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SHE COULDN’T DO THIS. Singing in front of a stranger was a harrowing enough experience for one day. Now she was the sole adult in charge of a room full of sixteen children, most of whom were far more interested in turning the shepherd staffs into swords than in any sort of singing or acting.
It was the most ill-prepared Katrina had been for anything. Half the time, she could hardly raise her voice loud enough to be heard. She was an even more pathetic director than she expected. Things were so bad that she was actually relieved when Mrs. Porter huffed her way downstairs “just to see how things were shaping up.”
“I hate to admit it,” Katrina confided, “but I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Mrs. Porter clapped her hands for attention. and within three minutes each child had been issued a role in the pageant and a costume. The shepherd staffs still turned into weapons every now and then, but the kids were far more respectful of Mrs. Porter, a retired teacher most of them had known (and probably feared) their entire lives.
By the time the kids started practicing Silent Night, Katrina wondered why she was here at all. Mrs. Porter would make a much more efficient director than she could ever dream of being. She was so relieved to have someone else guiding the kids and making the decisions about the songs, the set, and the acting roles that she didn’t feel marginalized when Mrs. Porter took over the hour-long rehearsal. With five minutes left before the kids got picked up, Katrina made her way to the bathroom upstairs, doubting Mrs. Porter or anyone else would even notice she was missing.
Quiet as a church mouse. That’s how Greg described her when she slipped over from the parsonage to visit him while he worked in his church office. She’d done that far more during the first month or two at Orchard Grove, back when she didn’t have to put on winter boots and a heavy coat just to walk a few steps outside. Back when her husband seemed happy to see her in the middle of his workday.
The bathroom door swung open while Katrina was still hidden in one of the stalls, and it was easy to identify the two speakers by their voices.
“What are you doing here, Nancy?” Mrs. Porter asked. They must have finished rehearsal a few minutes early. Either that or Katrina had been stalling here longer than she realized.
“I’m picking up DJ to take him home,” the treasurer answered.
“That’s awfully nice of you.”
“It’s the least I could do with Joy still suffering from her morning sickness like that. I know she’s excited about growing her family, but you’d think they might learn to wait a little bit. You know, she’s still nursing Brielle at night. No wonder she’s so exhausted. I’ve told her it’s not natural. And how are you? Are you here to pick someone up?”
Katrina was about to exit the stall but froze when the conversation turned toward her.
“No,” Mrs. Porter said. “I stopped by to see how Katrina was doing with all those kids. She’s got such a quiet presence, you know. I thought she might need some help.”
“Did she?”
Mrs. Porter chuckled. “You could say that.”
Nancy sighed. “Well, don’t be too hard on her. She’s young.”
“I know that.”
Katrina’s palms were sweaty. By not coming out of the stall when she had the chance, she’d have to sit here for another five or ten minutes after these two women left, and even then she still might end up exposing herself as an eavesdropper.
Nancy lowered her voice. “Did you also know she and Pastor Greg had a miscarriage?”
The sound of Mrs. Porter sucking in her breath was the only thing louder than Katrina’s pulse pounding in her ears. “I knew she was pregnant!”
“We all did, ever since she got up to use the bathroom twice at that women’s retreat. But something happened. They lost the baby, unfortunately.”
“What a shame.” Mrs. Porter clucked her tongue. “How far along was she, do you know?”
“Not very. I don’t think she could have been past the first trimester. That’s when I had my miscarriage.”
Mrs. Porter let out a noisy sigh. “Mine too.”
“Well, I’m sorry for the poor thing.” There was a hint of true sympathy in Nancy’s voice. “Here she is, away from her family for the first time. I imagine she must miss the orchestra or whatever it was she had down there in LA. Must be lonesome for her out in the middle of nowhere when she’s used to the hustle and bustle of city life.”
Katrina clenched every muscle in her body, terrified that some unwanted cough or clicking of teeth or other automatic noise would give her away. She waited several minutes after both women had left. Without thanking Mrs. Porter for taking over the rehearsal or bothering to hunt down her husband or her coat, she hurried outside to the welcoming privacy of the parsonage. She took out her violin, realized that even if she found the drive to play, her fingers were far too cold, and ended up polishing her instrument instead.
By the time Greg got home, Dmitry’s wood glistened, Katrina’s pulse had returned to a somewhat normal rate, and she felt ready to face another night home with her husband, pretending that everything was fine.