors that overlooked the
garden. Last night’s snow covered the lawn and the flower beds with
a blinding blanket of white.
“You’ve
found an organist,” he said.
“We’ve
selected three candidates and have set our first trip for next Sunday.”
He
rubbed the balding spot on the top of his head. “Can’t the process
be hurried? I can’t believe we’ll have an Easter season without
a...an outstanding organist. It’s never happened before.”
“The
substitute and I will bumble along. We won’t have a new organist
before fall.”
“But
the Passion Sunday Evensong --”
“I’ve
found an excellent quartet, but I have to let them know this week.”
His
pout reminded me of one from a child who has dropped his candy in the mud. “If
you must. This is such a disaster.”
“Hardly.” I
rose. “Should I submit bills for our expenses or will you give us
money from petty cash? We’ll need money for gas and meals.”
“Submit
the bills. The Vestry prefers that. This group isn’t as
trusting as others in the past have been.”
I
left the office and headed home. Sunlight glared off the banks of
snow lining the walks. Bits of old ice formed ragged patches on the concrete.
My Places
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