Lark! the Herald Angels Sing

by Donna Andrews

  I called Ekaterina.

  “Can you load up and pull out?” I asked. “With everything except the video and broadcasting equipment. And all the people, if they can possibly set the equipment up to keep running untended for an hour or so. And take the back way, the alleyway behind the buildings, as far as you can.”

  “Affirmative,” she said, and hung up.

  “Go open that door and get the guys out here,” I told Rose Noire, pointing to the door that led to the cells. “We’re going to try something.”

  She scurried through the flock and disappeared into the cell block.

  I peered out through the front doors.

  “Watch your step,” I heard Rose Noire saying. “We fed the sheep rather heavily on the way over to keep them calm.”

  “The First Noel” gave way to “Deck the Hall (with Boughs of Holly).” As that was drawing to a close, I saw the two Dominion Energy trucks, real and faux, emerge onto the road at the far side of the Clayville Market and speed off homeward. A small compact car followed them—presumably Rachel.

  “Meg?” Rob appeared at my elbow. “Are we leaving now?”

  “Pretty soon, I hope,” I said. “Stay out of sight for the time being.”

  He slipped back among the sheep.

  “When I give the cue, start sending them out,” I told Rose Noire.

  “The prisoners?” she asked. “Or the sheep?”

  “Why not both?” I asked. “And before you ask, the cue is … let’s see … how about ‘lost lambs.’”

  “Got it,” she said.

  The choir began “It Came upon the Midnight Clear.” I hoped the denizens of Clay County were taking to heart the part about “peace on earth, goodwill to men.” An encouraging number of them were singing along, at any rate. As the choir sang the final strains of the fourth verse, I unlocked the doors, pushed them open, and stepped out to stand by Minerva’s side.

  “I’m going to try to make a speech,” I said in an undertone to her, while the bystanders were applauding and the singers were shuffling their carol books.

  “Here.” She handed me a battery-powered microphone. “This should make it easier.”

  I turned on the microphone and held up one hand to ask for everyone’s attention.

  Chapter 36

  “Thank you so much, ladies, for the beautiful concert so far,” I began. “And thank you all for getting up so early to bring this gift of music to our neighbors here in Clay County. How about it, Clay County—have you got the Christmas spirit yet?”

  To my delight, many of the onlookers clapped and cheered. It was pretty feeble compared to the awesome combined might of the choirs, but it sounded happy and welcoming.

  “And a special thanks to our hosts today,” I went on. “Mayor Dingle? Sheriff Dingle? Come and take a bow.”

  The two Dingles, looking as if they’d rather eat ground glass, shuffled over somewhat closer and stood awkwardly and uncomfortably as the Caerphillians clapped and cheered. I noticed with interest that the locals’ response was rather perfunctory. When the applause died down I went on.

  “And I’ve just found out that we have another reason to be grateful to Clay County. As many of you know, my grandfather went missing last night while leading a nature walk. My father, my brother, and Clarence Rutledge, our local veterinarian, were in his party.”

  Both of the Dingles had snapped to attention and were watching me suspiciously.

  “We were afraid they might have perished in last night’s terrible storm,” I went on. “And to compound the tragedy, so fierce were the weather conditions that a party of skilled local trackers, who set out to find and rescue Grandfather’s group, became lost in the storm themselves. I know I’m not the only person who feared the worst. But we have good news!”

  Everyone took that as a cue to clap and cheer—Clay County onlookers and Caerphilly visitors in equal measure.

  “We’ve learned that some of Sheriff Dingle’s deputies were able to locate and rescue both missing parties,” I continued when the noise diminished. “And brought them here to the town where they could find food, warmth, and a bed for the night.”

  More cheering, and all the singers waved their carol books so the pages flapped noisily.

  “Mayor Dingle, and Sheriff Dingle—I hope you know that we’ll never forget what you’ve done.” Their faces showed that they understood the double meaning in this very well. “And now—citizens of Caerphilly! Our lost lambs!”

