Sorry it’s late! I meant to have it done earlier, but homework took precedence.

December 5

“Oh how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away…”

Molly sank down into one of the easy chairs in the corner of the large upstairs room of the Crosswinds Bookstore and let the music wash over her. Father Christopher had arranged with Marge to bring the Carter’s Cove Catholic Church Choir over to serenade the store, as he did every year. The achingly beautiful music filled the store, and Molly loved to come up and listen.

The choir stood with their backs to the fireplace that dominated one end of the building, the gold and green of their robes brilliant against the dark wood and stone of the hearth. To either side, Christmas trees sparkled with thousands of tiny white lights. Marge had decreed long ago that she wanted a snowflake theme to her store at Christmas, and Molly decided once again that her aunt had had the right of it. Atop each tree, a star glowed, and that, too, was right.

Schrodinger climbed up into her lap as she sat, and purred a mellow harmony to the clear voices of the choir. Molly stroked his silky fur as she watched the singers – Father Christopher brought together not just his parishioners for the annual concert, but anyone from the surrounding community who wanted to sing carols. The store was packed, and the chorus this year included: two sea elves, their beautiful pale skin slightly iridescent as it reflected the Christmas lights; a Kadar who had happened to come into town just as the season was starting, and decided to stay long enough to sing, his long dark beard moving in time to his music; two harpists from the Darjeeling Road that came every year to help and, much to everyone’s surprise, one of the reclusive Mareesh, a dark-skinned young woman with ebony stars in her eyes instead of irises, and detailed tattoos covering her face and hands. This in addition to the normal choir, which boasted a centaur, among others.

You know, that’s the best part of living in the Cove, Molly thought, stroking Schrodinger and letting the music flow through her. You never know who you’re going to run into.

Agreed, Schrodinger said. And even if there’s a portion that is nasty, most are not.

No, most aren’t.

At the end of the concert, after the applause, most of the singers moved to the tables Molly and Margie had set up at the back of the room. It was covered with the cookies Molly, Sue, Lai and Noemi had decorated the night before, along with veggie trays, tea sandwiches, and other assorted goodies for all species present. There was a large crockpot of hot mulled cider, and one of mulled wine, as well as water bottles.

“Once again, you have outdone yourself.”

Molly looked up and saw Father Christopher himself smiling down at her. The good priest was in his sixties, but seemed to have little changed in the fifteen years since he’d come to the Cove. She wondered, not for the first time, what he’d thought when he looked out on his congregation that first Sunday, since he’d come, not from another Crossroads town, but from San Francisco. Then again, it’s San Francisco. Really, nothing here in the Cove can hold a candle to there on any given day.

It’s warmer there, Schrodinger said sleepily, and Molly bit down on a giggle.

“Thank you,” she said out loud, smiling up at the silver-haired priest. “The music was lovely.”

“We had a very good choir this year,” he agreed, pulling up a stool and sitting next to her. “Sharsha in particular was amazing.”

“Sharsha?”

He indicated the Mareesh as she stood talking to Pertwee, the centaur. “She has a voice like an angel. And it took a lot for her to convince her father and mother to let her come, but she did it. She’s actually hoping to move to town in the next year and take voice lessons.”

“Wow, really?” Molly looked over at Sharsha again. “Why?”

“She wants to be a Minstrel, and we’ve got Darian here,” Father Christopher said. “And to be honest, it would be criminal for her not to be out of her village. That voice deserves to be heard.” And then he leaned in towards her and said softly, “I have something for you. It was left at the church this morning.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, and then felt her heart flutter as he pulled a familiar red envelope out of his pants pocket. He handed it to her, and she felt the CD case inside, along with something else. “Left at the church, you say.”

He nodded, but there was a twinkle in his eye. Molly suspected he knew more, but didn’t ask. Father Christopher took the whole priest-parishioner privilege thing very seriously. “I hear this isn’t the first one you’ve received,” he said, settling back.

“No, it’s not,” Molly said, opening the envelope. As always, the CD slid out, but accompanying it was a silver jingle bell that chimed as it rolled into her hand. “Apparently I’m being courted. Or something.”

“Being courted isn’t a bad thing,” Father Christopher said.

“It is when you don’t know who is courting you,” Molly replied, uncurling the scrap of parchment from where it was tied to the bell. “I don’t know anyone with the initials SA, after all.”

“SA?” Father Christopher leaned over again, looking at the parchment, which said, “In the darkest night, when all hope is lost, listen to this and remember that I’m still here for you. SA”

“Aunt Margie thinks it stands for Secret Admirer,” Molly said.

I think it’s Santa, Schrodinger said, raising his head and looking at the priest. I’ve asked for a special present this year, and I think this is his way of telling me it’s coming.

“If that’s the case, why are the cards coming to Molly?” Father Christopher asked him, but Molly heard the underlying laughter in his voice, which reinforced her suspicion that the good priest knew more than he was telling her.

Because the present is for her, Schrodinger said, and Molly hoped that would be the end of it. She’d explained to the CrossCat that not everyone needed to know what his wish was for, and, when he’d expressed confusion, had fallen back on the “Well, if you tell your wish before it comes true, it might get lost” that her mother had told her. It had convinced him, but she wasn’t sure for how long.

Father Christopher, however, didn’t push. His smile broadened, and he stroked the CrossCat’s head. “Those are the best presents to receive, Schrodinger. The presents that make others happy warm our hearts too.”

“Only if we know who those presents come from,” Molly muttered, but under her breath, and neither the priest nor the CrossCat replied.

Today, Molly got a lovely carol and the first of SA’s actual gifts.