Author's Note: So, this is a few hours past Sunday, but I hope the update itself makes up for it! Moreover, I will respond to any/all reviews for the last chapter later today (I'm afraid all I could do was give the update, but I will be responding as soon as I can!)
Also! A music clarification: even though Mrs. Bird is in the orchestra pit with all the instrumentalists, she doesn't conduct when any of the choir teachers are conducting. She only conducts when the choir students are left to their own devices, so to speak.
And now, the songs you'll be hearing today:
"42nd Street" / 42nd Street / ""The St. John's Boys' Choir - 42nd Street"
"Hushabye Mountain" / Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang! / "Hushabye Mountain - The Yale Alley Cats"
"Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You? / The Music Man / " "Main Street - Lida Rose/Will I Ever Tell You?" (feat. The Treblemakers) (2015) "
"It's You" / The Music Man / I couldn't find the version I based this off of, the one with the opening lyrics we will be hearing today. The closest version is this: "It's You (for Women's Voices), arr. By Robert Rund"
"As We Stumble Along (Reprise)" / The Drowsy Chaperone / "Pittsburgh Playhouse's Drowsy Chaperone: As We Stumble Along (Finale)"
"This is the Moment" / Jekyll and Hyde / "Masters of Harmony- This is the Moment"
Now, who's ready to have some fun?
_._
Friday, the 8th of May, 2020
8:36 p.m.
Wisps of soft myrtle were caught in her hands, the sensation exhilarating. But she knew better than to play with the curtain's edge forever. They were minutes away from the end of Intermission. Moments away from getting to have some real fun.
Turning back to the risers hidden by the stage curtains, Rose MacClare couldn't keep from grinning at the sight. She was the only in a tux, having managed to convince both Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes to let her get away with it. The rest of the Concert Choir was smartly dressed as though they were straight out of the 1930s –– something she thought was amazing to see.
But what was more amazing was that she still had this solo.
After the whole video incident, Mrs. Hughes had given her a stern talking to about posting anything on the Internet without permission. It had scared Rose into thinking that this was the biggest mistake she'd ever made as a singer–– doubtlessly going to cost her the respect of the woman and who knew what else. She hadn't realized it was such a big deal but that only became more and more apparent.
Eventually, they'd reached an understanding. Had a frank discussion. She'd been given a chance to explain her reasoning and admit that she didn't realize the impacts of her actions. Mrs. Hughes wasn't entirely pleased with the outcome, but the choir teacher did understand that the trouble that came out of this wasn't intentional.
So, now there were stricter agreements when it came to running the social media pages among other things.
All she could think was that she was never making that mistake again.
Through the curtains she could see the house lights flicker, signaling that they were thirty second away from starting. The audience quieted down immediately, knowing the drill by this point. She herself only had seconds to take hold of her cane and wait for her signal to break through the curtains and start her solo.
With a resolved nod and a playful gleam in her eyes, Rose played the waiting game.
And when it was time, she confidently began.
Wind instruments grandly swung through the air as she commanded everyone's attention. The blinding spotlight was right on her, the heat of the limelight reminding her that this was for real. In the distance, she envisioned the rumbling of New York's subway trains and the taxis that careened through all the islands of the city. The onslaught of urban life digging into every crack on the pavement, the chatter seeping into every crevice. That old-fashioned grime cities never got rid of, the endless crowds filled with a pride she couldn't even begin to imagine.
It was divine.
"In the heart of little old New York,
You'll find a thorough-fare."
It was as easy as taking a selfie, years of singing along and dancing to this song making tonight child's play. She kept all the energy into singing and her facial expressions for now, lazily leaning on the cane as though she wasn't a few measures away from breaking out into a dance.
"It's the part of little old New York
That runs into Times Square."
One day, she would be right there. She probably wouldn't be able to keep from singing, being in the heart of Manhattan, but it didn't matter. All that did was knowing that she would get there one day.
"A crazy quilt that 'Wall Street Jack' built." Without taking a single breath, she carried right on with the swanky solo, "If you've got a little time to spare, I want to take you there."
Swaying with the piano, her cane just another part of her body, Rose began slowly but filled with confidence. "Come and meet those dancing feet." She drank in the sultry tones wafting out of the orchestra pit as they enveloped her, coolly sustaining every note she had to sing, "On the avenue I'm taking you to,"
"Forty-second Street."
"Hear the beat," Though it was nothing like the horns that would have marvelously blared away on the Original Broadway Recording, Rose still took a great deal of pleasure in letting those jazzy notes meld into her step, throwing in a little twirl in rhythm with the time. "Of dancing feet."
Her body melted into the dance, every movement as velvety as the curtains. Not the type of fast-paced dancing she'd auditioned with, but one that she held the same solid control over.
"It's the song I love the melody,"
Rose took her sweet time with this next fermata, wanting to make sure the audience savoured every bit of the piece. Her solo, the choir springing to action, it all had to be brilliant. Not nice, not quaint. Brilliant.
"Forty-second Street!"
_._
8:52 p.m.
She was nervous and there was nothing to be done for it. John's presence hadn't been enough. Mary's earlier attempt to help was kind but her friend was a better soprano than she was a motivational speaker.
It had been amazing to start off "Seasons of Love" with no sign of trouble. Green really hadn't shown up, nothing had gone wrong. And that had been wonderfully brilliant until she realized it probably meant her solo was going to be awful.
Nothing ever did work out perfectly, right? There were always flaws in everything, weren't there? It only made sense that she would go down in flames during her last year at Downton.
"Are you all right?"
Anna certainly hadn't expected Lavinia Swire to be anywhere nearby. A cappella wouldn't be on for another three songs and the Concert Choir only had one last bit near the end. There was no reason for the mezzo-soprano to be backstage, decked out in her cowboy gear and ready for "Anything You Can Do".
"I'm fine." It was automatic, something that both she and Lavinia recognized. It made her thoughts stumble, a bit of guilt creeping in. "Well, I guess I'm just nervous is all."
"I can't even imagine." Anna smiled at that, still surprised that the shy girl was even talking to her. "Were you nervous before? At the competition?"
"Actually, no." She'd forgotten all about that.
"Really?"
Anna faintly nodded, caught in the memory of what had happened.
She'd been nervous at first. But then she'd remembered that the song wasn't about her. It was about defending someone else. Standing up for the rights of another, a person wrongly accused of terrible acts. She couldn't be nervous about herself when she was supposed to sing on someone else's behalf. It couldn't happen then and it wouldn't happen now.
