The organ music suddenly stopped, and so did our footsteps. We paused, looking at each other, wondering if we had been found out.
“Begin again, if you please. From the last bar,” a distant voice above us said. The organ music, emanating from the chapel’s back balcony, started up again. We couldn’t see the master or the student, and we didn’t think they could see us. But we could certainly hear them, and if Kellie and I got too loud, they would be able to hear us.
But we weren’t loud. We were as reverent and tippytoey as church mice. All we wanted was a quick peek. And, oh boy, did we get what we came for!
The long, narrow chapel was the most beautiful and intricately decorated either of us had ever seen. The elevated pews were positioned on the right and left sides, leaving the center aisle open and the front of the chapel ablaze with breathtaking, soaring, stained-glass windows. The sunshine lit up all the vibrant colors in the stained glass, and dozens of images of biblical accounts danced before us, highlighted with heavenly brilliance. Kellie and I stood with our hands folded in front of us as we tried to take it all in. It was much more exalted than the simple sandstone country chapel Lewis attended that we had visited yesterday.
I felt awe and reverence. The chapel didn’t seem overdone or gaudy. I loved the arched ceilings, the dark wood, and the artistic balance of all the elements. Someone who loved details had decorated this chapel. More likely it had been decorated and redecorated many times over the hundreds of years of its existence. One could sit here and worship Creator God for years and never notice all the intricacies in the tapestries or the small details in the carvings on the pews.
Cautiously I took several steps into the worship area, then paused behind a wooden lectern that held a large Bible. Affixed to the front of the pulpit was a glimmering bronze eagle with its wings back and its face to the altar. With my hands now clasped behind my back, I saw that the large Bible was open in about the middle of Jeremiah. I scanned the verses before me, curious if the Bible was only for display or if it was actually read from during a service.
I tried to imagine what it would sound like to hear God’s Word read aloud in this jewel case of a chapel. Would the words, read in a rich British accent, match the beauty of the stained glass and the deep hue of the carved pews?
Squaring my shoulders, I tried out a sample reading in a low voice, using my best British accent. The organ practice in the balcony behind me certainly would drown out my reading.
“Jeremiah chapter 24, verse 7. ‘I will give them hearts that will recognize me as the LORD. They will be my people, and I will be their God, for they will return to me wholeheartedly.’ ”
The organ struck a major chord and held it. I smiled. This was good stuff. I was beginning to develop an affection for the majesty built into the worship in a formal “high church” setting that wasn’t always evident in the more casual church we attended. What did Opal call it? A contemporary service?
I liked our church and the familiarity of it. I wasn’t interested in changing. But I felt a growing curiosity over what it would be like to worship in a place like this chapel. The verse I had just read felt richer, somehow, reading it here.
Double-checking the reference, I decided I would mark that same Jeremiah passage in my Bible so I could always remember what it felt like to read it here.
Kellie had wandered off to the side where she was scanning a tapestry hanging between two marble pillars. I stepped closer, and she turned to me with the look of a treasure hunter on her face.
“Morris,” she whispered. “I’m sure of it. It has to be an original. Lizzie, look at the shape of the birds and the way the vines intertwine. And the choice of colors. I can’t believe I’m looking at an original Morris!”
I whispered back, “Do you want to take a picture of it?”
“Do you think it’s okay?”
We glanced around. No signs indicated otherwise. Kellie pulled out her camera and snapped three pictures.
The organ music stopped. Had they heard us whispering? Seen the camera flash? The pause sounded louder than the music had been.
With a mutual nod toward the door, we took our leave of the beautiful sanctuary. On our way out, the organ began again with the same piece.
I was already beyond the door when I noticed Kellie wasn’t behind me. I saw a flash and peered back inside to see Kellie take a picture of a bust in a small alcove and then turn to take a few final snaps of the inner chapel and the stained-glass windows.
When she stepped outside with me, her face glowed. “What an incredible chapel. Such a great balance in the colors. Didn’t you love the tones of the wood and their contrast to the jewel tones in the stained-glass windows?”
I nodded, even though I hadn’t taken it all in with the eye of an artist like Kellie had.
“I loved all the detail in the carving on every single column. I could spend an entire day in there. And did you see the bronzed bust I was photographing?”
“No, who was it?”
“Tolkien! This was such a treasure. I’m so glad the balloon ride was delayed and we got ‘detoured’ to Oxford.”
“I thought about that a lot last night, and I’m convinced none of what has happened to us has been an accident. God is directing us.”
“I’ll say. I’ve thought about that too. These past few days seem like they have to be God’s idea because nothing, absolutely nothing, has gone the way we thought it would. And to be honest with you, I think it’s gone better than anything we could have planned.”
I agreed and told myself to remember this affirmation of God’s sweet grace on us when it came time to step into the hot-air balloon’s wicker basket. I repeated the admonition to myself an hour or so later as we were riding out into the Oxfordshire countryside, heading for the Cotswolds. The driver of the minivan, Jeremy, was also our hot-air balloon pilot. I was thankful that nothing about our ride with him was wild. His wife, Andrea, had come with him and was on her cell phone, checking with the crew in the field.
