A/N: This chapter comes with a SEA of disclaimers...
Disclaimer: I do not own "The Prayer." I do not own Josh Groban. I do not own "America The Beautiful." I do not own the US Marine Orchestra. Ugh. I just don't own anything. And I obviously still don't own POTO.
TY!: Fanny Bennet, blue-glowlights, LePianiste, PhantomPhan63, Barbossa'sApples (lol I LOVE your name), BlueDaisy23, bespectacledcuber, and The English Phantom for your reviews on the last chapter! Remember: I currently do not have any more chapters written so if you're reading this story and haven't reviewed you owe a BIG thank you to these folks for egging me on this week!
A/N pt 2: I sculpted a lot of this funeral service after former President Bush Senior's funeral this past year. I started out by putting a makeshift program into the chapter itself then cut it. If you want to read what I scrapped I'm including it at the end of the end of the chapter. This chapter was hard for me to write because I wanted to write something that I think truly reflects the people of my country and the people in it. We've been dealing with a lot of inward fighting over a lot of back-and-forth issues, but time and time again, I never cease to be amazed by the level of decent humanity that shines through if you can look at the day-to-day lives we live. I say this from first-hand experience as my city was hit dead-on by a hurricane this year. Even when food, gas and water were scarce and the city was surrounded by water to a point where we couldn't get supplies in for weeks, there were people sharing their food with strangers, syphoning their gas to give to the elderly who needed their generators to keep working, and everyone took to the streets to help remove trees and free up power lines for the work crews. I guess sometimes you just don't know what kind of community you have until you get through something like that together.
Oooooookay. I'm done. Much love. Hope you like the chapter.
Chapter Thirty-Three
In times of great emotional turmoil, Christine recalled a lump forming in her throat. It was almost as if the feeling were its own being that was cruelly living off of her body. It sat just below her jaw and threatened her windpipe and she feared that if it were to move any higher she would pass out or worse… have it move just behind her eyes and force out her emotion in the form of tears. This was the feeling that refused to leave for months after her father passed. It was raw and she experienced more than a few colds that year as the lump seemed to scrape its way through the protective lining in her throat. Oddly enough, after her engagement to Underwood, she had not felt it since Raoul's funeral. Even after Walker was assassinated she had not felt it. There was too much shock to be able to feel more than what was in the present. But on this day, the day of his funeral, she felt the parasite in her throat once again and it threatened to destroy her in front of the entire world.
Christine had pled with Meg not to put on any makeup. She didn't care that there were bags under her eyes and that her cheeks were hollowed. She didn't care that her natural eyelashes were light like her hair and wouldn't be seen under the lighting of the church. What she did care about was the streaking that was sure to happen even if one tear fell. Christine was determined to not fall apart and look weak in front of the world or in front of Erik. No. That couldn't happen. Everyone was depending on her. Despite this, Meg convinced her that the makeup that was being put on could not be removed with a special soap and that the mascara was semi-permanent and would stay on for at least three days without issue. Christine sat staring into the small mirror of the make-shift dressing room set up for her at the Washington Church Of Christ.
The building itself was not large, however, to combat this issue the courtyard had monitors set up so that people could watch from not only the property but the streets that had been closed down. The viewing was the day before at the Capitol Building and seemed like it would go on forever. Christine had stood beside Erik off to the corner and opposite of the family. For some reason, Erik's inner monologue of judgement on people who passed by became an outer one that was just loud enough for Christine to hear if she focused on what he was saying. The onslaught of outright mean words about all the people that were there save-face became a welcome distraction and Christine soon found herself squinting to see who he was talking about and why. She didn't realize it at the time, but without that distraction, she worried that the lump would have become unbearable and she would have passed out. On later thought, Christine concluded that for Erik to do something as taxing as to speak aloud for hours just so that she could focus on something besides the dead body was out of kindness…even if what he had to say was less than kind. However, that would not be the case at the funeral. There would be too many people around and at some point, he would be giving a eulogy and she would be singing.