  Rose Noire flung open the door, releasing several annoyed-looking sheep, followed by Grandfather. The crowd cheered wildly, and Grandfather raised both fists above his head like Rocky entering the ring. He strode over to where I stood beside the Dingles, shook first Mayor Dingle’s hand, then Sheriff Dingle’s, and then continued briskly down the steps. A couple of the Ladies of St. Clotilda stepped forward to usher him into a waiting bus.

  As if we’d rehearsed it, the New Life Baptist choir members struck up the hymn “There Were Ninety and Nine That Safely Lay.” Those who knew the words joined in; the rest either hummed along or joined arms and swayed in time to the music—except for a couple dozen of the Ladies of St. Clotilda, who hurried up the stairs to embrace the rescued Caerphillians as soon as they emerged from the front door of the jail and hustle them past the Dingles to the safety of the bus. I glanced over to see that Mother was coordinating this last effort. Thank goodness. It was one thing for Grandfather to dash over and shake the Dingles’ hands—being both well-known and widely considered a harmless if amusing eccentric gave him some protection. And if he’d given them his usual bone-crushing grip, with any luck at least one of them would have emerged from the handshake with a sprained tendon or two. But it would probably have been a bad idea for Mark Caverly or even the Shiffleys to give the Dingles a chance to intercept them. I tried to pretend that I was absorbed in the music while the front door of the jail emitted sheep in twos and threes, interspersed with liberated prisoners. Both Dingles looked ready to blow a gasket when they saw Mark Caverly being led to the bus, but they didn’t try to interfere. They were probably planning to demand the prisoners’ return in the morning. I was relieved to see the last of the prisoners disappear through the door of the school bus just as the choir belted out “Rejoice! I have found My sheep!” I had a feeling “There Were Ninety and Nine That Safely Lay” was going to become a popular favorite in Caerphilly churches from now on.

  And that was also the moment when Rose Noire gave Lad permission to follow his sheep. He bounded down the steps and began diligently working to round them all up.

  “The chief wants us to wrap this up and hit the road before the FBI arrives,” I said to Minerva in an undertone. She nodded, and then made a gesture. A murmur ran through the New Life Baptist choir members, and then Minerva led them in “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

  Clearly this was some sort of prearranged signal. All the singers fell to with a will, but I could tell that everyone was preparing for their exit. Caroline and the other two camel riders turned their mounts toward the zoo truck, which was parked beyond the buses. People who had brought things seemed to be surreptitiously gathering them up. The bus drivers took their seats. They didn’t start the engines, but they were clearly ready to do so. Rose Noire emerged from the side door of the jail and went over to the ancient farm truck in time to let down the loading ramp when Lad arrived, driving Seth Early’s sheep before him. Mother was standing by one of the Caerphilly County school buses waving to catch my attention. When I waved back she pointed at me and then at the bus door.

  When the final refrain of “Glory to the newborn king” rang out, I expected to see everyone bolt for the buses. Instead Minerva took the portable microphone.

  “Thank you for having us, neighbors,” she said. “We’d like to invite you to join our community carol sing tomorrow night. Seven P.M. in the Caerphilly town square. Dress warmly, and enjoy the free hot chocolate! And from all of us to all of you, we hope you have a merry and very blessed Christ
mas.”

  At that, the assembled singers broke out in “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” and began heading for the buses in a brisk, orderly fashion. Their progress was slowed a little by the fact that first a few and then more and more Clay County onlookers were coming up to shake the carolers hands and wish them a Merry Christmas.

  I was surprised to see that the Dingles appeared to be standing there just observing the impending departure. My first impulse was to feel relieved, but that gave way to deep suspicion. Were they really going to let Mark Caverly go? Were they plotting some way to steal him back? Or worse, were they planning some kind of ambush between here and the county line?

  I pulled out my phone and called Chief Burke.

  “We’re taking off soon,” I said.

  “Yes, I see,” he said. “Please tell me you’re not going to do something quixotic and stupid, like staying behind to play rear guard.”

