Glory Be!. Ron/Janet Benrey

      “I agree with Lily!” said Lane Johnson, the choir’s lead tenor and Glory’s postmaster. He threw back his broad shoulders and glared at Tony. “You’ve never liked the traditional hymns—probably because you sing a weak baritone.”

      “Who asked for your dumb opinion?” Tony growled at Lane.

      “Who made you king of the choir?” Lane barked back.

      Emma wasn’t sure whether Tony or Lane landed the first push, but a moment later the pair was wrestling on the floor, surrounded by fallen music stands and hymnals.

      Rafe Neilson, who had been standing in the back row with Sam Lange, the choir’s other baritone, raced forward to pull Tony and Lane apart, while Jacqueline Naismith, a retired schoolteacher who sang alto, used her considerable bulk to shield a small, vulnerable table that held several pitchers of iced tea and a tray of cookies. The other members of the choir watched the spectacle with grim determination. Emma noted that some of them were actually enjoying the brawl.

      BWANG!

      The raucous noise made Emma spin around. She saw Daniel Hartman standing next to the piano and realized that he had slammed both hands down on the keyboard to end the fight. Rafe yanked Tony to his feet in one powerful heave and then reached back down for Lane.

      “We will have an interlude of prayer!” Daniel roared, in a commanding voice that Emma concluded must have been perfected in the military.

      All extraneous movement in the choir ceased. Heads bowed instantly. Emma lowered her chin to her chest but kept her eyes wide open.

      “Lord,” Daniel began, “we ask for Your peace tonight. There’s a storm blowing through Glory Community and only You can help calm the waters. You know better than us that truly devoted believers often disagree about the best ways to advance the Kingdom of God. Well—give all of us the hearts to forgive our debtors. And help us to remember that we raise our voices in this building for one purpose only—to proclaim Your glory. In Jesus’s name we pray.”

      Emma joined in the rumbling group “Amen.” Daniel Hartman had spoken a fairly reasonable prayer—one she had no qualms affirming.

      Daniel continued, “Someone find Nina. Assure her that her choir will be prepared to sing rather than fight after the break.”

      Emma felt a touch on her arm. She turned and saw Rafe’s smiling face.

      “You look confused,” he said. “Don’t you know what’s going on at our church?”

      Emma fought to control her irritation at his remark. She scanned the practice room. The choir had broken into several small groups. No one was looking their way. She bent her head close to his.

      “If you had asked me this morning, Mr. Neilson, I would have gladly explained that I am not a member of Glory Community Church. I sing in your choir for three specific reasons. One, I have a good voice. Two, I enjoy choral singing. And three, Nina McEwen is a fabulous choral director.

      “Moving right along—I understand all too well how churches work. The chief reason I chose not to join Glory Community Church is that The Scottish Captain keeps me busy fifteen hours a day and I have no time left for church politics or taking sides in silly debates. I had intended to join Glory Community, but Nina was kind enough to warn me about the current fight, without giving me any details. I decided to bide my time. I saw no need to become part of a church in crisis.”

      Emma was pleased to note that her declaration knocked the wind out of Rafe’s sails. His smile had faded as she spoke, along with the grating I’m-a-cop-who-knows-everything self-assurance written across his face.

      But along with her amusement, Emma felt a surprising stab of guilt. She had told Rafe the truth, but not the whole truth. The ongoing fight was only part of the reason she’d refused to become a member of Glory Community.

      Two years earlier, Emma’s then husband had filed for a no-fault divorce, moved out of their home and announced that he really, truly loved another woman. Much to Emma’s astonishment, most of her church friends back in Seattle blamed her for the failure of the marriage.

      “Emma put her career ahead of her marriage.”

      “Emma canceled too many vacations because of her work.”

      “Emma should have quit her job and had children like a normal woman.”

      Her small group, the people she worked with on the church’s hospitality team, even the other members of the praise choir turned against her.

      Emma drove the unhappy memories away by focusing on the present. “Perhaps I’ll change my mind when the brawling is over,” she said to Rafe.

      “I assumed that everyone in the choir was also a member of the church,” he said.

      “Why would you assume that?”

      He shook his head. He started to speak, but shook his head again and gazed into the distance.

      Emma found herself intrigued by the way Rafe was suddenly tongue-tied. It gave him the demeanor of a little lost boy—and, surprisingly, made him seem attractive to Emma for the first time today.

      She used the opportunity to study Rafe. He stood a bit over six feet tall and had the lithe, athletic frame of a man who frequently worked out at a gym. He had short sandy hair, deep-set hazel eyes and an agreeably handsome face—now that his earlier arrogance had vanished. Perhaps she could help him remove the foot he had placed so squarely in his mouth?

      “This morning you seemed surprised that I didn’t understand the Phantom Avenger’s message to me. Please tell me what I need to know.”

      Rafe hesitated. Emma could almost hear him thinking, Does she really mean it? He eventually gave a cautious nod of agreement. “Have you heard of the Caruthers bequest?”

      “Nary a word.”

      “John Caruthers was a choir member for thirty years. When he died last year, he left the church six hundred thousand dollars. John put one stipulation on his gift—it must be used to advance the church’s ministry of music.”

      “How?”

      “That’s the root of the problem. Two groups have come up with plans for investing the bequest. One wants to replace our electronic organ with a full-size pipe organ to enhance the traditional service. The other wants to rebuild the sanctuary and install the kind of electronic instruments and audiovisual equipment to support a world-class contemporary service. The two schools of thought have hardened into opposite sides. The church is split down the middle.”

      Emma sighed heavily. “Why do so many Christians I meet fight with each other about church?”

      “The fans of the contemporary service invented the Phantom Avenger. You heard Debbie Akers—she and her colleagues have launched their self-styled campaign of civil disobedience because the Glory Gazette has come out on the side of the Traditionalists.” He peered inquiringly at her. “You have heard of the Gazette?”

      “Of course. I spoke to the editor today. He seemed very sympathetic.”

      “Rex Grainger sang with Lily Kirk in the choir for more than two decades. He retired from the choir three years ago, but the Gazette is squarely in the Traditionalist camp.”

      “He promised to publish a hard-hitting story about the Beetle.”

      “Rex will need to add pages. The Phantom Avenger struck four times this week.”

      “More cars on porches?”

      “In the middle of Monday morning, someone moved a two-foot-long koi fish from Richard Squires’s pond to the Memorial Fountain opposite Town Hall.”

      “So that’s the defenseless fish that Lily mentioned.”

      “The Phantom’s note said, ‘We won’t scale down our demands for a better contemporary service.”

      Emma