Stalks of corn, chubby pumpkins, shocks of grain, knobby squashes along with many other fruits of the rich Minnesota soil flanked the altar and sentineled the pews of the Meadowville Lutheran Church the next morning. Bulging ears of golden corn adorned the altar rail and hung from the windowsills up and down the side aisles. The matured products of God’s providence and man’s patient toil were assembled here in prodigious array, and the festive hearts of the people were ready to render thanks for what they of themselves could never have wrought.
Steve had insisted that Cecilia’s “patrons” would surely respond to her rendering of Bach’s “Fantasia and Fugue in C Minor.” And respond they did! The church was full to the brim fifteen minutes before the service was scheduled to begin. I have heard this work performed many times over the years, but never with the passion and lyricism with which Cecilia invested the Fantasia or with the energy and drama with which she flew through the Fugue, even on that tracker organ. The power in her hands must have been prodigious. When she was done there was dead silence in the church, silence which reigned until the service began. Steve told me that people were almost too astonished to breathe by what they had just heard. But when it came time to sing the first hymn, they raised the roof.
The service itself was elevating, unpretentious, and replete with gratitude to God, not only for the good harvest and its attendant blessings but also for the safe return from the war of several young men in the parish. Worshippers went home mindful of the responsibility incumbent upon them to share their abundance with others and in that way they would be feasting today in the aura of the law of love.
Back in the parsonage after church, Ellie and Cecilia scurried about in the kitchen to prepare for the guests due to arrive on foot at noon. The pastor and Steve were ordered to relax in the living room where they would not be underfoot. Luscious aromas from the belabored cast-iron stove wafted throughout the house, bearing promise of the banquet to come.
At five minutes to twelve there was a timid knock at the front door. Pastor got up and opened it. In trotted the thirteen Wilsons—father, mother, and eleven children ranging from four months to fourteen years of age. Steve did a double-take. Immediately the Endsruds swung into action.
First Cecilia and Mrs. Wilson exchanged places on the spot, the former descending into the swarming brood of children, the latter escaping into the kitchen. Next Pastor Endsrud shed his normally reserved demeanor and became positively aggressive—teasing, poking, and playing all at once. Steve watched the smaller children jump up and down beside Cecilia and the pastor, impatient for their turn to be tossed in the air or tickled in the tummy or just plain hugged. By some miracle they managed to relate to Mr. Wilson and the older children at the same time, encouraging them not to try to keep the littler ones in line and make them “behave themselves.” They were all welcome just as they were. Steve now understood why Ellie had thoughtfully removed anything of value that playful kids might harm. The house was virtually kid-proofed!
Soon Steve was sucked into the rollicking maelstrom. The look of pride in Cecilia’s shining eyes when they stole a glance at one another as he was kneeling on the carpet tussling with two giggling kids said everything. It did not actually require much resourcefulness to amuse these children, he discovered, just a lot of energy. Snatch up one and toss him in the air, push another one down and tickle her in the ribs, listen thoughtfully to the carefully chosen words of a quiet one while balancing a rowdy one on your shoulders. And, by chiggers, it really was fun! If this little feller was getting out of hand, just shove him at Cecilia and see what she could do with him!
Throughout this chaos the Endsruds remained unruffled and gracious. And the happiness of the Wilsons, especially the father and mother, broke out in a hundred little ways all afternoon.
The banquet was abundant and tasty. It was obvious to Steve that the Endsruds were enjoying it much more by sharing it with the Wilsons than if they had kept it all for themselves. His mind was formulating this into some kind of principle when a little rascal interrupted his thoughts by ducking under the table and pulling his shoelace loose!
When at last evening came and the Wilsons went home laden with “leftovers that will never keep,” the Endsruds—of whom Steve by this time felt very much a part—were weary but happy. Slowly and warmly they set about righting the house again. But when the clock struck nine, Pastor called a halt to their labors and, gathering them around the piano, played a few Thanksgiving hymns while everyone sang. Then he suggested that tomorrow would be soon enough to take care of what work remained. Everyone agreed.
Before going off to bed, Steve and Cecilia wandered out onto the back porch. The heat from their flushed faces diffused into the cool night air. For several minutes they stood there side by side gazing into the night, their arms enfolding one another about the waist. Their grip was firm, their breathing steady. At length Cecilia looked up at Steve and whispered, “I hope all this fuss today didn’t….”
Steve’s index finger pressed lightly against her lips. Drawing her in to himself, he gently rested her head in his left hand and embraced her with his right arm. Long and tenderly they kissed. She clasped him tightly to herself, feeling and loving the strength of his sinewy body. They were enveloped in their love. Then, wordless but still heavy with love, he walked her to her bedroom door, squeezed her hand, and mounted the staircase to his room and a beautiful night’s sleep.
The remainder of the week slipped swiftly by. They spent Friday morning cleaning the house and Friday afternoon retracing some of Cecilia’s favorite pathways leading to the haunts of her childhood. In the evening they gathered around the hearth once again.
All day Saturday they either received friends at the parsonage or went out to visit those who couldn’t come to them. A mere month before, this would have struck Steve as pure drudgery, but now he lapped up every moment of it in Cecilia’s company.
On Sunday Mrs. Myrholm was at the organ for the first service and Steve and Cecilia sat with Ellie on the main floor. For the second service Cecilia was at the organ, doing her best to make it a vehicle for worship and prayer, not for performance. Her normal preludes were not designed to be showpieces but stimuli for prayer. She once told me that if you come to church and worship and pray and don’t even notice that the organ is there to support you, the organist has done her job well.
After the second service, a number of people gathered up in the loft. They came to commune, if you will, with a dear friend. Nor was Cecilia a bit self-conscious about all of this attention directed toward her. These were her friends, after all, and she was as eager to be with them as they were to be with her.
For them she had to stay and play the organ for another half hour. She felt she owed these good people whatever she could give them for their generosity. As she was ending the last piece, old Mr. Andreason, who had directed the Christmas pageant for as long as anyone could remember, moved over next to her and said in his wavering voice, “You vill come back and play for us at Christmas, von’t you, Cecilia?”
“Only God Himself could prevent me,” she replied.
The train left in the middle of the same afternoon. There were tears of joy in Ellie’s eyes when she kissed Cecilia farewell and pulled Steve down to give him a kiss on the forehead, too. Beneath his calm restraint, Pastor Endsrud also revealed his deep satisfaction with his daughter’s choice. He blessed them both as they were about to mount the train and told Steve he was looking forward to their next opportunity to be together.
Steve and Cecilia boarded the train that day believing that life could not get any better. The Endsruds, for their part, remained on the platform and watched until the train disappeared into the distance, bearing their precious daughter and her dearest friend Steve, confident that the two of them were truly being guided in all things by the good hand of God.