  “No, I plan to leave with the rest. Mother’s saving me a seat on one of the school buses.”

  “Good. Don’t let anyone linger. You want to be out of there when the SWAT team arrives.”

  “Oooh, there’s a SWAT team coming?”

  “I think the Feds have some other high-falutin’ name for it, but that’s what it is. Not sure how much longer they’re going to be content to cool their heels in the zoo parking lot. So make tracks.”

  “To hear is to obey.”

  He snorted at that and hung up.

  The trucks and buses had started their engines, and the last of the visitors from Caerphilly were climbing aboard the buses. Most of the Clay County residents were watching from the sidewalks on both sides of the street, waving at the buses, many of them sucking on candy canes.

  About the only sour faces I could see were those of the mayor and the sheriff. Both of them were glowering at the buses—and occasionally at me. Probably a very good thing I was leaving with the rest. The several deputies standing in a clump near their boss didn’t look hostile—just confused, and maybe a little anxious, as if it had begun to dawn on them that they’d be the ones around to take the heat when the sheriff decided it was safe to let his hair down.

  Time to board the bus. If this were a movie, I’d pause just long enough to utter a final devastating witticism—something that would cut both Dingles to the quick and make them realize what utter scum they were. Of course, if this were a movie, a team of expert screenwriters would have been working for months to perfect that witticism. I decided to settle for a cheerful wave.

  Probably wiser. It also dawned on me that if this were a movie, it might be one of those ones where the arch villain comes back for one more crack, just when you think he’s dead and buried. I was under no illusion that we’d defanged the Dingles. We’d just gotten the better of them for the time being. They’d be back.

  Unless the waiting SWAT team got enough evidence to put them away. Now there was a cheerful thought.

  I strode down the steps toward the Caerphilly school bus where Mother was standing in the door, tapping her foot. I was the last to board.

  “Take a seat, or I’m not going anywhere,” the bus driver said. Since the bus driver was Ginnie Shiffley, who actually did drive for the Caerphilly school system, she probably had a lot of experience saying that. I plopped into the seat Mother had been saving for me, and Ginnie took off.

  “You did it!” Dad was sitting just behind me. “I knew we could count on you!”

  “Well done!” Grandfather said, from the seat behind Dad.

  “Now if you can just convince Delaney I’m not the scum of the earth.” Rob, sitting across the aisle from Dad, was probably the only person on the bus who didn’t look overjoyed. Well, except for me.

  “Delaney helped with your rescue, you know,” I said.”She would have been here with us if I hadn’t convinced her that she’d be much more valuable at a keyboard, using her tech skills. If I were her I’d refuse to speak to you for at least a week, to pay you back for coming so close to getting yourself killed. But she might not be as hard-hearted as I am.”

  “Oh, she is.” Rob sounded surprisingly cheerful. “But if she helped you rescue me, she can’t be all that mad, can she?”

  He sat back beaming happily, leaving me the only sane, sensible, worried person on the bus. Well, with the possible exception of Mark Caverly, who was craning his neck to see out of the window, clearly keeping a watchful eye on the Dingles. He glanced over and saw me watching him.

  “I’ll feel a lot better when we put some distance between us and that jail,” he said. Although he sounded curiously calm for a mild-mannered accountant who’d just been rescued from dire peril.

  I leaned forward so I could talk to Ginnie without being overheard.

  “If you hear sirens, keep going,” I said. “I wouldn’t put it past Sheriff Dingle to try to stop us before we get to the county line.”

  She nodded.

  “And don’t be startled if you hear helicopters overhead,” I added. “That will be the FBI. Or possibly the ATF.”

  “After thirty-seven years driving this bus it takes a lot to startle me,” she said.

  We were halfway to the county line when we met a caravan of law enforcement vehicles heading toward Clayville. I wondered if Chief Burke had briefed them in enough detail that they knew why there were busloads of people speeding away from Clayville, cheering wildly and serenading them with “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

  “We’ll be going straight to church, dear,” Mother said, from where she was sitting with Dad. She said this as if it were a given, and a good thing in the bargain.