I gazed out the window at the expanding view. At long last I had a chance to take in the English countryside. And what a glorious vista spread out before us! The low, rolling hills were dressed in that fresh shade of early spring green I was coming to adore.
“Look!” Kellie pointed out her side of the van. In a large field hemmed in by a low stone wall, a matronly speckling of ewes nibbled at the sprouting greens.
“Have you enjoyed your stay in Oxford?” Andrea asked as soon as she finished her phone call.
“Yes, it’s a wonderful place,” I said. “It seems like it would take years to see it all.”
Andrea chuckled. “Not years, I’d say. A few weeks, perhaps.”
“Yesterday we had a wild time.” Kellie started an Ebb and Flo summary of our crazy tour with the questionable cabby.
Jeremy and Andrea exchanged looks of surprise. Andrea interrupted us and said, “You went on the Peeping Jon Tour!”
“Peeping Jon?”
“The cab driver’s name is Jon, and the local news ran a story on him last week. He was described as the self-appointed tour guide who walks sightseers right up to the windows of Lewis’s and Tolkien’s homes to have a look inside. Everyone is up in arms about it because Lewis’s home is owned by a foundation and has regularly scheduled study groups that stay there. Tolkien’s home is a private residence.”
“We definitely didn’t peek in anyone’s windows,” I said. At the same time, I felt a little as if we had been part of a paparazzi brigade, snapping pictures of lawn gnomes and grave sites. I couldn’t imagine how awkward it would have been if the cabby had taken us to the crematorium or hospital. Did visitors actually take pictures of those places?
“Did you leave everything as you found it?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes. Of course,” Kellie said.
“Some tourists have been trying to take bricks from Lewis’s fence and shingles from Tolkien’s home. It’s maddening.”
“You have to understan
d what’s happened here,” Andrea said. “Ten years ago you could have asked anyone on the street who Lewis was, and they wouldn’t have known. Now, with the success of the Narnia and Lord of the Rings films, as well as the fact that parts of Harry Potter were filmed here, well, Oxford suddenly is swarming with a different sort of tourist than we’ve had before.”
Jeremy said, “You can see how it’s off-putting to the neighbors and such. Last thing anyone wants is a Hollywood-style touring coach to come rumbling down the street every hour loaded with tourists and their cameras.”
“Although we do love tourists, don’t we, Jeremy?” Andrea stated quickly.
“Right. Tourists like Kellie and Liz. That’s what we like. I guess we’re a bit snooty in that way.”
We returned Andrea’s quick grin over her shoulder. A few minutes later Jeremy pulled into an open field and parked behind a large truck. On my side of the minivan stood a long row of poplars in their minimalist garb after being stripped down by winter’s merciless blast. At the edge of the field a team of men were unfurling what looked like an enormous bright orange and blue tarp.
Kellie took one look at the wicker basket waiting to the side of the flattened balloon and seemed to have second thoughts. “How do all of us fit in that tiny basket?”
“It’s larger than it looks,” Andrea said.
“If there’s only room for one of us …,” I began.
I could tell Kellie was checking my vitality signs. I smiled confidently so she wouldn’t think I was wimping out on her. I was merely being hospitable.
“There’s room for both of you as well as Jeremy. The rest of us are on the chase team,” Andrea said. “We’ll follow you in the truck and pick you up where the balloon comes down for a landing.”
“So where will we land?”
Andrea grinned. “The air currents make that decision for us, and I’ll tell you: it’s never the same place twice. Jeremy is very good at catching just the right current, and often he can maneuver the balloon in the direction he wants it to go. Not always, but most of the time.”
“Don’t worry,” Jeremy called over his shoulder to us. “It will be fine. Today is an excellent day to go up, even though this is later than we usually launch.”
Jeremy gave a nod to one of the men already on the field who was working on unfurling the balloon. “We haven’t lost a tourist yet, have we, Sven?”
“Not yet,” Sven answered.
“Have you been doing this long?” I asked Sven, shading my eyes from the sun with my forearm.
With a professional tone, he stood a little straighter. “Your flight will be my second one.”
I turned to Andrea with a stunned expression on my face.
“He’s putting you on,” Andrea said. “This is his third year with us. Before he moved to England, he worked on a cruise ship. We think the time at sea did something to his gray matter.”
I stood to the side and watched the team prepare the balloon for flight. Kellie and I were soon called on to assist during the inflating. We each were given a pair of gloves and assigned a side of the long balloon. Our job was to keep an eye on the fabric now laid out on the field to make sure the balloon filled unhindered with air from a large fan run by a generator.
We took our places. The sudden noise as the fan whirled into action in the peaceful countryside sent a flock of black birds out of their grazing spot in the field. They took flight looking like two dozen black dots that all hung together as a unit. The many individuals comprised a whole flock as long as they stuck together. It was beautiful watching them swoop and soar in harmony.
I was watching the birds when I should have been watching my side of the balloon.
“Give it a tug!” Jeremy called over the rumble of the fan. “Gently!”