The lump in her throat grew to a point that Christine bent over the table and put her throat in her hand. Meg, who had walked out of the room only a few minutes prior to find room-temperature water for Christine, came back in the room to find Christine gasping into her hand. Meg was kneeling beside her friend in an instant with her hand on Christine's back.
"Hon, you've got to breathe," she said both assuredly but with a note of command, "C'mon, Christine, inhale, c'mon inhale with me."
Christine squinted and felt her eyes water a little. Air wouldn't seem to enter past the lump and she began to clutch her throat and gasp.
"You can do it," Meg continued, "You've just got to let yourself breathe or you're going to pass out. Come on, hon, you can do this."
"M-Meg, I-" Christine wheezed and tried to inhale, but nothing was happening.
"I know, I know, you don't have to say it, hon, just push past it. Do you feel my hand on your back? Just focus on breathing into my hand, okay? Just focus on that."
"I can't…I can't…"
"Yes, you can."
"Meg," Christine began but couldn't seem to continue.
There were light taps on the door and through watery eyes Christine looked into the mirror to see Doug peeking in through the crack in the door. When he made eye contact with her, he seemed to register her look of panic then looked to Meg for further direction and asked quietly, "Should I get Erik?"
"No! No, he can't…he can't see me like…like this…" Christine choked out. "Please go away!"
Christine did not see Doug look back at Meg and as their eyes connected Meg nodded heavily. Doug was gone in a moment and the door was closed.
"He can't see me like this!" Christine told her friend, "I can't, Meg!"
"Christine, he might be able to help," Meg said evenly.
"I told him I would do this. I told everyone I would do this. He doesn't need to…I d-don't want him to…"
Meg rubbed Christine's back lightly and hushed her a little, "He wouldn't want you like this."
"You don't know. I-I told him I would…"
Christine's breath began to catch again and she grabbed her throat at the feeling of it closing on her. Her eyes went wide and she gasped at air that wouldn't seem to enter. The lights became too bright and the feeling of Meg's hand on her back felt fainter and fainter until seemed to be gone altogether. The feeling of loneliness was closing in like a cold wet blanket all around her and the lights became so bright they began to fuse together. Somewhere, far away, the sound of the door opening and closing was there. Meg's voice, high with a small note of fear was above her.
She's having a panic attack.
Christine.
That voice. That unmistakable voice that she heard far far away. There was a moment where the light threatened to take her into unconsciousness, but she was pulled away roughly from it and onto her feet. Two strong arms held her body tightly against a relentless force. She could not feel her feet or legs and thought she couldn't possibly be standing if she couldn't feel her lower body. There was a pressure on her chest as the force expanded against her and threatened to pop the lump in her throat. An arm stayed around the small of her back while the other ran up and a large thin hand cupped the back of her skull. Another pressure fell to the top of her head and from it she heard the voice again.
"It's alright, Christine. It's alright."
That was enough to finally make the lump move and with it move her fingers grasped at the folds of a suit jacket as if she were about to fall from a cliff. She felt her eyes shut painfully tight and when she gasped and air finally entered her lungs the feeling was so strong that she sobbed loudly into the nook between his shoulder and neck.
"I'm s-sorry!" she cried out. "You shouldn't - I shouldn't - Erik, I'm so s-sorry!"
Rather than answer, she heard him shush her quietly and the pressure of his head became a little heavier on top of hers.
"I'm trying," she continued but was met with his cut off.
"I know. And you're doing so well, Christine."
"No, I'm not. I'm a mess. Anyone would be better at this than me."
"Ah, then you're calling me a fool, are you?"
Christine stopped crying in confused, "What?"
"I'd never create an expectation for you that you couldn't handle. I'm your teacher after all and I'd appreciate it greatly if you did not call me a fool on today of all days. "
She shivered a little in his arms and began to thoughtlessly run her fingers over the folds of his jacket, "I'm not…Erik I wouldn't I just…how am I supposed to sing like this?"