"Really."
_._
8:57 p.m.
"A gentle breeze from Hushabye Mountain
Softly blows on Lullaby Bay."
Elsie always loved this song. Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang! wasn't her favourite musical, especially because she truly found some of the songs to be… a great example of the mindset from the era. But "Hushabye Mountain" had always been a favourite. When Albert had requested it, she was all for it. Especially once Charles had found this stunning a cappella arrangement!
"It fills the sails of boats that are waiting,
Waiting to sail your worries away.
If only Elsie could do just that. Send-off her worries and let them drift out to sea. Never have to put up with scheming colleagues hellbent on stirring up trouble, never have to tolerate coquettish––
Except, she hadn't, had she?
This last hour or so had been especially carefree. There were the normal concerns that came with a concert, but nothing histrionic. A placid atmosphere was scattered amongst the backstage area, pockets of stage-fright lining the crevices but not much else.
With that realization, Elsie knew what had been missing.
Turning around from watching the show, the teacher knew she was right.
Alice Neal was nowhere in sight.
And she'd been perfectly oblivious until now.
It was childish but she wanted to go back to her earlier ignorance. Really, if that woman were a student, she would've lost the right to perform months ago. Why should they train her and everyone else to believe that behaviour was acceptable?
Except she wasn't a student. She was an authority figure. Someone they had to work with in a professional capacity. And, unfortunately, she was once Charles' friend. Someone he trusted, years ago. Probably someone he still hoped would change their ways, even though Elsie doubted it.
So even though she loathed to ask, "Has anyone seen Miss Neal?"
The Treble Choir, quietly milling in preparation of their own song, were clueless. Quiet shrugs and perturbed frowns emerged, her suspicion becoming confirmed. And since none of the teachers were hanging about, not needed for a few more songs, she couldn't ask one of them to go find the woman. Worst still, with Charles currently directing the choir, Beryl checking on something downstairs, that meant it was up to her to sort this mess out.
Because she certainly wouldn't subject Linda to another round of horrible treatment. The teaching assistant had dealt with enough and shouldn't be her responsibility.
There was still a little snag.
"And just how am I supposed to find her?"
Elsie hadn't meant to mutter aloud, but she was frustrated. The Treble Choir was right after "Hushabye Mountain" and she was the conductor for that. And, yes, a cappella wouldn't need her for "Anything You Can Do", but she was supposed to be getting ready for her own act by that point! She hadn't factored in Alice deciding to emulate Mrs. Butte by doing a runner at the last second.
Of course, was that really the woman's style?
Elsie hadn't wanted to mention a word of this to Charles, seeing as how he'd once been friends with the woman, but she suspected Alice would try to pull something tonight. But vanishing into thin air? That didn't seem like her. Mind, her absence did cause a problem. If something had happened to the woman, if this wasn't all perfectly innocent, it could stir up even more trouble. Which, when she gave it more thought, did fit the woman's penchant for drama.
Briefly, the teacher wondered if something had been planned to keep the woman out of the way. But Linda couldn't lie, Beryl would be too smug to keep it a secret, Charles couldn't do such a thing, and the students were clueless. So, no, there wasn't some sort of plot. This was either an innocuous mistake or Alice was about to spring something on them.
Wearily looking around the backstage area, Elsie waited for the latter to prove itself to be the case. When Miss Neal hadn't suddenly materialized out of nowhere, when nothing had changed, she could only sigh in vague relief.
"Mrs. Hughes," Oh, she'd forgotten all about Abigail! The delightful young lady had offered to be of assistance for the show, stating that she wanted to repay Downton for the opportunity it'd given her. "Would you like me to look for Miss Neal?"
A student really shouldn't be in charge of such responsibility. And no one should have to put up with Alice Neal's antics.
But Abigail's act was done for the day, and she had already proven herself to be a respectable and capable individual. One who was professional enough to not give any credence to Alice's backhanded taunts.
And, unfortunately, there was nothing else that could be done. The Bass Choir was seconds away from ending, and she couldn't delay the show on Alice's behalf. Her principles couldn't stand such a thing!
"And watch your boat from Hushabye Mountain,
Sail far away from Lullaby Bay."
"All right." Abigail's kind smile minutely widened as this concession, "But check the second fourth floor first before you go down to the dressing rooms. That is," She sighed, remembering which school the young singer attended, "Try to see if someone can help take you up to the rooms."
"Don't you remember?" The singer began to ask, a little concerned. "We were all given the grand tour after our last rehearsal!"
Elsie was surprised she'd forgotten that, having discussed the idea with Phoebe only a week prior. Phoebe confessed that some of the students were concerned about getting around the building. It seemed only logical to give them a tour of the place to assuage any concerns.
"Mrs. Hughes," Abigail looked to be a lot more sympathetic than she needed to be. "If she's in the building, I'll be sure to find her."
The teacher nodded, ignoring the fact that she would prefer the alternative to be the case.
"Thank you, Abigail." Elsie mentally cringed at the fervent applause coming from the house, knowing that was her cue to get ready to conduct. "I doubt that's where Miss Neal will be, but it never hurts to check."
"Of course." A serious glint overtook the young lady as she grasped a determined air. "You can count on me."
Somehow, Elsie knew she really could.
_._
9:01 p.m.
Abigail had been hoping that it would be Mrs. Hughes who officially noticed SWDNTBN's absence. She'd built enough of a rapport with the woman that her help wouldn't be questioned. The plan had been simple: Abigail would shadow the woman whilst Mary was in charge of following Mr. Carson. That way, whenever either teacher finally noticed the absence, the octet had everything well in-hand.
Of course, they did have to rely on luck for most of this. Planning only led to so much.
But, much to her glee, it was all paying off.
Abigail discreetly left the auditorium, pleased that the stairwells to the second fourth floor were right there. She liked Mrs. Hughes, she really did. She even liked Mr. Carson, though she thought the choir director could loosen up a little. Either way, when she'd they were being worn to the ground along with Miss Miller and Mrs. Barnes, she'd been irritated to say the least.
That irritation only increased when she'd encountered SWDNTBN for herself.
But if she went down that rabbit hole, she would miss the opportunity before her! And that certainly wouldn't do, not one bit.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Abigail smiled at the thought of SWDNTBN being taken out of the picture. Being in a closet wasn't fun, she should know. But she'd seen the size of 403's and knew that it had enough space and light to keep claustrophobia far away. And Phyllis' plan really was much nicer than what she'd been concocting –– let alone what Penelope had been advocating for!
