Christmas Music
written by: Sheila M. Cronin
On the afternoon of December 24th, a plump brunette in her mid-twenties, with an irrepressible smile and a winsome streak of pink in her hair, touched the piano keys. Chicago’s main public library featured eight music rooms for patrons’ use. Yoshie Lee, whose studio apartment couldn’t accommodate a piano, was practicing for a midnight church service in Room B.
It was her only plan for Christmas that year. She had arrived in Chicago in August and hadn’t made many friends, just people from church, so she wanted her playing to be perfect. Her thoughts went to her family back in Japan. How she missed them. But her low seniority on the hospital’s staff prevented her from going home this year. She was lucky to get Christmas Day off.
She glanced at her fingers, bare except for her nursing school ring. Will he come today? she wondered hopefully. A thrill of anticipation caught in her throat.
“He” was the mysterious man who played piano so divinely. Tall, bespectacled, with roguish good looks, he often occupied Room C. Today, no matter how nervous she felt, she resolved to speak to him. She wiggled her bottom into a more comfortable position on the wooden piano bench, stilled her hands, and practiced her speech:
“Hello. My name is Yoshie. You play incredibly, but I don’t recognize the music. Please tell me the name of the compos—” Loud, insistent pounding on the door interrupted her. Startled, she turned and peered up at the small glass window in the door.
It was him!
Leaping to her feet, she unlocked and swung open the door.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m in a hurry. Piano next door’s gone flat.” He clutched a stack of music paper in one hand, his overcoat and briefcase in the other. As usual, he was dressed in a brown three-piece suit and tie.
“I’m Yoshie,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks burn. He was so tall that in her flat snow boots, she had to crane her neck.
“Yoshie, hi. Look, I need a piano now. Can we trade rooms?” He stepped passed her, his eyes trained on the Baldwin. Then, seemingly as an afterthought, his gaze returned to her face. “Please.”
“Wait! Let me get my coat and purse first.” He‘d already commandeered the piano bench, his coat and briefcase dumped on a chair.
“Door’s propped open,” he called over his shoulder, nodding vaguely toward Room C.
Stunned, she left.
She was wrong about him, she realized. With a half regretful, half rueful sigh, Yoshie stood outside the door, irresolute. All of the music rooms opened onto a larger room of desks where patrons could listen to digital music using earphones. But that day, the room sat empty. As she hesitated, the awesome music began. Her anger at being summarily displaced faded. The music sounded like Mozart, joyful, passionate. With an intoxicating, jazzy Gershwin-y counter tempo. Fantastic.
She sank to the floor, coat and purse beside her, forgotten. Moving her head toward the sounds, she leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, and listened.
Not much later, the door to Room B was flung open. The pianist nearly tripped over her outstretched legs in his excitement. “I did it! I finished my Christmas concerto! Oh, here, let me help you up.” He gently lifted her to her feet.
“Who are you?” she asked in total bewilderment.
“Joseph Whalen. By day, starving public defender. By night, starving composer,” he said and laughed, “despite ‘the third’ that goes with my name.”
She retrieved her coat and purse, her emotions in turmoil. Was he nuts?
“But you’re not going!” he protested. “You’re my muse!” She gaped at him.
“You don’t believe me. I’ll explain. Wait while I grab my music.” He turned back, hastily gathered his things, and rejoined her.
“Won’t you let me buy you a hot chocolate in the café upstairs, Yoshie?” he asked. Tempted to run in the opposite direction, instead she let him guide her to the elevator.
“I can’t stay long,” she warned, her heart pounding.
“You have a dazzling smile,” he replied. “I have long wanted to tell you.” Intrigued, flattered, then flustered, she looked away. Talking to him was like listening to his music.
Soon, they were seated across from each other at a table by the windows. Outside, billowy snow was falling. High above the traffic and noise, she felt a calm come over her. He ordered her favorite for them both—the seasonal special: peppermint hot chocolate with whipped cream.
“So, Yoshie, here we are at last.”
She frowned. “Joseph, what do you mean? You stole my Baldwin without even saying sorry.” It took all her courage to confront him.
He lowered his head, then slowly raised it, his eyes taking in the snowy scene, then her. Unaccountably, she felt a shiver of pleasure.
“Six months ago,” he began, “my dear Irish grandmother challenged me to finish a piece of music by Christmas. She plays violin. My talent, such as it is, comes from her. ‘Joseph,’ she said, ‘you never finish anything. You’re my grandson and heir. Complete that concerto you’ve been laboring over for the past two years, or give up music. Honor your gift, or let it go.’”
He explained to her how he took up the challenge once again, but decided he could not compose it on his piano at home. He needed a fresh environment, far from all distractions. He turned to the music rooms at the library. Still, it was hard going with months of false starts and torn-up scores. Until the day he first noticed her.
“You saved my concerto.”
Yoshie sat back, perplexed. “How?” she asked. Their hot cocoa arrived along with a plate of enticing red and green jingle bell cookies.
“Because when I couldn’t work anymore, I’d listen to you. I would hear you play the same carol over and over until it flowed. You didn’t procrastinate like me. You kept at it. I was blown away by your perseverance. And your talent.”
She colored at the compliment.
“And I was listening to you, Joseph, wondering how anyone could play so beautifully. I didn’t recognize the music. I thought each passage was a different piece by the same, mysterious composer, but I was too shy to ask you.”
Their eyes locked for a tantalizing few seconds. He slowly lifted the cup of cocoa to his lips, and the steam instantly fogged up his glasses, breaking the mood. She politely tried to hide her giggle behind her fingers, but failed as he set down the cup with a clang. He grinned back at her good-naturedly. While he removed and quickly cleaned them with the tail of his tie, it gave her the opportunity to notice how kind his eyes were.
“Tell me, why do you practice so diligently? Are you giving a concert, or is it just for fun?”
“I’m playing for my church this evening before the midnight service. I have only been in Chicago a short time and don’t know many people outside of work. My church group are my friends.”
“That’s great! Then what?” he persisted.
He replaced his glasses before offering her the plate of cookies. She took one, then gazed out at the snow and found herself rapidly blinking back tears. Her mind filled with longings for all the things she would normally do with her family back in Japan, eat strawberry shortcake, exchange presents, have dinner at a fancy restaurant. She took a sip of hot chocolate.
He reached for her hand. “Let me go with you to church tonight.”
Her face lit up. Now tears of happiness threatened. Could she be falling in love?
“Then, come with me tomorrow when I play my concerto for Grandmother.”
It took Yoshie less than a quarter note in time to agree.
- Christmas Music - December 24, 2025