"You're not going to sing like this, dearest," he said deeply as if whispering a matter-of-fact, "You're going to remember all your training - with an emphasis on the lessons on posture and breath support - and you will marvel the world today."
Christine pulled away from him to look at his face through the last of her tears. Their eyes locked and she tried to search for any hint of lie or lack of belief in her. But she found none. His mismatched eyes gave nothing to her but a sense of admiration and pride. Finally, she sighed, "Why do you believe in me? Why? When I'm like this and we're probably going to be late now…."
"We won't be late," Erik said reassuringly, "And I believe in you because you've overcome more and risen from the ashes. Strength is found, not chosen and you have found enough to last you more than one life already. You agreed to this and if you tell me now that you are not capable I'm sure Groban will do fine enough without you. Do you want to abstain from singing? I am not forcing you. It's always been your choice."
"I…" Christine started slowly and found herself looking down from his eyes. There was a wet spot on his jacket from where she had been crying, "Oh no! Look what I've done now!"
Springing to life, she made a move to go back to the table where there was a box of tissues. Meg's voice stopped her, "I have a hair dryer in my bag. Don't worry about it, chica."
Christine stopped moving and turned to her friend who she forgot was there, but something stopped her from leaving Erik. The feel of his arm still around the small of her back felt…nice.
"Meg, I'm sorry to put you through this."
"Will you stop apologizing to us already?" Meg took a step closer to the mirror, "And can you just look at my makeup job? All that and you could never tell. I'll just pull the spoons out of my frozen lunch box for your puffy eyes and no one will ever know."
Christine smiled, despite herself and covered her face with one of her hands, "I don't deserve you."
"Well," Meg sighed dramatically and smirked, "We don't always get what we deserve. Isn't that right Mr President?"
Erik smirked back, "In both senses, yes." His unmasked features softened a bit when he looked back at Christine, "What do you want to do, Christine?"
Her sigh was heavy and long but when she did finally answer she was met with a look of pride from her husband-to-be and two frozen spoons from Meg.
There had been a rehearsal for the funeral so that everyone presenting could be matched with cameras for the live broadcast. Christine knew who when she would need to cross to the altar to sing, when she would stand next to Underwood, and when she would stand alone. To her surprise and delight, Josh Groban seemed just as humbled to be singing with her as she with him and they have a strange moment of embarrassed respect when they first met at the ageing piano. Next was the formal sound check where she had been able to stare straight forward long enough to get through the song. She was no performer like him and he took to mirroring her. The full-front effect from them both seemed tense, but out to be rather powerful. When her vision cleared again she found those who had been running around arranging flowers, polishing wood, and prepping seats to have stopped to take a moment for themselves to hear the duo. Groban crossed to Christine to take her hand and thank her. She returned the gratitude.
That was some hours prior. This time would be for real. Rather than have the eyes of those in service to the funeral fanfare itself, she would be stared upon by the eyes of much crueller critics. At present, Christine sat inside one of the armored cars with Underwood. Despite them having already been at the church that day it would appear more proper for them to ride up to the front, part the crowd, and be seen by onlookers in the front as well as on camera. Everyone else in and around the church would already be there. The would be the second-to-last to arrive with the family being the last to be seated. The motorcade turned onto Thirteenth Street and the crowds were already assembled. Christine was too far in thought to look at the stone-cold faces in the late summer heat and took to keeping her eyes in her lap. One of her hands was in between them and being held comfortably by Erik's.
When it came time for them to exit, the sun seemed too bright outside and Christine made a move to quickly put her sunglasses on. It would be better to have a layer of protection. Before she completed the action, Erik put his hand out.
"They are in mourning too," he said quietly.
With a hard look of understanding, she let go of the sunglasses and let him assist her out of the car. Without much thought, she placed her hand in the crook of his arm and took a moment to be sure that she had a good footing before taking a step forward. Her shoes were surprisingly comfortable and she was grateful for any excuse to wear flats. Erik was the one to demand that her footwear would support good posture for the event.