Making her way past the last flight of steps, Abigail kept her movements as close to sotto voce as possible. She didn't need to give herself away, and she didn't know how soundproof the floor really was.
In retrospect, she needn't bother keeping quiet. She'd heard the muffled rage all the way from the hallway, the noise loud enough to hide her steps.
Initially, the young lady couldn't make out the words from where she stood. But as she approached the nearest door of 403, the message became clearer.
"DON'T THEY KNOW WHO I AM?"
Abigail bit back a snort at the rhetorical question. Maybe had the woman not resorted to petty critiques and callous remarks she might have garnered more sympathy. As it was, the Carlisle student had half a mind to keep the instructions on the doors –– the papers from before that said to go straight to the auditorium.
But, there was no need to keep anything up, certainly not it might give the plot away. And since all the teachers were set to go on in a few minutes, Alice wouldn't be leaving that closet anytime soon.
Now, I did find her. And that was what she promised Mrs. Hughes.
Nothing about retrieving the woman.
So, now it was time to go back downstairs, do a quick check of the dressing rooms to truthfully say she'd looked, and report back.
_._
9:07 p.m.
"I'm afraid I didn't see her, Mrs. Hughes."
Charles Carson didn't want to admit how pleased he'd been pleased to hear Abigail Hankins say that. When Elsie had first informed him of the problem, letting him know once Treble finished "Over the Rainbow", he'd been conflicted about the whole thing. On one hand, her absence meant less of a headache for everyone. On the other hand, something could be seriously wrong.
Except, if something was seriously wrong, why wasn't Grigg concerned?
Why was he content to hang about as though his partner-in-crime wasn't missing?
Maybe Alice was pulling what he'd begun to call a "Mrs. Butte"? Abandon them at the last second, try her best to make them fall apart?
Well, whatever his former friend had planned, it wouldn't work. Joyce and Phoebe were perfectly capable of singing lead with or without her when it came to "Lida Rose". And "It's You" would be just as perfect. Truthfully, everyone would probably do better if Alice wasn't around. Not that he'd state as such.
In all honesty, he only had one real question:
Why, after everything, have you vanished now?
Charles hadn't wanted to mention anything to Elsie, but he'd been distressed at the thought of Alice trying something at the last minute. That had been her style in the past –– last minute surprises that guaranteed everyone's attention. She liked to latch onto the limelight any way she could, much to his disappointment.
But this was the last minute! Perhaps not literally, but the faculty group was two minutes away from going on stage. If she didn't show up in the next sixty seconds, they would have to go on without her.
At least, that was what he hoped they would do. He wouldn't dare to assume a thing, not knowing how the others felt about the matter.
"There's no sign of her?"
The choir director swatted aside his thoughts at the sound of Joyce's inquiry, needing to know what everyone else was thinking. Perhaps their fellow teachers were feeling sympathetic after all this time? After all, Alice hadn't personally attacked any of them with barbed comments and stupid flirtations. They'd received minimal criticism from the woman –– maybe they hadn't really noticed her other actions.
He certainly hoped that wasn't the case. But he was prepared for anything and understood this to be a tenuous situation, to say the least.
"I'm afraid not." Abigail quietly confessed, the dear student looking so troubled by the whole situation. It wasn't her fault that she hadn't been able to find and retrieve Alice –– if the woman didn't want to be found, she wouldn't.
Joyce sighed, having figured as such. "Well, there's no point in ringing her mobile. It's still in her coat downstairs. I suppose that's that."
Charles blinked. Midsomer's director didn't sound half as concerned as he would've suspected, swiftly concluding their next course of action.
"Joyce is right." What? Dickie was agreeing wholeheartedly. With even less concern than Joyce. In fact, if Charles wasn't mistaken, the man's cheery attitude had significantly brightened at the prospect. "I'm afraid there's no time left to conduct another search. We'll just have to do the set without her."
At least Elsie looked to be equally stupefied by the conversation.
"And if she turns up at the last second?" Miss Vance didn't seem to believe what was happening, eyeing all the teachers warily.
"Well, we can't leave the stage if she suddenly shows up. She'll have to remain backstage if she's late, right, Charles, Elsie?" The teachers in question pivoted to Anthony, taken aback by the man's eager tone.
Charles turned to Elsie, oblivious as to the appropriate response. If he had it his way, Alice wouldn't have been a part of this at any point in time. However, to say such a thing aloud was the epitome of foolishness.
"Pretty sure," Beryl was doing nothing to conceal her delight, taking over once it was clear the choir teachers were much too speechless. "Downton's performance rules state as such."
Downton didn't have official performance rules.
Rules for the audience and auditorium behaviour, strict guidelines for performing, but that was it.
And Charles was too shocked to contradict her.
"Right." It seemed Elsie was regaining her voice, looking at him for permission to agree. Not that she needed it, though he appreciated the sentiment. "We'll do everything like normal. Just remember that Anthony was right –– we can't leave the stage if she suddenly shows up. She'll have to remain backstage if she's late."
"My only question is who should speak on her behalf?" Joyce wondered aloud, reminding everyone that Alice was in charge of speaking in the middle of their act.
In the traditional barbershop fashion, the teachers would all remain on stage for both songs. They'd go from their final poses in "Lida Rose" to standing in a half-circle for "It's You", but there would be a minute or two of explanation. Alice had volunteered to do all the speaking, something the others hadn't had the energy to challenge.
But she obviously couldn't explain anything if she wasn't on stage.
"Charles, Elsie, it's your show. If anyone should do the speaking, it's the two of you."
"Actually," He started to speak, finally regaining his own voice. But he was interrupted in seconds, as he should've known.
"Don't even think of volunteering me, Charles."
The man's tone turned sheepish, "Well, I do think you're the most qualified."
"I think everyone's heard enough of my voice tonight." Elsie countered, crossing her arms as she did so. The last thing she wanted for people to assume she'd tried to replace Alice tonight. It was unlikely that anyone would, seeing as how the speaking part wasn't listed in the programme, but she wasn't taking any chances.
"I can do the explanation." Miss Vance volunteered, not wanting anymore conflict. Really, she was just happy that this wasn't a dream.
"All right." He didn't really want to agree, thinking his fiancée deserving of the privilege. She'd been the one to start this group, even if Alice had taken over. "I suppose there's nothing to do but wait."
Except, of course, that was precisely when the a cappella choir finished their last song.
