Santa Clawed

and arms. Stunning as they were separately, they were unbelievable standing side by side.
    The Reverend Herbert Jones beamed at the lovely decorations and the crowd of people clearly enjoying themselves. He looked at Alicia and BoomBoom with gratitude for their work. When Alicia and BoomBoom had first announced their love, some church members pitched a fit. Most thought about it, questioned themselves in their hearts, and accepted it. That’s what Herb had hoped for. What good is a Christian who doesn’t think, change, and depend on compassion from one’s sisters and brothers?
    Resistance flowed from Bill Keelo. He had even left the church for half a year, but his wife and children missed their friends, the wonderful programs, and, most of all, they missed Herb, who practiced what he preached.
    While Bill was civil to the two ladies, no one could accuse him of being accepting. A few others remained implacable, as well. They also opposed women as ministers. Dr. Bryson Deeds was an interesting case. Love between women made perfect sense to him. Love between men did not, and he voiced this one too many times. After all, some of his patients were gay men, and he visited the AIDS patients, too. On a one-to-one basis, he was a caring and fine doctor, but he assiduously avoided gay men as a group. His friendship with Bill Keelo seemed to be reinforced by their mutual dislike.
    Bryson liked Brother Morris but was appalled by the brother’s time of disgrace. Racquel just laughed when Bryson had wondered how any man could carry on the way Brother Morris once had. And who would sleep with such a fatty?
    St. Luke’s reflected Herb’s outlook. Big Mim with her millions was as welcome as old Hank Malone, poor as a church mouse—not that Cazenovia, Elocution, and Lucy Fur would countenance mice in their domain. Rich, poor, intelligent, not so intelligent, old, young, all nationalities, all manner of pairings: Herb threw open the church doors for all.
    His philosophy was that St. Luke’s was a workshop for sinners, not a haven for saints. And Herb believed in saints, those people who suffered for others or who quietly helped throughout their lives to no fanfare.
    Not that people didn’t already know, but tonight demonstrated that his embrace of all drew many to him and ultimately to one another.
    The fireplaces blazed at each end of the hall, which was jammed with three hundred people, give or take a few. An ebony Steinway built in 1928 was positioned between the windows in the middle. The rich tone of the big grand, rebuilt in 1989, thrilled people who loved music. This was all the accompaniment that Brother Morris, selected brothers, and the St. Luke’s choir needed.
    After an hour of socializing, the program began, with rousing carols interspersed with special hymns like “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”
    When Miranda Hogendobber stepped up to the dais with Brother Morris, the place fell silent with expectation. Although untrained, Miranda possessed a remarkable instrument that could melt a heart of stone. Her voice blended perfectly with the famous tenor’s as they sang duets.
    The magical effect added even more to a glorious night. When the program was over, the applause rolled on. The two returned for an encore, performing “O Come All Ye Faithful” first in English and then “Adeste Fideles” in Latin.
    Susan Tucker, favoring her right foot, which she’d twisted slightly slipping on ice, came up next to Harry and whispered, “Best Christmas party yet.”
    Harry nodded through another encore.
    The two singers bowed, then left the dais.
    Harry and Susan made their way through the crowd to congratulate Miranda.
    “Thank you.” The older woman beamed. “What an honor to sing with him.” She leaned forward to whisper, “I was worried that he’d be imperious, but he wasn’t.”
    “Who could be imperious with you?” Susan complimented her.
    “I put your present in the Falcon.” Harry loved that Miranda drove the old Ford from the ’60s, just as she drove her old truck.
    “Now, you didn’t have to do that.” Miranda saw Aunt Tally heading for the bar and being intercepted by Big Mim.
    “Oh, dear, we’re about to have a contretemps.”
    Harry and Susan looked in the direction that Miranda was looking.
    “Well, the old girl has a right to her martinis.” Harry laughed. “Probably why she’s lived so long.”
    “Right. She’s pickled,” Susan remarked.
    Miranda laughed. “Pickled or not, Aunt