There were faces all around of all ages and race, all of them in different shades of black just like her. Despite there being thousands of people surrounding the church from all different sides, there was a murmured silence. Only the shuffling of balance from one foot to another, the occasional whisper from adult to child or the clearing of a throat could be heard. Christine looked to Erik to stared stone-cold at their destination of the church doors that were wide open for their arrival. Her eyes then drifted to the churchyard they walked through and finally rested on a young teen with short bushy hair. The two made eye contact and the teen smiled a little with a gleam of hope in her eyes. With saddened eyes, Christine couldn't help but smile back. The teen blushed and smiled wider. Christine looked away. She wondered how anyone could smile at a funeral.
The two climbed the stairs to the inside of the church. Christine had made it that far without looking up to the monitors outside where the live camera feed has surely been on them. The church was filled shoulder-to-shoulder with stale cold faces that she recognized from different stages of her life. She kept her eyes down and her grip tight on Erik. The President continued his even pace until they stood beside one another on the center aisle end of an already filled pew of four former Presidents and their wives.
The lump began to form again in her throat. She didn't feel worthy to be there. All of those on the pew aged with work and knowledge and experience in running a country and doing their part. What was she? A singer? A woman under thirty with no personal political experience outside of following orders? What did she offer this pew? What did she offer anyone in this room, most importantly the Walkers? Such thoughts began to fill her mind and without thinking her hand raised to her throat to try and coax air into it.
Not here. Not here. Not again. She begged herself.
Underwood looked over, took her hand from her neck and lowered between them.
"Erik, I-" she whispered but couldn't seem to finish.
He kept his eyes forward and leaned close enough so that only she could hear him, "If you don't sing I'll be forced to sing for you and I'm not sure if the world is prepared for my falsetto to upstage Mr Groban."
Christine laughed despite herself.
"You've never heard my falsetto, have you?" he continued as the Walker family began to walk in, "I daresay it is not as finely-tuned as yours."
At the rare musical complement, Christine looked up at her teacher. From the angle, she couldn't see his mask and she revelled in how much expression he expressed from his eye alone as he looked down at her encouragingly. The lines at the edge of his eyes showed when he offered her the wink of what she had understood to be a sideways smile. Her breathing started to return and while still there, the lump became more manageable. For a second, her eyes shot down the pew to look at the Former First Ladies. All of them seemed lost in their own thoughts. Erik's voice brought her back to him.
"You belong here," he said, "just as much as them. And today you will astound them all, Christine."
The young soon-to-be First Lady took a humbling breath and squeezed the President's hand. The United State's Marine Orchestra shook the walls of the church and the ceremony began.
Christine Gallagher stood before a church that was filled to the brim with faces of little distinction beneath the bright lights that had been carted in for the sake of the small stream of cameras that flowed in and out of the aisles. While the effects of age had been kind to her fair features, there was a sort of age behind her blue eyes when she looked out over the crowd. For a moment, the young woman who had not yet reached thirty looked out as if searching for something. Her stare was so intense that others in the pews began to look to one another for answers. Her counterpart for the duet went to her and placed a light hand on her arm. She looked to him, startled, then looked back out into the crowd, a faint look of fear in her face. Then, it seemed that she found what she was looking for when her eyes found her intended two rows from the front. Erik Underwood peered up to her with equal intensity. No one seemed to breathe and the entire church was silenced.
Without apparent provocation, Christine looked away from the President and instead, looked to her counterpart. She nodded in response to his look of concern, but rather than say any more, she looked to the conductor of the Orchestra and nodded. The man in military blues cleared his throat and raised his arms to signal attention from the players. At the gentle drop of his hands The Prayer had begun, but only a few measures in, the opening notes seemed to continue to hold longer than they were meant to. Single notes meant to act as a cue turned into a slow ongoing tone of their own. The conductor, who demanded nothing less than perfection with his orchestra, looked up through thinly-slit eyes to the young woman through to wait for her to continue the song, but her microphone wasn't even raised. The players started to look from one to the other while their eyes kept darting back to their conductor for instruction. Not knowing what else to do, the conductor lightly brought their fingers together to signal a rest from the instrumentalists. All were looking up at Ms Gallagher. All were waiting.