Typical! He didn't even have time to ask Grigg why on earth the man had no objection to this, why his former friend remained silent throughout this entire discussion. Granted, it was unlikely Charles would've ever worked up the courage to put such a question forth. Given the time restraint, of course, and nothing else.
Still, sometimes he felt as though he were in a novel. One wherein the writer was content to wreak havoc on his nerves until a suitable interruption had been found.
Of all the ideas!
There was only one conclusion for it: he really needed to get more sleep.
That, and a long uninterrupted vacation with his future wife.
_._
9:14 p.m.
"Will I ever tell you?"
Briefly closing her eyes at the sound of Francesca beautifully swiping through the baritone notes, Elsie inwardly sighed in contentment at the sound of those tantalizing chords soaring out around her. She really missed bringing barbershop back to life, having not realized how captivating it was until right now.
"Ah, no."
Swaying back and forth in the dreamy haze of stage lights, Elsie couldn't help but feel a funny sense of gratuity toward Alice Neal. Not for the woman's attitude, of course, and certainly not because she'd abandon them at the last second. But, had she not been so determined to involve herself with this performance of theirs, Elsie wouldn't have gotten a chance to perform like this by Charles' side.
The smattering of applause was a lovely way to be pulled out of her reverie, the choir teacher beaming as old habits greeted her. The teachers temporarily parted ways, each walking up to the edge of the stage and bowing as a group –– much like a quartet might've.
And as they made their way back, now forming that traditional half-circle barbershop was known for, Elsie felt her attention drift back to Linda.
"Ladies and gentlemen, that last piece was a combination of 'Lida Rose' and 'Will I Ever Tell You?", two songs from Meredith Willson's The Music Man." But the teaching assistant faltered before she could get started, not used to speaking on the spot. Not in front of a crowd at least.
It was a nerve-wracking thing, particularly when impulsively done.
"I'm sure it'll come as a complete surprise to hear that our next song also hails from The Music Man." The good-natured laughter rang out long before Elsie realized she'd spoken up. But she really wasn't in the mood to have everyone's attention, seeing as how this was Alice's last chance to make an appearance and spin any story she wished.
"Unfortunately, we didn't have the budget to bring in 'Seventy-Six Trombones'." Bless Joyce Barnaby for understanding the importance of dead-panning and improvisation. To help illustrate her point, Mrs. Bird cued the trombonists in the pit to blast away a mini-tune, sparking even more chortles from the crowd.
"But we do have the capability to bring you one final treat!" Dickie chimed in, beaming. "And would like to dedicate this next song to the only engaged couple on the stage."
The two teachers in question hadn't been prepared for the sudden attention, both furiously blushing away.
"Because if it weren't for them," Beryl spoke over the fierce applause, grinning, "We wouldn't have this show in the first place!"
More approval broke out, some people rising to their feet.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," It seemed Charles could only take so much improvisation, taking the reins back before Francesca, Phoebe, Anthony, or Grigg decided to contribute to the dialogue. "The Music Teachers,"
"A fitting name for our group, considering the songs!" He looked at Miss Miller, somewhat understanding her desire to pipe up. He simply wanted to get this show back on the road before something else happened.
"Yes, definitely fitting." He didn't glare at the remaining teachers, the ones who haven't spoken up yet, but it was a close thing. "And now, The Music Teachers are proud to present 'It's You'."
"As from Meredith Willson's The Music Man." Elsie couldn't help cheekily remind her fiancé that that wasn't a proper introduction for the piece, something that only garnered exasperation. But she couldn't help herself: barbershop was about cracking jokes on stage, explaining and transitioning between songs, interacting with their audience, and having fun.
And for the first time in months, she felt she was doing just that.
This was the very same moment that she realized she would be stepping away from the role of singing bass and taking on the lead along with almost everyone else. As this was a four-part piece in the women's key, they'd had to rearrange themselves. Charles, Dickie, and Grigg would sing bass. Anthony and Francesca would share baritone. Beryl, Joyce, and Phoebe would take the lead with her. And Linda would keep hold of tenor.
It was almost as though it was falling into place. Stepping back into her old barbershop role, continuing to stand by Charles and be surrounded by friends, she was almost convinced she was dreaming.
That is, until Charles nudged her into bringing out her pitch pipe into the open once more. If this were a dream, he would have been much more romantic about the whole thing!
Bringing the small instrument to her lips, she played the appropriate pitch and gave everyone a chance to build their first chord. Much like a series of bells ringing out, the four notes were softly hummed away one after the other. And drinking in one final refreshing breath, she shared a look with her fellow leads –– ready to start them off.
"Many a love song 'bout many a boy,
Many a broken heart."
It was relaxed, carefree despite the lyrics. She could even feel energy in the air, the kind that came with intentional singing and locked chords. The air literally vibrated with a warmth they hadn't experienced as a group, one she had greatly missed over the years.
"Moon up above songs, one bold and one coy.
Never enough songs about tears full of joy."
With each passing breath, tension eased. It wasn't about singing the notes correctly or hitting all the rhythms. For the first time, this had turned into purely enjoying everyone's company.
"Many a love song's been sung in vain. They speak of a love so new," Her hands softly lifted through the measure of music, blissfully listening to Linda soar across her tenor notes. Her voice hadn't soared before today, but now it soared and sparkled and gave life. "Yet there's only but one song that's truer than true."
Their voices tenderly dipped, caressing piano-forte with a simplicity she'd forgotten existed. Really, they ought to do this more often, get together and sing. It did wonders for her, every beautiful chord a balm for all the tension of the term.
"This song I sing,"
"To you," One by one, starting from the basses and rippling up to the tenor, all ten voices came together, delicately trailing through the bell-chord, "To you."
And when it was at last the moment they'd all been waiting for. After this tranquil fermata, the lyrics would sweetly cross into familiarity, and they would get into the heart of the song.
"It's you in the sunrise.
It's you in my cup.
It's you on the way into town."
Their parts may have different notes, but their voices were indistinguishable. Each sang to their own loved ones –– husbands, wives, partners, old friends who kept them going, family always by their side. Each had an image of the people in their life that meant the most, speaking directly to them.
"It's your sweet 'Hello, dear' that sets me up.
And it's your 'Gotta go, dear' that gets me down."
Elsie had personally never believed anyone could ever make her feel the way Joe did. And Charles didn't do that. But her love for him was just as strong, if not different.
"It's you on my pillow," She'd been able to ignore Beryl's teases about that up until now, allowing a small smile to escape as the redhead cast a knowing look. "In all my dreams, 'till once more the morning breaks through."