I bent over to straighten the fabric and felt something no one ever wants to feel. The seat of my jeans gave way. They were my oldest and most comfortable pair, which is why I had brought them on the trip. I had no idea they were worn all the way to the threads.
I snapped straight up and tried to assess the damage without appearing too obvious. I looked right and left as well as behind me. The others were busy with the balloon’s inflation. I slipped out of my sweater and casually tied it around my waist so my backside was covered. Stepping back, I gazed in awe as the massive balloon filled with air and seemed to come to life like a bobbing float from the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I strode around to Kellie’s side of the billowing beast, then leaned over and said, “I ripped my jeans.”
“No! Did you really?”
“I wouldn’t make up something like that at a time like this.”
“I have a little sewing kit in my bag. Let’s go back to the van. I can sew them up for you there.”
Trotting after her I said, “Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate your organizational skills?”
“Yes. But you can tell me again if you want.”
“I appreciate your organizational skills. I just wish my dieting skills were as successful as your organizational skills.”
Kellie laughed the way a best friend is supposed to laugh when you’re humiliated and at a loss for what to do or say. The only protection at such a time is a clever attempt at a joke. And such attempts only work if your best friend laughs with you the way Kellie did just then.
We settled into the van’s backseat and made it look as if we were simply Lady Ebb and Lady Flo, two women of refinement who preferred waiting in the car rather than out in the fray of all the flight preparations.
I wiggled out of my worn jeans while Kellie scrounged for her travel-sized sewing kit.
“Oh, rats,” she said.
“What do you mean, ‘oh, rats’? I’m sitting here in my undies, a few feet away from a male flight crew, and you say, ‘oh, rats’?”
Kellie held up a complimentary hotel-type sewing kit the size of a matchbook. The edges were crumpled, and it looked as if it had been in her purse a long time. “I have thread, but the needle is gone. I must have used it before.”
“Kellie!”
“I know. Rats, huh? Would you like me to ask Andrea if she has a sewing kit or first-aid kit or something?”
“I guess. Whatever you do, be quick about it because it’s feeling a little breezy in here.”
Kellie slipped out and hurried over to Andrea. I wrapped my jeans around my bare legs and put my sweater back on. Then I sat on my hands in an effort to keep them warm. From the confines of the car, I could see Jeremy checking the thick ropes that tethered the basket and its inflatable bonnet. They were going to be ready to launch soon.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on,” I murmured, watching Kellie as she talked to Andrea and pointed back at the car. Sven seemed to be listening in.
“Don’t tell the whole world, Kellie, please!”
Andrea shook her head. This wasn’t looking good. My guess was needles weren’t something people in the balloon business often carried.
I was about to slip my jeans back on and use my sweater once again for camouflage when I noticed Sven jogging over to the car.
“No! Go away! Oh dear. I don’t have time to get my jeans on! Sven, be gone!”
I tucked my jeans around my bare legs as completely as I could, then I sat up straight in a tense pose and prepared myself for the Swedish invasion.
Sven tapped on the van’s closed window in a gesture of politeness before sliding open the side door. A blast of cool air caused goose bumps to run up and down my bare legs.
“May I offer some assistance?” He kept his eyes strategically on my face. I thought his approach was odd until I remembered Andrea saying he had worked on a cruise ship. He probably had opened a lot of doors in the midst of unusual circumstances.
“I think I’ll be okay. Thanks.”
“You might want to try this.” Sven held up the universal answer to fix whatever is broken. “Duct tape.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll give it a try.”
K
ellie was back at the van and saw me holding the duct tape. Sven walked away. She climbed in and closed the door. “Lizzie, I’m not trying to be negative, but don’t you think a nice, wide silver stripe up your backside is going to be noticeable?”
“Not if I put the duct tape on the inside of my jeans. Here, help me measure this.”
“Ah. Clever woman,” Kellie said. “Did I ever tell you how much I admire your creative skills?”
“No, and I’m not in the mood for you to start now.”
She took my grouchy response exactly as she should have at such a moment—with a shrug. The task at hand was all that mattered.
Turning my jeans inside out, I saw that the rip wasn’t along the seam. It was an uneven tear in the fabric. These jeans were more worn out than I had realized. They were ready to be tossed. But not yet. I needed them to hold together for a few more hours.
After affixing several strips of tape to the inside of my jeans, I smoothed each piece into place on the denim and then wiggled back into the repaired jeans.
“Now I’m going to get out of this van, and I’m going to sashay over to the hot-air balloon. I have only one favor to ask.”
“Sure, anything. What is it?”
“If you have any affection for me, I beg of you, Kellie, do not look at my backside. Do not make comments about my backside while I’m walking. Do not try to touch or otherwise adjust my backside. Okay?”
“Okay.” Kellie nodded, but I could tell she was dying to let loose with a few witty lines. Thankfully, she kept her quips to herself.
Trying to regain whatever regal composure I had left when I entered the car, I disembarked and gave a slight wiggle to adjust my repaired britches before walking over to the waiting balloon. Andrea, Jeremy, Sven, and the other three men were all waiting, holding on to the tethered ropes. All of them were smiling broadly, but none made eye contact with me.
Sisterchicks Go Brit! Page 9