"Oh, my apologies," Stephen said. "Are you free Thursday? We're meeting at St. Hilda's Anglican Church. Not St. Hilda's Catholic Church."

Yes! Perfect! Thank God, an out!

“Anglican church?” he said with derision.

"It's not a church choir; it just meets there because I have the keys to the building," Stephen said quickly. He wasn't sure whether this man was a Catholic or some other denomination, and he didn't want to step on his toes. He looked at him again for a few moments, trying to size him up.

"I can assure you that there will be no religious observance as part of the choir," he finished.

“What about the music,” he deadpanned.

"We'll probably be starting off with some easier pieces," he said, "but next year I'd like to do a larger work, maybe Mozart's Mass in C major, or one of Bach's church cantatas. I've heard that the French composer Gabriel Fauré recently came out with a lovely Requiem; I'd really love to do that one, too."

Zechariah let out three syllables with a holier-than-thou look:

“Anglican.”

Stephen wrinkled his brow. What point was this man trying to make?

"My good sir," he said, "none of those pieces are Anglican in origin, but as a composer in the venerable Anglican tradition, I do not appreciate Anglican music being dismissed out of hand. Or did you mean to imply something else?"

He thought back to the various finished and unfinished works in his desk drawer, his only hope for an enduring legacy, and let out a small sigh.

“Nothing that two Saint Hilda’s does not already implicate!” he huffed.