The Christmas Bells

On a quiet day at the Triple J Antiques shop, Jason Whittaker gets an unexpected visitor: Pastor Wilson Knox. Wilson admits he is not shopping for anything in particular. During his prayer time that morning, he had an overwhelming feeling - something he perceived deep in his soul - that he needed to be at Triple J's that day. Puzzled but intrigued, Jason invites him to look around, and soon shows him a newly arrived Victorian music box that plays the Christmas carol "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."

Just then Zoe Grant hurries in, asking for help. She has a school history project and an article to write, and no idea what either should be about. When Wilson sings the carol's first verse in his fine voice, Jason suggests that the answer might be right in front of her - not the carol itself, but the man who wrote it: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of America's greatest poets, who penned the words during the Civil War. Jason explains that the carol originally had seven verses, and some scholars believe those verses mirror the joys and sorrows of Longfellow's own life. As Jason tells the story and Wilson sings verse after verse, the poet's life unfolds in a series of scenes.

Longfellow's early years are an unbroken string of successes: brilliant schooling, mastery of languages, published works, marriage to Mary Storer Potter, and a professorship at Harvard. But after only four years of marriage, Mary's health fails and she dies, telling Henry it is hard to leave him. He pours his grief into the poem "Footsteps of the Angels," imagining his beloved returning to sit beside him.

Years later, in Switzerland, Longfellow meets Frances "Fanny" Appleton and falls in love at first sight. Fanny is far more level-headed. When Henry impulsively proposes again and again after only three weeks' acquaintance, she insists on a proper courtship - one year for every proposal he has blurted out. By her count, that makes seven. Seven years later they do marry, and happiness follows: six children, and playful afternoons Longfellow calls the Children's Hour, when his little daughters storm his study and he vows to keep them "forever and a day" in the round tower of his heart.

Then tragedy strikes again. On a hot day, Fanny trims the girls' hair and seals the golden curls in paper packets with candle wax. A dropped match, a sudden sea breeze through the open window, and her dress catches fire. Henry rushes in and smothers the flames, but Fanny is badly burned, and after rallying briefly the next morning, she dies. Longfellow never fully recovers; eighteen years later he is still writing of his grief in the sonnet "The Cross of Snow."

The Civil War brings more heartache. Longfellow, a fierce opponent of slavery, still refuses to let his oldest son Charlie join the Union Army. Charlie insists he is no longer a boy and cannot sit in comfort while his friends bear the burden of the fight, so he runs away and enlists. He rises to lieutenant in the cavalry, but during a patrol in Virginia he is shot through the back and shoulders. When his father reaches him, Charlie delivers the crushing news: he cannot feel his legs.

Longfellow brings Charlie home to Boston, but the young man does not improve. On the bleakest Christmas Eve of his life, sitting vigil over his sleeping son, Longfellow pours out his anguish to God. He has lost two beloved wives and a baby daughter, and now his son may not survive. Is God asleep? Is He there at all? "Perhaps you are dead," he despairs. But on Christmas morning, church bells ring out - and Charlie, grumbling about the early noise, sits up in bed. He can feel his legs. Father and son joyfully wish each other a merry Christmas, and Wilson sings the carol's triumphant answer: "God is not dead nor doth he sleep."

Zoe is delighted - the story is perfect for both her article and her history project. She borrows Jason's book and asks the pastor if she can record him singing the carol and reciting the poems. As she leaves, she mentions that the history assignment is a group project shared with two friends, Olivia and Emily.

The words "one of three" stop Wilson cold. He tells Jason what he had held back earlier: along with the overwhelming feeling that morning came something almost like a voice, and it said, "One of three will fall." Wilson had assumed it meant one of three artifacts in the shop - but now he wonders if it means one of the three girls. Neither man knows which girl, or how she will fall. All they can do, Wilson says, is watch, wait, and pray.