The bells above the church began their Sunday ringing, cheerful boning that shook the rafters. They seemed to be calling to the world ‘Come! Come! Come Celebrate with us! Come! Come!’ These bells rang for different occasions, weddings, christenings, confirmations and even funerals. Every ceremony it rings a different tune. Every Sunday since the church was built in 1881, right at nine o’clock rain or shine. The bell ringers have been in the same family since then also. The Haas family has grown since 1881, but what family hasn’t? Traditionally the youngest of the family rang the bell on the first Sunday of every month and so Yvette was ringing the bells as hard as she could. Ringing the bells was hard for her because she had a problem; she couldn’t use her legs like a normal person could. But she did it all the same, legs or no legs. Sometimes if the bells were too much of a strain, her brother took over for her, but lately his help hasn’t been needed.
Yvette rang the bells, enjoying every moment of ringing her bells. She called in every person living nearby to celebrate the good news. The morning sun crept through the rafters, glinting off of the bells, so lovingly polished, and casting off reflections, of every color to the grounds below. The children down below danced in the reflections, dancing in the colors, changing from pink to blue and back again.
Last minute alter servers ran to the back room, throwing on their robes, finding rosaries, lighting candles. The Father of the church looked on, watching the alter servers, reminiscing when he once was an alter server. That was ever so long ago. Grey hairs had replaced his once red locks; wrinkles had blended in with laugh lines, making him look like anyone’s grandpa, although he couldn’t be one himself. He turned away from the back room and headed down the hallway towards the front of the church. He paused besides the window. Outside the petals were falling from the trees, floating on the wind. The old Father closed his eyes and sway besides the trees, a wedding was taking place. The old Father was younger then; his red hair had only started to slip off the back and had only just started to change to grey. In front of him stood a man, a look a like, red hair and the laugh lines. Besides him stood a pretty little gal, dressed in a blue dress, holding bouquet of red roses, which matched her blushing cheeks. Her blue eyes held only one thing, her husband to be standing besides her. The Father said, “You may kiss the bride.” She threw her bouquet in the air as her husband took her….
The old Father, back in the present, opened his eyes. A single tear had escaped from his eye; it traveled down his weathered cheek, to be caught in his hand. He brushed away any other lingering tears and continued down the hallway. The chorus had led the church into song already, it was time. Father walked down the rest of the hallway to the door. He paused then threw the double doors open. The whole church was standing, singing out their hearts so all the angles that were listening, the boy on the piano doing a brilliant job at keeping up. The bells were still ringing; echoing for the Haas family was in the church, entering through the door besides the new alter. The father drew a photo out of his pocket and walked down the rest of the aisle. He reached the alter just as the chorus had stopped their singing. He looked at everyone in the church, form the newborn to the eldest, to the nuns, to the boy scouts to the next generation sitting in the front row.
He held up the photo so everyone could see and said “Last year a very terrible thing happened.” He brushed away a threatening tear, “My brother, my twin brother had died while rescuing little Millie here as well as his wife. He passed Millie out through a window during the fire last year, and then turned around to find his wife. They were found in the middle of the wreckage, they had died from smoke inhalation. They have met the lord before us. We have prayed for them for so long. This alter,” he gestured behind him, “was rebuilt in their honor. Let us pray that they will for ever rest in peace.
“Amen” the church chorused a single word wish so much meaning and thoughtfulness, no hesitation on anyone’s part. That single word with so much meaning echoed through the bells, up through the trees, traveling the wind, over the mountains, floating into heaven, reaching a couple in the clouds, she with a blue dress, he with red hair fading into grey.
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