Now what happens when the choir boy falls in love with the pastors daughter ..?
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@sophiagreysonThe Sylvester estate, a modest white clapboard house nestled among the tall pines of Woodsberry, was quiet in the early Sunday morning light. Upstairs, in a room decorated with floral wallpaper and a simple wooden cross, Savannah stood before her dressing table.
Katherine Sylvester
Not like that, darling. She gently took the hairbrush from her daughter’s hand. Your father said it must be up. It’s more becoming for a young lady leading worship.
Savannah Sylvester
But Mama, it’s so tight. And it’s just hair.
Katherine Sylvester
It’s about presentation. We represent the church. Now, the pearl pins, please. And remember, stand straight at the front. Smile, but not too broadly.
With a final, resigned sigh, Savannah watched her reflection as her mother expertly twisted her chestnut hair into a severe, elegant knot. The simple blue dress she wore was knee-length, with sleeves to her elbows. Presentable. Modest. Everything a pastor’s daughter should be.
Katherine Sylvester
There. Perfect. Now, help me with the music folders. The car is packed, but your father will want to leave in five minutes.
Downstairs, the smell of coffee and lemon polish filled the hall. Pastor James Sylvester, a man with a stern jaw and kind, tired eyes, was checking his watch by the door.
James Sylvester
Savannah. Katherine. The early congregants will be arriving. Let’s be a light, punctually.
The drive to Saint Mary’s was short, the gravel of the church lot crunching under the tires. The old white church, with its tall steeple, stood as it had for twenty-five years. Savannah was out of the car almost before it stopped, smoothing her dress as she hurried to the wooden doors to stand beside her father.
James Sylvester
Good morning, Sister Agnes. Brother Marcus. So glad to see you.
Savannah Sylvester
Good morning.
She shook hands, smiled the approved smile, and felt the familiar weight of expectation settle on her shoulders like a shawl. Inside, the pews began to fill with the familiar faces of Woodsberry. The service began with her father’s opening prayer, his voice a steady, comforting rumble that quieted the rustling crowd.
James Sylvester
…and let us open our hearts in worship. Savannah?
She stepped to the microphone placed near the piano, which stood silent and waiting. The choir, a dozen strong, stood behind her. The first chords from the organist filled the sanctuary. Savannah closed her eyes, just for a second, and began to sing.
Her voice was clear and warm, filling the high-ceilinged room, a sound that seemed to make the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows brighter.
At that exact moment, the side door near the vestry flew open with a soft bang. A figure stumbled in, late and flustered, a leather bag slung over his shoulder.
Jayden
muttering under his breath He just kept talking… fifteen minutes on posture and punctuality…
He was tall, with short, tousled blonde hair and a harried expression. He moved quickly towards the piano, but in his haste, the flap of his bag caught on a pew end.
Jayden
Oh, for—
A sheaf of handwritten sheet music, covered in penciled notations, spilled from the bag and fluttered to the polished floor. He dropped to his knees, scrambling to gather the pages, his face flushed with embarrassment.
And then he stopped. His hands stilled on the papers. He looked up, towards the front of the church.
He heard her.