"What words could be saner or truer
Or plainer than 'It's you'?
It's you, just you." "Only you."
They climb once more from swaying dulcet tones to a more fervent admission, one that reached for forte and wouldn't let go for anything in the world.
"It's you on my pillow! At each break of dawn!" Something the woman could only hope would remain the case from here on out. "The feeling that life can go on!" "On and on!"
She didn't need to look out to see the mist building in the crowd. She could only imagine what her own face looked like, knowing he was the same. And she didn't know who reached for the other's hand, only that it'd happened and she wouldn't dare let go.
"What words could be
Saner? Or truer? Or plainer
Than 'It's you'."
"It's you." The group languidly swirled through each chord, the layers of harmony deepening one final time.
"It's you." It was easy to hold a note out for twenty seconds and post whilst the others sang on. Trusting someone, letting them into her life? Deciding it was worth the risk to try marriage again when it could all go wrong once again?
That was difficult.
"None could be saner or truer than true," This time, Elsie couldn't help a gaze in his direction, listening to his hypnotic timber brush over each and every word. "It's you."
"It's you."
_._
9:19 p.m.
Cora couldn't describe the jubilation she'd felt when she'd gone to pick up her mother from the airport today. The trek all the way to Heathrow had been a breeze despite the distance, her excitement enough to keep the administrator going throughout the day.
And now that they were nearing the end of the show, she could only reaffirm that inviting her mother out had been the right move. Granted, Martha Levinson was bound to hop onto a plane with or without an invitation –– considering how much of a fan of the choirs she was. But it was wonderfully assuring to know that she'd officially invited her mother to take part in tonight.
"Oh, Drowsy's next?" Of course she knew this piece. Cora was only now beginning to realize just how much musical theatre knowledge the woman really held. "Finally, some real fun––"
"Mother," Cora began to reprimand, though it was in vain: someone else was already shushing them from a few seats away. Glaring in the direction of whoever had tried to silence her, the younger American found it best to roll her eyes and proceed to look on toward the performance –– wondering what her mother could possibly have meant.
The stage looked to be darker than normal for this last piece of the Concert Choir, though Cora could almost swear there was some sort of helicopter in the distance. But before she could begin to say anything about it to Robert, two flashlights came on stage –– torches, if she remembered the English equivalent correctly.
"I am really sorry about this," The first flashlight-carrier-person spoke, Cora soon realizing it was Evelyn Napier. So he was this mysterious Man in Chair listed in the program? Well, she didn't see where his chair was or why there wasn't any singing just yet. "I don't know why the power went out––"
"It's all right," Well, she didn't know who that second student was, not by voice. He was familiar but not recognizable. "Here we go."
Stage lights flicked back on, illuminating a fantastic set-up. She saw a whole range of 1920s-inspired costumes scattered about, each singer holding some sort of grand pose as though they were already in the midst of a finale. Chefs, flappers, servants, an aviator, they all started singing full-voice the moment the lights came back on as though a finale were playing.
"Oh no!" Evelyn cried out, scurrying across the way to––
That's probably the chair, Cora thought to herself, watching the endearing teen bolt over to a record player and set the needle aside, freezing every single singer on stage as all sound stopped.
Well, this is different.
But she leaned forward anyway, intent on catching every word of Evelyn's. With her mother's enigmatic comment and Isobel's synopsis, she felt as though she were missing a very large part of a puzzle. One that she wanted to solve as soon as she could.
"What was that?"
"It was nothing! A–– erm, a record."
"No, not that. What kind of music was that?"
"It's just music!" Napier's pause was defensive, cringe-worthy. His reluctant guilt gave itself away in seconds, "It was a show." And even more reluctantly, he revealed the genre:"A musical."
Alfred Nugent –– for that was who was talking to him, she could see that now –– only shrugged to himself before asking, "You like musicals?"
"... No."
Somehow, she thought that to be a lie.
So did Alfred, judging from his raised eyebrow. But the bass dismissed the lie, content to carry on, "I love musicals! I go with the wife all the time! It's amazing what they can do nowadays –– have you seen Miss Saigon? They landed a helicopter on the stage in that one." Evelyn glanced at the helicopter on this stage, bewildered and bemused. "Yeah, I've seen them all: Cats, Les Mis, Saturday Night Fever –– though I like the movie a little better,"
It became obvious what Evelyn thought of Alfred's character. But if that wasn't clear enough, his terse send-off made it apparent: "Oh, now, really, goodbye!"
After Alfred was firmly sent away from the stage, Cora couldn't help but notice the sound of three locks clicking up against a door. The sound effects apathetically reverberated through the air, confirming her suspicion that a certain someone was afraid of the world.
She refrained from saying as such, knowing that Violet or her mother would do that all on their own. Instead, she found her gaze intently following Napier as he nervously made his way back in the direction of his armchair –– muttering all sorts of frustrations to the crowd. He looked entirely thrown off by the whole interaction, staring down the record player as though everything was ruined.
"One minute away from the end of the show." His frustration was riveting, even if she still didn't fully understand what was going on. "The mood is broken!"
"I should just start everything from the beginning," The tenor had earnestly proclaimed this, hurrying along to reach his destination. Except, there was something holding him back. A tension lined the teenager, one that could be seen all the way from her seat as he quietly muttered the truth:
"I can't do that again." The dejected words floated around the auditorium, fading into nothing as Evelyn finally turned around. "But it's so frustrating!"
Fidgeting, looking the most forlorn she'd ever seen him, he managed to sink into his chair –– curling in on himself in consternation as he gradually turned to face the audience. He was trying his best to remain composed, but just couldn't. The twitches, the disappointment, it was deeply embedded in all of his movement.
"You have to understand, I––" He can't quite say this next bit, not easily at least. "I love this show so much. And,"
The teenager gave a brief, heavy chuckle, "And I've never even seen it. My mother gave me the record," She was hooked in seconds. "This was just before my father left."
If the audience hadn't hushed up before, they were certainly silent now.
"He didn't leave because of the record," Evelyn had to clarify, trying his best to reassure the crowd and prompting some weak laughter in the process. "Though I'm sure that didn't help matters."
He withdrew into himself, that poignant look back in his eyes. He wanted to speak, to explain himself and reveal what was whirling through his mind, but he could only bite his lip and stare off away from them all.
"I know it's not a perfect show." The confession was raw, honest. "The spit-take scene's lame, the monkey motif is lamer," Now she knew she had to see this show in action, if only to better understand his monologue. "But none of that matters."
