Page 54 of Rebel Moon

We arrived in front of the church and got out of the wagons to go inside where it was deliciously warm and smelled like pine and freshly brewed coffee. Two big Christmas trees flanked the altar, lit up. Greenery decorated every pew and another wreath the size of a wagon wheel hung over the front. The town packed in behind us, filling the pews, standing along the walls, kids up front on the floor. I had the distinct feeling Jasper Moon had planned this all along. Good on him, looking after his town.

Pastor Robbins and his wife introduced themselves to us as they handed out little candles. The battery kind, on account of a wood church full of people. When the townsfolk held them up it didn’t matter one bit that they were fake. A church filled with light of any kind is magical. Especially at Christmas.

The church had a piano, which Beck immediately headed toward. Someone brought stools out for Ivy and Jack, but I stayed standing with my guitar around my neck. Grant was behind us with his tambourine.

“What do we open with?” Jack asked Ivy.

“The First Noel,” Ivy said.

I looked out at that room, filled with people who worked hard for their living every day, enjoying a much deserved respite from real life. Kids on the floor were all gazing up at us, candlelight reflected in their excited eyes. This old grouchy guitarist felt his heart turning soft and warm. If this wasn’t the meaning of Christmas, I sure couldn’t tell you what was.

Madeleine sat in the second pew next to Blake, who had her phone up, recording the event. Blake must be doing mental cartwheels. Talk about documentary gold. I held Madeleine’s gaze for a moment, her face lit by the candle she held in both hands. She smiled at me and for a second or two I forgot where we were. She had a red knit hat pulled over her long brown hair and her cheeks were rosy from the cold. Her eyes went all soft when she gazed back at me, rousing the dormant butterflies in my stomach. Didn’t know it was possible but I guess I’m not immune to romance after all. Whatever was happening between us, I didn’t want it to end when this was all over and we returned to real life. I had no idea if that’s how she felt but, for once in my life, I wasn’t going to run from my feelings. I was ready to face them head on and risk a broken heart if she wanted to end things when we got home. I could almost hear Gramps’ voice in my ear, whispering encouragement. Don’t let her get away from you, kid. Kiss her under that full moon.

We played Christmas songs for an hour, with the whole church singing along. At the end of, “Blue Christmas,” someone shouted out, asking for Ivy and Jack to sing their hit, “Finally Home.”

Of course they had to oblige. I strummed the opening chord to get us started. Jack and Ivy’s voices blending together gave me goosebumps for the second time that night. The congregation had gone still and quiet, listening intently. Some had their eyes closed, gently swaying.

We’d played a lot of stadiums in the ten years since our first hit. We’d even been invited to the White House. But nothing was as sweet as this moment, singing for folks who desperately needed music in their lives. This is what I’d hoped for from the first time Gramps had set Carmen in my lap. Music was a common language, something that united people, soothed their troubles, reminded them of what and who they loved. And tonight, that’s exactly what we were doing. No merch in sight. No light show. Just us and the music and people who gave up whatever they’d been doing to come hear us.

There would never be a better concert. I felt quite sure of it.

I said a silent prayer of thanks, humbled and awed, to be in the lord’s house playing for his people.

14

KNOX

December 17

Stargazing at Crescent Moon Ranch

Clear Skies

Supper: Caspian’s Famous Lasagna · Caesar Salad with Garlic Croutons

The cocktail making lesson night came and went, with Elliot teaching us how to make something with bourbon and orange peel. I sat in the corner nursing a drink and watched Madeleine and Ivy working together to make one. I could see from my vantage point that they put twice the bourbon in than was needed. Madeleine took a sip, made a terrible face, and then started coughing. Ivy laughed so hard she nearly fell over.

Stargazing was on the calendar for the next night but Finley had said it would be contingent on the sky being clear. Again, because apparently nature didn’t want to cross Finley, the night was the clearest one we’d had since we’d arrived.

I’d figured it’d be ten minutes of squinting up at the sky going yep, that’s a star, and then everyone would get cold and hurry inside for cocoa or cocktails. However, the Moons had brought in a fella from the observatory over near Bozeman, and he meant business. He was a lean, bright-eyed man named Dr. Williams who had devoted himself to the stars the way the boys and I had chosen music as our obsession of choice. They’d set up out in the far meadow, away from every light on the property, with a couple of big telescopes on tripods. I’m not sure how, but they’d packed the snow and put hay bales out, covered in quilts, along with a whole mess of blankets and propane heaters glowing orange in the dark.

Montana sure earned the right to its nickname, Big Sky Country. It was clear as glass and packed with tens of thousands of stars like somebody’d spilled a bag of tiny diamonds across purple velvet.

“Well, hello sky,” I said, tipping my head back.

“Isn’t she something?” Dr. Williams asked, clearly pleased by my reaction.

Everybody had found a place to watch. Jack and Ivy were sharing a hay bale with her on his lap, a thick blanket covering them. Luci was at a telescope peppering the doctor with questions, with Grant quietly watching her, sipping a beer. Rhett and Holly were wrapped together in one blanket, sharing something from a thermos. Beck was flat on his back on a hay bale just looking up at the sky. Blake lay only inches apart from him doing the same thing, without her phone for once. Nick lurked somewhere filming, but the guy was like a vampire, quietly invisible. Ivy’s brothers had arrived that afternoon and were standing in a family knot with their parents, loud and delighted.

Madeleine and I, like we did lately, had somehow found ourselves together on a hay bale under a shared blanket, her hand in mine.

Dr. Williams gave a tour across the sky like a man showing us around his hometown. “That bright one there, low and steady, that’s Jupiter. Get on the telescope and you’ll see her moons, four little points in a row, the same four Galileo saw and got himself in trouble over.” He swung a green laser up—an actual beam of light that seemed to touch the stars themselves—and traced out Orion coming up over the eastern peaks. “Do you see the three stars of his belt, and the fuzzy patch hanging off it? That’s not a star. That’s a nursery. Stars are being born, right now, fifteen hundred light-years off. The light hitting your eye tonight left there about the time the Roman Empire was falling apart.”

“Extraordinary,” Beck said.

“Truly,” Blake murmured.

Dr. Williams showed us Pleiades, the little smudge folks called the Seven Sisters, telling us to look at it sideways instead of straight on. “Some things you can only see if you don’t look right at them.”