The Treble Wore Trouble (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer Page A
Authors: Mark Schweizer
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State. She'd received a small stipend and a scholarship — well worth it, in my opinion. She had a beautiful voice and was a great sight reader. After she graduated, Tiff took a job in Boone teaching music in one of the elementary schools, but she still came over to St. Barnabas to sing with us. She was a looker — thin, but quite beautiful — with dark hair and a model's eyes and cheekbones.
Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, fell to the other end of the "attractiveness" spectrum. Some might blame his small, flat head, his long, Ichabod Crane nose, his beady eyes, or maybe his ears that stuck out like two open doors on a VW beetle. In my opinion, it wasn't any one of these, but the effect of the whole. Added to this was a personality that gave the word "irritating" a whole new meaning. This personality was the product of an incredibly high self-esteem, a PhD in musicology, and an intimate relationship with the music of Guillaume Dufay (1397-1474) that he would be happy to share with anyone who made eye contact with him. He'd been smitten with Tiff St. James for a year and a half, and, although he had no contact with her during the week, Ian was happy to bask in her presence during choir rehearsals and Sunday services. Tiff got used to it and now shrugged it off, hardly even seeming to notice him. Dr. Burch owned and operated an early music emporium in St. Germaine called The Appalachian Music Shoppe, specializing in Medieval and Renaissance instrument reproductions — shawms, hurdy-gurdys, sackbuts, flatulenzas, and the like. Most of his business was conducted on the internet, and he made a good living.
Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, took off his cape and draped it over his chair, then sat down in the alto section, his cross-sectional casting due to his freakishly high countertenor voice, and patted the seat next to him so Tiff would know where she was supposed to sit. She looked heavenward, sighed and sat down.
"What was Joyce alarmed at?" asked Tiff again. The rest of the choir was pouring into the loft.
"I think she's a little scared that Hayden has been asked to compose our service music for Lent," said Martha.
"Oh, no!" said Sheila DeMoss. "Who asked him?" She took a seat next to Tiff.
"Mother P asked him," said Elaine Hixon. "I was there. I heard it."
"Didn't anyone tell her?" asked Steve DeMoss, Sheila's husband, and a bass.
"Hey!" I said. "I think I'm offended."
Mark Wells ticked off a list on his fingers. " The Mouldy Cheese Madrigal, We Three Queens, the Pirate Eucharist ..."
" The Weasel Cantata ," added Bert Coley with a laugh. " Crown Him You Many Clowns, The Banjo Kyrie ... " Bert had been another of the ASU music students who had stuck around after graduation. He was currently a police officer in Boone.
"Don't forget Elisha and the Two Bears , the unknown Purcell masterpiece," said Bob Solomon. "My personal favorite."
Rhiza Walker chimed in. " We All like Sheep , the alternate aria from Handel's Messiah , found at the bottom of a chamberpot." She'd just come in and had skipped the imposition of ashes, judging from her clear complexion. Rhiza was a friend from way back. It was she and Pete who were responsible for my coming to St. Germaine as police chief. Rhiza was a soprano and a darn good one. She sat down next to Muffy LeMieux, joining Meg, Elaine, Georgia, and Bev. The only empty seat in the soprano section was Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle's.
"I don't know that one," said Martha. "Is it good?"
"No, it's baaaad," said Rhiza. "A lot of cadenzas on the word 'baa.' He wrote it for me specially, many years ago."
"How about that hymn you wrote for Brother Hog's Service of Re-Virgination?" said Meg. "Only you could rhyme 'liturging' with 're-virging.'"
I sighed.
" The Living Gobbler !" said Marjorie.
"Okay, okay, I get it," I said. "But I've also written a few nice things."
The choir loft was full. We had a good deal of room, but twenty-some-odd folks filled it up.
Joining Burt and Marjorie in the tenor section was Randy
Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, fell to the other end of the "attractiveness" spectrum. Some might blame his small, flat head, his long, Ichabod Crane nose, his beady eyes, or maybe his ears that stuck out like two open doors on a VW beetle. In my opinion, it wasn't any one of these, but the effect of the whole. Added to this was a personality that gave the word "irritating" a whole new meaning. This personality was the product of an incredibly high self-esteem, a PhD in musicology, and an intimate relationship with the music of Guillaume Dufay (1397-1474) that he would be happy to share with anyone who made eye contact with him. He'd been smitten with Tiff St. James for a year and a half, and, although he had no contact with her during the week, Ian was happy to bask in her presence during choir rehearsals and Sunday services. Tiff got used to it and now shrugged it off, hardly even seeming to notice him. Dr. Burch owned and operated an early music emporium in St. Germaine called The Appalachian Music Shoppe, specializing in Medieval and Renaissance instrument reproductions — shawms, hurdy-gurdys, sackbuts, flatulenzas, and the like. Most of his business was conducted on the internet, and he made a good living.
Dr. Ian Burch, PhD, took off his cape and draped it over his chair, then sat down in the alto section, his cross-sectional casting due to his freakishly high countertenor voice, and patted the seat next to him so Tiff would know where she was supposed to sit. She looked heavenward, sighed and sat down.
"What was Joyce alarmed at?" asked Tiff again. The rest of the choir was pouring into the loft.
"I think she's a little scared that Hayden has been asked to compose our service music for Lent," said Martha.
"Oh, no!" said Sheila DeMoss. "Who asked him?" She took a seat next to Tiff.
"Mother P asked him," said Elaine Hixon. "I was there. I heard it."
"Didn't anyone tell her?" asked Steve DeMoss, Sheila's husband, and a bass.
"Hey!" I said. "I think I'm offended."
Mark Wells ticked off a list on his fingers. " The Mouldy Cheese Madrigal, We Three Queens, the Pirate Eucharist ..."
" The Weasel Cantata ," added Bert Coley with a laugh. " Crown Him You Many Clowns, The Banjo Kyrie ... " Bert had been another of the ASU music students who had stuck around after graduation. He was currently a police officer in Boone.
"Don't forget Elisha and the Two Bears , the unknown Purcell masterpiece," said Bob Solomon. "My personal favorite."
Rhiza Walker chimed in. " We All like Sheep , the alternate aria from Handel's Messiah , found at the bottom of a chamberpot." She'd just come in and had skipped the imposition of ashes, judging from her clear complexion. Rhiza was a friend from way back. It was she and Pete who were responsible for my coming to St. Germaine as police chief. Rhiza was a soprano and a darn good one. She sat down next to Muffy LeMieux, joining Meg, Elaine, Georgia, and Bev. The only empty seat in the soprano section was Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle's.
"I don't know that one," said Martha. "Is it good?"
"No, it's baaaad," said Rhiza. "A lot of cadenzas on the word 'baa.' He wrote it for me specially, many years ago."
"How about that hymn you wrote for Brother Hog's Service of Re-Virgination?" said Meg. "Only you could rhyme 'liturging' with 're-virging.'"
I sighed.
" The Living Gobbler !" said Marjorie.
"Okay, okay, I get it," I said. "But I've also written a few nice things."
The choir loft was full. We had a good deal of room, but twenty-some-odd folks filled it up.
Joining Burt and Marjorie in the tenor section was Randy
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