So, what does matter?
"It does what a musical is supposed to do." The teenager grappled with the words, hesitantly letting vulnerability wrap itself around him. "It takes you to another world, it gives you a little tune to carry with you in your head. Something to help you escape the dreary horrors of the real world.
"A little something for whenever you're feeling blue, you know." Evelyn paused again, and she understood that this wasn't an act. This was him, giving away a part of himself. The pain beginning to well in his eyes was all Evelyn Napier. Not a character trying to sell a script.
And as the young man continued to stare off into space, losing his focus on the audience, she couldn't help but notice tears beginning to escape.
But he wasn't the only one crying.
"As we stumble along," Evelyn softly began. The lyrics were cracked, pained. She'd never seen the young man take on a solo of any kind, having not realized how talented he was. That he now had the chance to do so, that he was now giving himself to this little musical she'd never heard of, spoke measures. "On life's funny journey."
"As we stumble along," There was not a murmur in the audience, all eyes fixed on the despairing singer letting the broken melody fall into the air, "Into the blue."
It all sounded like the worst parts of life.
It also sounded like she would be seeing a full-length production of this Drowsy Chaperone as soon as possible, the premise insistently intriguing. Hopefully, this scene and the rest of the show would take a cheerier light and match that synopsis she'd read at the beginning of tonight's showcase.
Cora gave a start at the sound of a ukulele broaching the air, surprised to realize Phyllis Baxter had not only managed to sneak one on stage but could, in fact, play it.
"We look and we look there," That helpless quality, the one that spoke to her on levels she could not begin to describe, swirled through the auditorium. "Seeking answers anywhere. Never sure of where to turn or–– or what to do."
The melody faltered in his voice once again.
But even grief and despair couldn't last forever.
"I'm accident waiting to happen," Tony Gillingham proudly declared from his spot on stage as Evelyn carried on, oblivious, "Still, we bumble our way,"
Napier hadn't been startled by that declaration. No, it was Ebony Leigh stepping toward the center of the stage, posing as though she were on the cover of a vintage magazine that got to him, the soprano boldly declaring, "I don't want to sing tunes no more,"
"Through life's crazy labyrinth" Evelyn was gaining his spirit now, disbelieving of all that happened before him. The record had long since stopped playing, the music had officially ended, and yet the characters of the show were starting to engage with him as though he had stepped into their world.
Joseph Moseley took this as a chance to burst to life, stepping forth and happily informing everyone that, "Wedding bells will ring, wedding bells will chime!"
"They're doing all the songs from the show." Martha explained to her companions, smirking with delight as Septimus Spratt, Gwen Dawson, and Megan Abbott all loudly declared from their various spots on the stage, "Toledo Surprise!"
"Is that what we're calling it?" Really, Violet didn't have to be callous about this. Cora personally loved it.
"Barely knowing left from right," "Love is always lovely," "Lovely,"
Now the voices were beginning to blend, all of it coming together in a swirl of nostalgia. Although she had no clue as to the stories behind each lyric, the American found herself swept away in all of it –– even as a blonde scared the daylights out of Evelyn by screaming out "SURPRISE!"
But that shock paled in comparison to remembering that her beloved daughter was in this special little performance. Watching Edith dressed in such fine clothes, Cora could only watch in awe as her daughter began to add her voice into the crowd.
"And the best," Edith looked to be beaming with the utmost pride at Evelyn, steadily walking toward him with quite the glow in her eyes, her seafoam dress trailing gorgeously behind, a newfound confidence in her step, "That we can do is hope a bluebird,"
Evelyn and Edith combined forces, both looking to be so very taken with the moment, finishing the lyric together, "Will sing his song as we stumble along!"
The pair tightly hugged one another, beyond delighted as the rest of the choir began to carry along, "Still we fumble our way through life's crazy labyrinth,"
"Barely knowing left from right," That dark-skinned aviator in the making took the lead, regally standing right beside the crafted helicopter Cora remained stunned by, "Or right from wrong."
"And the best that we can do is hope a bluebird,"
They were all coming together, every member of the Concert Choir finally joining in on their last song. Those that weren't already positioned on stage were cheerfully walking down the aisles of the auditorium, dressed in costumes from previous songs.
"Will sing his song
As we stumble along."
The chords beginning to build in volume as well as complexity, it seemed everyone on stage was fervently encouraging Evelyn to follow the young woman playing the role of Trix, a soprano by the name of Laura Foster if Cora remembered right.
"As we stumble," Evelyn –– or, as listed in the playbook, Man in Chair –– hastily looked about the stage, unsure of himself, "Bumble,"
It seemed he realized his chance for an entirely new adventure in life, "Fumble,"
And scurrying back across to his chair, "Tumble!" he plucked the record in question, reverently placing it into a beautiful album cover with the words Drowsy Chaperone written across it.
"As we stumble along!"
Quickly following Trix as the pair made their way off the stage, it was with incredulity that the reclusive young man proceeded to joyously shout out, "Goodbye, everybody!"
And as the music crescendoed once more, optimism bursting throughout the room, Cora couldn't help but join the people who started to cheer and applaud long before the song had ended.
_._
9:27 p.m.
The applause from "As We Stumble Along" was powerful. Enough to cause a dizzying sense of excitement that threatened to knock Matthew Crawley over. He wasn't one for being overwhelmed by life, but tonight had surpassed all expectations.
And now? Now that they were about to start the finale? Now that all five choirs were taking to their customary spots, seas of singers filling the room dressed in their favourite costumes from the show? Now he couldn't help but cheer along with the rest of the audience –– unable and unwilling to stop himself.
This unwillingness to remain dignified only grew as he watched his favourite teachers take to the stage one final time, and he wasn't the only one.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Was it really coming to an end so soon? "It has been a privilege to perform for you this evening."
Matthew realized what was coming next. His solo, his last concert at Downton. He knew it'd be painful to have the opportunities here cut short, but it had been the price for trying to make do at Carlisle first.
He should've been paying attention to his teachers, not wallowing in something he couldn't change. As it was, it seemed their normal speech for finales was being cut short. Something had interrupted them and he'd been too distracted to see what.
_._
9:29 p.m.
It was entirely an accident. It hadn't been planned in advance, it was entirely the spur of the moment, and he didn't regret a thing.
If she would only agree to the idea.
"You were the one that introduced them to it." Charles gently reminded her with a faint twinkle in his eyes. She merely stared him down, fully aware that they had an audience waiting for them. "It seems only fair that you conduct it tonight."
