I kept telling myself not to look for him. I kept my eyes trained on the podium where Lawrence Mangelson was just beginning his opening narration. When it came time for me to play, I was more nervous than I’d ever been. I didn’t think my legs would hold me as I carefully walked up the trio of stairs to the piano. I slid across the smooth surface of the bench, straightened my back, and slipped my pumps off to the side. I had to look. I just couldn’t help myself. I let my eyes slide to where Don and Nettie usually sat for service. Samuel was with them, sitting to the right of Nettie, close to the end of the pew. I looked away before my eyes had time to register details. He was here.

With a deep exhale I dug into my piece, allowing my trained hands to take over. It was like watching myself from a few feet away. I didn’t make any mistakes and, as usual, before I’d gotten too far into the piece, the music reached out and pulled me in, so that by the finishing notes, the me that observed and the me that played became one again.

When the evening was over and the last choir notes sung, the congregation gathered around, commending each other on the beautiful service, talking about kids, cows, and who was doing what. I stood next to my family, waiting, with my back towards the direction Samuel had been sitting. I knew eventually Nettie would make her way to us. After ten minutes or so of making polite small talk and graciously thanking those who came up to compliment my performance, I realized, of course, that she would have no idea that I was waiting on tenterhooks for her to appear with Samuel. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember that she’d promised to say hello. Maybe they had already gone. Cursing myself for standing there like a cow waiting to be milked, I turned to see if maybe they had left the church.

It took me only a minute to spot Nettie and Don standing at the back of the chapel, chatting with Lawrence Mangelson. There was no sign of Samuel. Nettie caught my eye and waved me over to her. I moved towards her, eyes roving swiftly around the room to see if someone had cornered Samuel in conversation. Maybe he had stepped outside.

“Oh Josie! You were wonderful. I just cry every time you play.” Nettie hugged me to her soft self and patted my cheek as she drew away. “Wasn’t she wonderful, Don?”

Don added his less effusive praise as Lawrence Mangelson reiterated what Nettie had said as well. No mention of Samuel. I cleared my throat hesitantly.

“I thought I saw Samuel sitting with you. I’d like to say hello,” I blurted out and then tried to look bored in an effort to camouflage my feelings.

Nettie waved off the question. “He was here, but he slipped out right after the closing prayer. I think he’s plumb tuckered out. He drove a long way today and got in just in time to shower and come with us tonight. The beef stew and biscuits I left on the stove are probably calling to him!”

“Beef stew and biscuits?!” I thought to myself, outraged. He couldn’t even say hello? I looked down at my silky black dress and high heeled shoes and suddenly felt very foolish. I had been passed over for beef stew and biscuits.

Excusing myself with wishes for a Merry Christmas to Don, Nettie, and Lawrence Mangelson, I walked out the wooden double doors and down the steps into the silvery night. My breath made little white puffs in front of me, and I pictured them as desperate smoke signals rising into the sky. Unfortunately, the only Indian warrior who knew anything about smoke signals seemed pretty uninterested in any communication with me.

My brothers and their significant others – Jacob and Jared were married, and Johnny had a steady girl that he was getting pretty serious with – always came over for Christmas Eve dinner, and we exchanged gifts then. Christmas day had gotten pretty lackluster since we’d all grown up and toys and Santa had become a thing of the past. Dad and I would go to Aunt Louise’s for Christmas Dinner tomorrow afternoon.

After eating a half-dozen different appetizers, a huge ham, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls, we sat by the tree and opened gifts. With full bellies and a warm fire, no one seemed to be in a big hurry to be on their way, so we all hung around and talked about nothing in particular. I had yet to take off my black dress and let down my hair. In the back of my mind, I just kept thinking maybe I’d get an opportunity to let Samuel see me up close looking twenty-five, sophisticated, and beautiful. I sat stiffly on the edge of the couch, my only concession to comfort was my kicked off high heels by the door. My brothers seemed confused by my appearance and started teasing me, only to have Rachel shush them up with a wink and a quick reprimand.

“Sometimes it’s so much fun getting dressed up that it’s a hard to take it off at the end of the night.” I smiled gratefully at her, and my brothers shrugged and proceeded to ignore me.

True to Dad’s prediction, fat white snowflakes began to fall as the hour grew later, and with sighs and groans, my brothers bundled up their ladies and headed out. Johnny was spending the night at Sheila’s parent’s home so that they could spend Christmas with her family the next day. Jacob and Rachel had purchased a little home in Nephi the previous year, and Jared and Tonya were in student housing at Brigham Young University in Provo. Everybody was heading north across the ridge and nobody wanted to wait around for more snow to fall.

The ‘ridge’ is a ten mile stretch of old two lane highway between Levan and Nephi. Levanites travel it countless times a week, for countless reasons - back and forth from school and work, to the Thriftway for groceries, or to the library for books to hold them over until the Bookmobile traveled through Levan again. Every sixteen-year-old in Levan drove the ridge many times before they actually turned sixteen. It was a farming community, and that was just the way of things. We drove early, and we drove everything from tractors to beat up old farm trucks. I could drive a mean stick shift when I was ten years old, and do it smoothly enough for my older brothers to keep their feet planted in the truck bed as they threw bales of hay off for the cows. The ridge was straight and narrow and very dark at night. Folks flew across it, lulled into a sense of security simply by the sheer number of times we all made the drive. It was made all the worse by the deer that would come down from the mountains, looking for grazing, and run across the road. The deer were constantly getting hit, or causing accidents as people swerved to avoid them. Of course, a good snowfall made it even more treacherous. Every year someone died on that strip of road between the two little towns.