  “Straight to church? Why?” I hoped I didn’t sound testy, but I’d only had a couple of hours of sleep all night—so while I would be the first to admit that our rescue effort owed an enormous debt to the combined Caerphilly churches and I wouldn’t be averse to a nice ceremony of thanksgiving eventually, or whatever was appropriate—I didn’t think The Book of Occasional Services included anything like a Ceremony of Discreet Gloating, which was what I craved right now. But what I really wanted more than anything at the moment was go straight home, kiss Michael and the boys, and fall into bed.

  “It’s Sunday morning, dear—remember?” Mother said. “And besides, all the men will be waiting for us there. They’re under the impression that we were out all night cleaning and painting the new shelter—at least they were until the video began appearing on the internet. But we just sent out messages to everyone that we’re on our way, and we should get there only a little late for the ten o’clock service.”

  Mother sat back as if this settled everything. I looked around at my family. Dad, Rob, and Grandfather were still dressed as ninjas, and quite obviously ninjas who had been up all night and possibly dragged through at least one stable. I was still wearing the badly fitting stolen Dominion Energy uniform and had sheep droppings on one shoe. But Mother was beaming at us just as proudly as if we were wearing our Sunday best.

  “Okay, ten o’clock service it is.” I’d beg Robyn to keep her sermon short. “How about some carols on the way?”

  “A lovely idea,” Mother said.

  So we all joined in on “Angels We Have Heard on High” and trilled “Glo-o-o-o-o-ria!” in four-part harmony all the way back to town.

  Chapter 37

  “Mom! Elijah took my staff!”

  “Mom! All the glitter is coming off my halo!”

  “Mrs. Waterston! Colin spilled my myrrh!”

  I took a deep, calming breath and reminded myself that I only had to survive the next hour and the Christmas pageant would be over for the year. And I’d have at least ten months to find someone I could sucker into running it next Christmas.

  “Elijah! If you don’t give Josh back his staff, I will take away your crook and promote Kyle to head shepherd! You can go sit out in the pews and watch the pageant! Colin! I want all the myrrh back in the box in five minutes or I’ll make you eat it!”

  The latter threat seemed to make a profound impression o
n Colin, who scurried to obey. In fact, a profound impression on the whole Christmas pageant cast, probably because they were unaware that the myrrh we were using for the performance was actually lumps of rock candy made from brown sugar. I’d been planning to share it out among the cast members after the pageant. Probably not a good idea if it had been rolling around on the floor of the parish hall. I turned to my son Jamie, aka the Angel Gabriel, who was almost tearful over his diminished halo.

  “There’s still a lot of glitter left,” I said. “And you know, having less glitter might actually be a good thing. Before, it was so shiny that the reflection made it hard to see your face. This will look much more effective—especially in the cast photos. But if you really want more glitter, go ask your dad if he can find some.”

  Jamie looked thoughtful, and I was relieved to see that he didn’t run over to demand glitter when Michael returned, accompanied by the smallest of the sheep, who had become overstimulated in the exciting backstage atmosphere and had to be escorted to his mother for a short time-out and some remedial cuddling. I was also relieved to see that the little sheep was calm again.

  “How much longer?” Michael asked.

  I glanced up at the clock.

  “Half an hour! Whatever possessed us to get them ready so early? How can we possibly keep them distracted for a whole half hour?”

  “Relax. I will lead the cast in a pre-performance relaxation and focusing routine. You will go out and fetch our missing cast member.”

  “Missing cast member? Who—”

  “Lark.”

  “Whose real name is Andrea, you know. And yes, I can do that.”

  “Take your time,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with him. I was still running short on sleep after yesterday morning’s adventures. And I had to admit, he was great with the cast.

  So I slipped out of the parish hall, and the wave of sound hit me. Trinity’s vestibule was packed full of people, here early either to drop off their kids or to get a good seat, and they were all talking a mile a minute.