She continued staring him down, feeling as though she should've known he'd come up with something like this.
He met her gaze, unswerving.
They carried on with this staring contest until someone in the audience politely coughed and reminded them that there were approximately 1,000 people watching.
"We will have a role reversal one of these days." Elsie informed him, fighting back another blush. She didn't care for conceding, but she knew that look in his eyes. It just meant that she'd have to really get him back for this.
"I look forward to it."
"And you will be singing when I start." They were choir teachers after all; they did have the music memorized. "In fact, I'd say you should be the one to start us off tonight."
Just like "Auld Lang Syne".
"Are you two gonna bicker all day or are we gonna get this finale started?" Beryl was content to be as blunt as necessary to get this started –– causing both teachers to sharply turn in her direction as some in the audience unwittingly chuckled. The redhead had stayed backstage up until now, having decided that breaking the rules was necessary if it meant the finale could begin.
"It would be my pleasure to start us off." Charles spoke as though they hadn't been interrupted. He even went so far as to retrieve her pitch pipe from his pocket. When she'd gifted him with it only five minutes ago, he initially wanted to refuse: unbidden memories, painful moments came to mind whenever he held one of those instruments.
But it was her and he couldn't associate her with pain.
So he had taken it with the promise of keeping it in good hands.
She'd informed him that she expected nothing else.
"Well then," Charles couldn't hold back a smile, quite aware of how lucky he was she'd agreed and still "Are you ready, Mrs. Hughes?"
There's a different emphasis than normal, one that's achingly familiar though she hasn't heard it in over a year. It causes her to shake her laugh, let go of her pride, and let out a soft laugh.
"As ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Carson. Are you ready?"
But she needn't ask. All she needed to do was ground herself once again before lifting her arms. With her right hand tilted in Charles' direction and the left extended straight toward the risers, the message was clear: their director would start the song off and then she'd cue the rest of the choirs into the piece.
He played the pitch, turning back toward the crowd and letting the key sweep through the space one final time. Her left hand arced toward him, gradually rising as the cue started. And they shared one last look before beginning.
"This is the moment." Charles didn't need a microphone, his decades of vocal training only strengthened by the sentiment. "This is the day."
"This is the moment when I know
I'm on my way."
Her left hand smoothly rose, prepared to direct.
"Every endeavour I have made ever," The Bass Choir combined forces with the young men of the Concert Choir, their voices crossing the distance to surround the audience with a commanding sound. They followed her movements without fail, letting every gesture guide them. Leaping into forte, letting the accelerando carry them, they knew her instruction as well as Mr. Carson's. "Is coming into play, is here and now today."
She coaxed them back into mezzo-forte, breathing in an assured serenity, preparing the young men for another wave of dynamics. "This is the moment, this is the time. When the momentum and the moment are in rhyme."
"Give me this moment,
This momentous moment.
I'll gather up my past
And make some sense at last!"
This is what she'd been waiting for. To witness the build-up right before everyone came in, all one-hundred-and-thirty-four voices at the ready.
She'd been prepared to enjoy it all from behind the curtains. But this, standing here alongside him, being at the helm of this beautiful storm, was a damn honour.
"This is the moment! My final test!
Destiny beckons, I never reckon second-best."
The young ladies took hold of the higher range of notes, the young gentlemen grasped the lower range, and it had never sounded so enthralling. She wouldn't shiver at the mesmerizing power. Goosebumps wouldn't materialize, not when she was so busy. But to hear all their students come together as one sound was exhilarating beyond belief.
"This is the day,
Just see it shine!
When all I've lived for
Becomes mine."
The woman wielded a clear power, her controlled movements guiding them through the notes, the changes in volume and keys. And when it was time, when their voices had blanketed the auditorium with a resounding calm, she beckoned for the two soloists to begin –– smoothly guiding her fiancé off to the side and conceding the main floor of the stage.
_._
9:32 p.m.
Thomas had started crying long before Mrs. Hughes gestured for them to begin. He wasn't ashamed to admit and he wouldn't bother to hide it. He'd listened to this on his own countless times after that autumn day. To be here now, to have a chance to perform it and even have one last solo before graduating, it was indescribable.
Matthew began, calmly stepping to the center of the stage, captivating as always.
"This is the moment," The tenor took charge of the notes beautifully, his voice a delight, "This is the hour."
It was almost time.
"When I can open up tomorrow," His feet were guiding him to where Matthew stood, pushing him forward when he couldn't fathom the idea of taking another step. "Like a flower."
Racing was a quaint description for what his heart was doing. His lungs were not at their most relaxed, his veins were burning with adrenaline, and he loved every second of it.
"And put my hand to," It was working. The sound was pouring out, his voice wasn't cracking from the emotion, and Thomas even had a little control over the quality. "Everything that I plan to,"
"Fulfill my grand design," The two voices may have complemented one another, but tenacity could only be cultivated when everyone else came back in at last, "See all my stars align..."
_._
9:33 p.m.
"This is the moment!
Damn all the odds!"
Charles Carson had thought he'd been thrilled to have been proven wrong last year. He thought he knew what it meant to be in awe, to have his opinion changed for the better.
He'd never been so happy to be proven wrong yet again.
"This day or never,
I sit forever with the gods!"
His eyes couldn't stop following Elsie's conductions. He couldn't hold back the truth: he was bursting with pride that she was completely focused on their students –– that they truly are their students. Not his, not hers. Theirs.
"When I look back,
I will recall,"
He was eternally grateful for his rule about never interrupting a song. Because it meant that, on a September day nearly two years ago, he'd been given a wonderful chance to recognize what music could truly be.
"Moment for moment,
This was the moment!"
He was even more grateful to be hearing all of their voices rise here and now, the sound curving through those higher notes and climbing toward fortissimo once more.
"The greatest moment
Of them all!"
Closing his eyes, letting the glorious chords and inspiring words wash over him, Charles basked in the enriching beauty as it surrounded him for the last time.
"The greatest moment,
Moment of them all."
_._
9:35 p.m.
Violet Crawley had once asked Elsie Hughes what made a cappella so special. In particular, she had little understanding as to why the genre of barbershop appealed to the woman.
The woman had informed her that, when the vowels and the pitches and the energy lined up just so, there were these stunning notes called overtones that could be heard. That, when a group really knew what they were doing, four notes could be sung and five notes could be heard.
The administrator hadn't taken the explanation seriously, having heard a cappella on numerous occasions. She would have known of these overtones long before this conversation; therefore, the idea had to be improbable at best and drivel at worst.