Christine appeared to be in a place far away from there. Her eyes were lost and foggy and her figure swayed every so slightly from side to side. Without known provocation, she sighed and looked towards the floor. She visibly inhaled and slowly exhaled. She was the only one to do so at that moment out of millions of onlookers near and far. When Christine looked up again. There was something new behind her eyes. She sheepishly smiled and wiped a tear that had started to run down her cheek. With the other hand, she gripped the microphone more assuredly and looked back to the conductor. This time, she nodded first. The song began and she did not miss her mark.
I pray you'll be our eyes…
And watch us where we go
And help us to be wise
In times when we don't know
Let this be our prayer
As we go our way
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your Grace
To a place where we'll be safe
La luce che to dai
I pray we'll find your light
Nel cuore restero
And hold it in our hearts
A ricordarchi che
When stars go out each night
L'eterna stella sei
Nella mia preghiera
Let this be our prayer
Quanta fede see'e
When shadows fill our day
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe.
Sognamo un mondo senza piu violenza
Un mondo di giustizia e di speranza
Ognuno dia la mano al suo vicino
Simbolo di pace e di fraternita
La forza che ci dai
We ask that life be kind
E'il desiderio che
And watch us from above
Ognuno trovi amore
We hope each soul will find
Intorno e dentro a se
Another soul to love
Let this be our prayer
Let this be our prayer
Just like every child
Just like every child
Needs to find a place,
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe
E la fede che
Hai acceso in noi
Sento che di salvera.
...
Silence.
Heat.
Lights.
An ongoing buzz from the electrical workings.
A cough from the crowd.
A gasp.
A sob.
Shaking breaths.
Hands being brought together.
More hands.
Clapping.
Cheering.
Crying.
The crowd was standing and the sound of the applause seemed to threaten the stone walls of the building. It was not only inside that shook. It was all around the city. Thousands and thousands of pairs of hands were brought together over and over again. The only thing that seemed to stop the hands from joining were the tears being wiped from the eyes of young and old, rich and poor, native and immigrant, black, white, brown and every race in between. All of them stood together but in many places. All of them Americans putting aside their differences to mourn a fallen leader of their land.
Christine Gallagher stood before them all with every eye and camera trained to her face. Tears that shined in the lights blurred her eyes and she didn't seem to register the sound of the commotion around her. Instead, her hand shook as she tried to place the microphone back in its stand. The reaction was so strong that Groban crossed to carefully take the amplification instrument from her and place it in its holder for her. He said something to her out of care, but she did not seem to hear him. Instead, she took to making her way to the far side of the altar where the steps to the aisle were. Robotically, she reached for the wall on her way down for support. Groban stood inches from her with arms out to support her. People were saying her name all around her, but she was still deaf to them as she made her way past the orchestra. At first, she seemed to be heading towards Underwood, but her head finally tilted up just as she was at the center of the church.
The widow Margot Walker had gracefully made her way to meet the young woman in the center aisle. When Christine looked up, she reached to the former First Lady and the two of them held each other's hands tightly between them. Their eyes held on another's until Christine all but collapsed into the woman's embrace. For the first time that day a camera clicked and captured the presence of a tear as it gracefully ran down Mrs Walker's cheek. The two of them spoke a few words, none of which were coherent to the cameras, but it didn't seem to matter. People would fill in what they needed to hear in order to continue and they would continue. The next day the sun would rise and fall just as it always had and life would continue for all that was left to remember the former President Walker.
Christine wouldn't remember the details of that day. Later, when asked what it was like to sing at such a commencement, she would state that she didn't remember and that was true. She said that it was as if she had phased out of herself and let the music rule her. There was nothing more. She only woke up when the music had stopped and she was left with the ache of it having left her.
