Choir rehearsal would begin in a few minutes. Greg’s office at the church was small, but well positioned, right off the choir room. There was an annoying rattle coming from his old com­puter; but he really loved the new 17-inch flat panel monitor on his desk. One of his choir members had donated it.

His Kimball upright piano was at least fifty years old, but still sounded great. There was a bookcase of solo music and textbooks behind him. In the corner were several boxes of sam­ple choral pieces, which he had not yet reviewed.

Greg rushed to prepare the Order of Service for Sunday morning. Each week, Dr. Huff gave him the topic for the ser­mon, and Greg selected hymns, choruses, and choral music that would support the message.

Sometimes matching the choral music to the sermon was difficult, since he liked to rehearse a piece for at least three weeks before performing it on Sunday. Normally, the choir would rehearse six to seven pieces per week, since some of them were of greater difficulty.

Margery Allen knocked and poked her head in. “We have a visitor tonight.” Margery was the church organist and the offi­cial choir rehearsal greeter for the month.

It was so unusual to have visitors at choir rehearsal. Greg constantly sought recruits, but rarely found any. “Great.” Immediately, his attention went back to the screen. He wanted to finish up, so he could go home right after rehearsal. He was worn out from a day of arguing with fellow jurors.

“Her name is Cynthia.”

It took a couple of seconds to sink in. Greg looked up, but Margery was already gone. No. It couldn’t be her. But what if it was? Why would she come to choir rehearsal? He was usu­ally relaxed at rehearsals. It was his favorite time of the week. But now he felt tense, and he wondered if it would show. It had to be some other Cynthia.

As he walked into the choir room, he pretended to be orga­nizing his music and paperwork. He stepped up to his music stand, and said, “Let’s have a word of prayer, and then we’ll get started.

Lord, we thank you for this time to come together to sing your praises. Please help us as we prepare for Sunday, that our singing will bring glory and honor to you. Amen.”

He looked up, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the middle of the alto section. By her gorgeous red hair.

“Uh, everyone, I would like to introduce—”, Margery read it from a card, “Cynthia Blockerman. Cynthia visited our ser­vices a couple of times, and says she was impressed with the choir, and wanted to give us a try.”

They were all so pleased, talking among themselves. Some of them, no doubt, were commenting on her beauty.

Margery continued. “So, Cynthia—we hope you enjoy singing with us and will consider joining the choir. No pressure, though.”

Everybody laughed. It was exhilarating to feel that the choir might be growing for a change.

Greg hoped his smile didn’t look the way it felt: nervous. “Yes, we’re so glad you came tonight, Cynthia. And we hope we won’t scare you off.”

One of the men quipped, “Well, Harry might scare her off.”

Greg usually joked around with the choir a good bit, so tonight should not be any different. “Yeah, Harry—don’t tell any of your corny jokes tonight, okay?” Before the laughter and talking died down, he said, “Alright. Enough goofing off. Take your “When I Survey” and open to page three, the pickup to bar 24. Margery—lead us in, beginning at bar 22.”

The rehearsal went surprisingly well. Greg could hear Cyn­thia singing. She did have a very nice alto voice. But what a weird day.

Several choir members stayed for a while to visit with Cyn­thia. Greg had stepped into his office to make some final edits to the Order of Service. Margery offered to walk Cynthia out to her car, but Cynthia wanted to stay and talk to Greg. So, Mar­gery said goodbye. Everybody else had already gone home.

“Greg, could I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure, come on in.” He stood and offered Cynthia the same chair she sat in on Monday. Was that really just two days ago?

“Troy’s getting worse.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hope I didn’t upset you—showing up here tonight with­out warning.”

“No, not at all. I was a little surprised.”

“I loved singing in high school choir and then for a few semesters in college. I was curious to see whether I still had it. I used to be good.”

“I heard you tonight. You sounded very good. And you were learning your part quickly.”

“Thanks. But I have to admit that one of the reasons I came was to get out of the house. Troy thought I was joking when I told him where I was going. But at least he didn’t try to stop me. Maybe by the time I get home he will have already passed out.”

“He drinks until he’s unconscious?”

“Yeah. A lot of nights, he doesn’t even come to bed. When I get up the next morning I find him slumped over in his chair. I don’t know how he manages to go to work. But I’ve got to figure out a way to leave him.”

“So, you’ve made up your mind?”

“I have to. I just can’t take it anymore. Sometimes I wish he would just die. That when I find him in the morning, he’d be dead.”

Neither one of them had noticed Margery walking through the choir room to Greg’s open door. “Sorry to interrupt, but I just wanted to let y’all know that the street light is out. So, if you have a flashlight, you’d better use it to get to your car. I tripped and nearly fell.”

“Are you okay, Margery?” Greg was concerned about Mar­gery’s health. But of greater concern: how much did she hear?