Violet Crawley finally heard an overtone today.
Heard it and found herself abandoning her normal reserve in favour of being one of the first to stand –– boldly clapping for this triumph, this accomplishment that had seemed laughable when first discussed. She wouldn't lose her head by cheering, raucously jumping up and down where she stood. Isobel was doing enough of that on her own, she didn't need to kindle that dismaying fire.
But she would firmly support the accomplishment before her.
Something she had never expected.
_._
9:57 p.m.
Eventually, the feelings of success ebbed away. The adoration of the audience was kind, but it repeatedly struck Elsie that Alice Neal never showed up. And as much as she didn't care for the woman, she didn't know what else to assume, other than that something terrible had happened.
"I mean, even her coat remains untouched. I really think something happened to her," She confessed to Beryl, the band director definitely over the conversation. "But Abigail checked upstairs and the dressing rooms during the show, so where could she be?"
Phyllis Baxter knew the answer to that. Not only that, she really didn't want to get anyone in trouble –– considering it was her idea.
But before she could volunteer, "I've an idea on where she is."
"Do you now?"
The alto watched in shock as Charlie Grigg opened his mouth again, desperately beating him to the punch, "I can help search for her, wherever she might be!"
She bit back the flustering feeling she got as Mrs. Hughes looked her over, the woman confused. "Are you sure you want to help? Wouldn't you rather see your family?"
"I've already seen them. Besides, it would only take a few minutes to check, Mrs. Hughes."
"... All right. If you're sure."
"I am, too!"
Elsie should have known Joseph Moseley wouldn't leave his girlfriend alone with Grigg. Personally, though she knew nothing would happen, she understood.
"I'd really rather," But more swarms of families were closing in, their cheery congratulations and rambunctious delight pulling her away from the unorthodox trio before she could say another word.
"We'll be right back, Mrs. Hughes, promise!"
_._
9:59 p.m.
The trio had made their way up to the second fourth floor in relative silence. Mr. Grigg was determined to do whatever was on his mind, Phyllis was focused on making sure no one got in trouble, and Joseph was just tagging along.
And when they had finally made it to the choir rooms, they knew Alice was still inside. She seemed fine, if not a little hoarse and rather irritated with the situation –– judging by the occasional shrieks and complaints. Honestly, Phyllis was thankful there was an adult nearby. She didn't want to imagine what it would be like crossing paths with the woman on her own.
What now? They were a short distance away from the door, but they'd all stopped in their tracks. Joseph looked as flummoxed as she felt whilst Mr. Grigg seemed to be thinking something over.
"Might as well get it over with, eh?" Was this really one of Miss Neal's colleagues? Where was the camaraderie between teachers, the trust and respect? "I'll be just a moment."
The two students dumbly nodded at the teacher's unspoken instruction to remain still, waiting outside in silence as he opened the door to 403 and stepped inside. The crescendoing commands from inside 403's closet shifted –– a renewed vigor adding to the muffled sound as he entered. They couldn't make out the words, but the students could hazard a guess: Miss Neal was not pleased to have been left behind for so long.
And then it stopped.
Nothing.
Mr. Grigg calmly opened the door, revealing nothing in his demeanour. "Miss Neal has agreed to wait until we've broken down the set before telling the others."
Huh? "Are you sure?" "What?"
He merely looked at them for a solid moment before speaking again, "She has also agreed that we don't need to tell Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes the whole story."
Once again. She had no idea what was going on.
But he couldn't have done anything to the teacher. The most that had to have happened was an exchange of words.
Right. She wouldn't question what was going on. She would simply follow his instructions and talk about it with the others when they all met up again –– Abigail had mentioned something about wanting to hang out in a week or so.
_._
10:34 p.m.
Somehow it'd all worked out. They had finally escaped the well-wishing crowds and the families, including their own. Beryl had personally volunteered to take care of breaking down the stage, coaxing the other teachers to help. They hadn't even had to change out of their Music Man costumes, Joyce and Dickie saying that they could return their clothes whenever they wished.
And Alice? Elsie would have to wheedle the whole story out some day, but it turned out there was nothing to worry about when it came to her. They didn't even have to interact with the woman tonight, the ending to that chapter seeming much too anticlimactic to be true.
But it was true. All of it.
And Elsie was much too exhausted to even begin to question why it'd all worked out so easily.
"Somehow," She eventually confessed, winded by it all and grateful for this respite, "We did it."
"That we did." Charles echoed, as weary if not more so. The adrenaline that came with pulling off this kind of showcase was frankly astonishing. "Let's not do another one of these for at least a year."
"My, my." He only stared at her, eyebrows furrowing with disdain at the teasing words. "I hadn't expected to ever do one of these again."
"I knew I shouldn't have said that!"
But their laughter was already escaping, the pair well aware it was just a joke.
"I think it went well enough." She offers this along with her hand. And when he grasps it, he does her one better by taking her into his arms and spinning her around the pavement, listening to her peals of joy.
Inevitably, she had to bring him in for a kiss that came with a cheeky reminder: ""And the stage didn't flood!"
Mirth twinkled away in her eyes as he pouted at the lack of kissing now occurring. But, cheekiness aside, she was proud: he hadn't had those nightmares in a year and that had to mean something.
"And the stage didn't flood." He warmly echoed, delighted to have her in his arms once again. Dressed like this, he felt as though they were living in another world. One where they didn't have duties to perform or roles to play. Just a night to enjoy together.
No one knew who started this kiss. Only that it delved further than the others of the day, dipping through the flickering lamplight, melting into great relief and satisfaction.
_._
Author's Note: Once again, thank you for being an amazing part of these last few years. I really, really hope you enjoyed today's update.
As for the "unsung" songs:
"Matchmaker, Matchmaker" / Fiddler on the Roof / "Matchmaker ~ Fiddler on the Roof"
"My Favorite Things" / Sound of Music / "My Favorite Things PaloVerdeChoir"
"You Don't Know This Man" / Parade / "Annie Keller, soprano - You Don't Know This Man (Parade) - Jason Robert Brown"
"Somewhere Over the Rainbow" / Wizard of Oz / "Huron Bel Canto Choir - Somewhere Over the Rainbow"
"Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better" / Annie Get Your Gun / "Anything You Can Do (Two Barbershop Quartets) (Live)"
All that's left now? In the words of Drowsy, "Wedding bells will ring! Wedding bells will chime!"
See you Friday!