Eventually, the service ended. The family of Richard Walker, as they were the last to enter, they were the first to leave. Erik Underwood and Christine were the next to make their way down the aisle and out of the church. More than when they entered, Underwood appeared to be supporting his fiances' weight with his arm. Her balance was off and her hands gripped at his sleeve. When they were out of the double doors and into the courtyard, it was easy to see just how many people were lined up on the streets. Through tired eyes, the woman looked out at them and heard nothing. There was an unexplained silence that had fallen over the crowd and the sound of their footsteps almost seemed to echo off of the still bodies around them. Christine looked to a place in the crowd and seemed to faintly recognize someone. A quiet young voice timidly broke through the silence.
Oh beautiful for spacious skies
For amber waves of grain
Both Gallagher and President Underwood stopped for a moment to catch the eyes of a young teen with brunette hair. More voices around the girl joined her.
For purple mountain majesties
The half of the courtyard started to hear the words and more joined in.
Above the fruited plain
And then, just as if they were the choir, the rest of the church's courtyard joined the anthem and those from the nearby streets did as well. The sound of unison voices rose and hands covered broken hearts as if their singing could hold them together.
America, America
God shed his grace on thee
The leader and his companion took a moment to let their eyes scan the people who held them up and as the song continued the cameras caught the two of them mouthing the words along with the rest of the crowd.
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.
It was then that security urged the two to continue to their armored car. The singing continued as Erik climbed in after his fiance. The motorcade took off towards Pennsylvania Avenue and away from the cameras. Very few words were spoken over the short car ride. There wasn't so much to be said. Erik sat next to his betrothed rather than leaving a seat between them. He had something for her, something that he knew and wanted no one else to share. Keeping a hand of hers in one of his own, he leaned in towards her ear and whispered all that he knew she needed.
"I believe you made your father very proud today."
The woman winced and squeezed the man's hand, "I wish I could have sung like this for him before he died. That's all I ever wanted."
"You've always done your best. Isn't that what he wanted for you?"
Christine looked at Erik for a long time before her tears began to fall. Without any more words, her arms stretched around his neck and he held her as close to him as he could for the rest of the ride. Times where she was in his arms never seemed long enough. All too suddenly, time seemed to pass by faster and faster and one of the bravest men in the country soon found himself very afraid of ever having to face life without her.
(this is the program I created...it's not finished and I'm only including it because I put a lot of time into building it and to look up music only to not use it. mehhhh Obvi I don't own ANY of this either! -tyf)
Prelude
Debussy's Clare De Lune … Dr. Karol William on Organ & United State's Marine Orchestra
Puccini's Nessum Dorma … The Armed Forces Chorus
Excerpt from Elgar's Nimrod … United State's Marine Orchestra
Vivaldi's The Four Seasons … United State's Marine Orchestra
Hynm to the Fallen & America The Beautiful …. Armed Forces Chorus & United State's Marine Orchestra
Musical Honors
"Four Ruffles and Flourishes," "Hail to the Chief," and "For All The Saints" … The United States Coast Guard Band
Gallagher seemed to sway, her focus lost after that.
The Reception Of The Body
Intriot
The Anthems in Procession
Hymn
Christine didn't appear to sing, but it was clear she was listening and to none other than Underwood. She wasn't the only one. There seemed to be a quiet bubble around them as others stopped their own voices to listen to Underwoods fully trained tone.
The Collect For Burial
The First Reading
Walker's two children stood side by side to read each of the two Bible verses.
Tribute
Phillip Tusk stood before the masses. He said no more or less than what was expected. The world would not seem him for some time after that.
Anthem
The Second Reading
Walker's brother read scriptures from Revelation.
Tribute
Erik took his place. People came to attention.
Anthem - HER
Tribute
Anthem
"Oh God, our help in ages past," the Armed Forces Chorus & United States Marine Orchestra
DONE
I would...really LOVE to know your thoughts on this chapter. #reviewplzthx
