Beyond Heaven’s Door

On her first day at her new job, Joanna Fan stood at the front door of a white clapboard church in the shadow of its soaring steeple. She raised the brass knocker on the red front door, and let it fall against the wood where it clanked like Marley’s ghost, echoing in the pit of her stomach.

No answer. She knocked again, swearing under her breath.

Still no answer. She peeked in a side window and saw a shadowy form flitting about. She made a fist and rapped on the glass. After ten minutes of fruitless effort, she sighed and returned to the front door.

As she lifted the brass knocker, the door creaked open a crack like a horror movie. A gargoyle face appeared in the dim light and she jumped back.

The heavy brows gathered like storm clouds. Dark eyes peered at her, but the apparition spoke no words. His fixed stare seemed to burn into her skin.

After a long silence, the man - if that was what he was - opened the door wider. He jerked his mane of wild black hair and shuffled back into the shadows.

Joanna summoned her courage and followed him inside. He lurched down the center aisle like Quasimodo, climbed a set of steep stairs, and disappeared, much to her relief.

She stepped into the sanctuary and gasped. Streams of light spilled from high stained-glass windows, splashing brilliant reds, blues and golds over the rows of polished wooden pews.

Above the altar at the front, a glass Nativity scene illuminated Mary’s blue gown and a pink baby Jesus gazing up at her from a bed of yellow straw. A red-cloaked bearded Joseph leaned on his staff, head bent over the mother and child like a boatman in Venice.

Joanna’s gaze came to rest on a small organ to the left of the altar. She clutched her tote bag of music books and headed down the aisle.

To her dismay, a thick coat of dust covered the instrument. She leaned over and blew the dust away. Clouds rose up and tickled her small nose. She sneezed and wiped her sleeve across her face like a punished child.

Coughing, she raised the organ’s lid and gazed down at its two keyboards. An electric switch poked out next to the lower keys. She flipped it up and the organ came to life, hissing like a leaky radiator.

Setting her bag on the narrow bench, she leaned over, pulled out the trumpet stop, and played a few notes.

They sounded glorious! Her eyes went wide. She slid onto the hard narrow bench, feeling it bite into her thighs, but she didn’t care. Pulling out more stops, she launched into Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus,” wallowing in the brassy sounds that filled the air.

She finished the piece with a triumphant flourish and slumped over the keys like an empty gunny sack. Playing Handel always flooded her soul and emptied her at the end.

In the silence, a sudden crash rang out from the balcony. Startled, she looked up in time to see a dark silhouette fleeing into the shadows. A door slammed shut, making her ears ring.

Joanna leaped up and hiked her tote bag onto her left shoulder. She hurried towards the door without closing the cover on the organ. Time to seek refuge in her rented room over the hardware store. She’d had enough music for one day.

*******************************

From the bell tower of First Parish Church, Joseph Beck had a commanding view of the brown river that wound between the green mountains. He never grew tired of gazing at the changing seasons and colors of the day. In between mopping the floors, changing light bulbs, cleaning toilets, and showing that ancient boiler who was boss, he headed up to his lofty retreat.

Joseph squeezed his burly shoulders along the back wall. There was a small door that nobody noticed, and beyond the door, a secret room often drenched in sunlight.

In the middle of the room hung the rope to the massive copper bell high above. Every day at noon, Joseph rang the bell precisely twelve times. He was so reliable that the townspeople could set their watches by him.

At first he’d been annoyed at having to ring the bell for church on Sundays. He felt foolish hauling away on the rope like Quasimodo. But gradually he grew to love the deep reverberations that filled his broad chest and shivered right down to his boots. It was his idea to start ringing the bell daily, and the minister didn’t mind at all.

His real reason for loving this room was the sunlight that poured nearly all year round. A wooden artist’s easel held his works in progress, mostly of the silver-gray clouds and dramatic views of the New England landscape. These found their way onto his canvas in broad strokes of colors, especially red, orange, gold and brown to capture the trees in autumn. In the summer, he painted the lush green mountains and in the winter, the snowy slopes and icicles dazzled him like diamonds.

This was his true home and sanctuary, high above the town that treated him like the village idiot. Here he felt as if he could go beyond heaven’s door.

That last notion always made Joseph chuckle. He had no intention of going to heaven anytime soon, even if it meant he could be free of his clumsy, hairy self and poor hearing.

But this music! This was something new. He left his studio and limped to the balcony railing, straining to catch the rich harmonies pouring from the organ pipes. Far below he saw the profile of an Asian woman with long hair, her silver-framed glasses winking in the colorful light as her slender fingers danced over the keys.

Enthralled, Joseph hardly breathed as the music rolled on, rising like a chorus of angels. He didn’t really believe in them, but he felt as if he were floating on a warm, soft cloud.

The music came to a thunderous end. Joseph sighed as if he’d finished a sumptuous feast. As he stood up, he tripped on his folding chair and sent it crashing to the floor. Feeling sick, he hastily picked up the chair and planted it against the wall. Meanwhile, the woman fled from the organ and disappeared down the aisle. As she slammed the front door, it echoed like a gunshot.

Alone again, Joseph shuffled back to his secret room. He took up his paint brush and began to sketch a red-tailed hawk. He’d seen one circling the steeple yesterday as it searched for prey. As his bird took shape, he filled in its graceful wings against the blue sky.

Decades ago, his high school art teacher had explained the trick of capturing a bird in flight. Tuck its feet in and spread its wings wide so it could ride the air currents like an airplane in what was called the Bernoulli Effect. Someday Joseph knew he would take flight too and leave this place far behind.