An American Airport, Somewhere in the Midwest, December 13, 2025

The big clock that hung over the lower food court showed 10:30, which caused Renata Talmage a twinge of guilt. “You were right, Chris. We didn’t need to leave nearly so early.” Although her English was flawless, the accent of her native Munich was never entirely absent.

Christopher Winthrop, Talmage’s principal assistant during her three-year tenure at the Branford Conservatory, had known full well that she would want to be early, rather than risk traffic or any other unanticipated problem causing her to miss a flight. She was both meticulous and a stickler for punctuality. He tapped a few buttons on his phone and re-checked departure times for their respective flights. “You’ve got an hour and a half before boarding starts, and there’s nothing on the other side of security. Why don’t we grab a bite downstairs?”

“Or at least a coffee,” Talmage agreed. “The stuff they serve on flights these days doesn’t deserve the name.”

They wandered over to the escalator, pulling their carryon bags behind them. The airport was bustling, but that was expected. Two weeks before Christmas, Branford’s fall term had just finished, but more importantly, so had the far larger State University that was at the other end of town. Students, staff, and even distinguished professors were far more in evidence than at most times during the year. Talmage and Winthrop had already bumped into several of their colleagues and students on their way in, some with their instruments in tow.

Winthrop got on first, which placed him at roughly the same height as Talmage when she took the step behind him. He turned partly around to continue their conversation. “I always have a hard time recognizing people when I see them off campus – even people I know well!”

“A matter of context.” She smiled mischievously. “The instruments help.”

“Now if we could just get the vocalists to put tattoos on their foreheads or something!”

She laughed. Looking across the foodcourt, her eyes were immediately drawn to two young women seated in the atrium section reserved for patrons of a coffee-and-bakery shop. The women weren’t especially remarkable in a sea of humanity, but they were looking straight at her and enthusiastically waving. “There’s a couple singers I don’t have any difficulty picking out in a crowd.”

Winthrop turned to follow her gaze and smiled. “No, indeed. Should we join them?”

“Of course.” She raised a hand to let the women know she’d seen them waving. “I didn’t think I’d be able to sneak out without saying a few additional goodbyes.”

Winthrop chuckled as he stepped off the escalator and pulled his luggage behind him again. Renata had been hugely embarrassed by the standing ovation she’d received backstage from all of the students who had been part of that final performance, and she’d slipped out of the reception as soon as it had been decent to do so. “They’re going to miss you,” he said quietly, as she joined him.

“And I, them.” She kept her eyes facing forward and her walk brisk. “But change is a part of the life they’ve chosen.”

Winthrop followed, half a step behind. You don’t fool me, he thought to himself. I saw you holding back your tears, during that ovation.

The women at the table rose as they approached, stepping out of the seating area to greet them. Gabrielle Carey and Kiko Agatsuma were a study in contrasts. Gabe stood half a head above her diminutive Asian-American girlfriend, yet Kiko’s more forceful personality was apparent in her every expression and gesture. Naturally, she reached them first and was the first to speak. “You’re flying out today, too?”

“Good morning, both of you,” Talmadge responded. “Yes, we’re both off this morning.”

“If you’re headed back to the Bay Area, I’ll probably be on your flight, Kiko,” Winthrop added.

“Do you have a few minutes?” Gabe smiled shyly. “We’d love it if you could join us.”

“We would be delighted,” Talmage responded, almost formally. Even though she was no longer their instructor and never would be again, she was reserved by nature, especially with students a third her age.

The girls led them back to their table, and Winthrop gallantly held a chair out for Frau Talmage.

“Did you want to get something?” Gabe asked as they all sat down. “We’ve still got our menus.”

“Yeah,” Kiko chuckled. “Tamara just started today – she’s working through the holiday – and she didn’t know she’s supposed to pick them up.”

“Good for her, though,” Talmadge said, a note of asperity in her voice. “I am sometimes surprised by the number of students who think normal work is somehow beneath them.”

Kiko managed not to roll her eyes. “Maybe. But seriously, what she’ll earn over the holiday won’t even pay for her books.”

“I imagine it’s the principle of the thing.” Talmage glanced at the menu. “Probably just a coffee for me, but don’t hold back on my account, Chris.”

Winthrop had been staring at a gleaming Steinway Grand Piano that was just sitting in the middle of the atrium, unattended, not twenty feet away. He startled when he heard his name. “What? Oh . . . ah, no. Coffee’s fine for me; I had something before I left the apartment.”

“You’re looking at that piano like you want to eat it,” Talmage observed.

“I know.” He turned to face them, a half-smile forming on his lips. “It just seems like a waste, you know? It’s probably touched maybe once a week in a place like this.”

“Almost more like it’s a piece of furniture,” Kiko agreed.

At that instant, a pretty blonde woman bustled up to the table, looking a bit awkward as she balanced a tray that held a couple breakfast sandwiches and two coffees. She gave the newcomers a welcoming smile. “Frau Talmage! Mr. Winthrop!”

“Good morning, Ms. Ekhart.” Frau Talmage returned her smile. “I was just telling your friends how much I admired your willingness to do some regular work – when you aren’t singing!”

Tamara served Gabrielle and Kiko their sandwiches and coffees, took her instructors’ orders, and returned to the kitchen.

Once she’d left, Gabe said, “Frau Talmage, I didn’t get the chance to say a proper ‘thank you’ the other evening . . . . I mean, for everything. I kept trying to come up with the right way to say it, but by the time I had, you’d slipped away.”

Talmage looked embarrassed. “It was my pleasure to teach you both . . . I hope that you know that.”

“Even when we were a little high on drama?” Kiko asked, daringly.

“Drama is not so unusual a thing, in the world of music and art. . . . Unfortunately.” Talmage gave a wintry smile. “But you both managed your personal dramas with a degree of professionalism that I don’t always see.”

Sensing Frau Talmage’s discomfort, Winthrop decided to change the subject. “So, Gabrielle . . . are you flying back home?”

She shook her head. “No . . . Kiko joined Dad and me for Thanksgiving, and I promised I would join Kiko and her mom for Christmas. I’ll be on your flight.”

“Yup . . . into the lion’s den, for sure,” Kiko said.

Talmage noticed that they weren’t touching their food. “Eat, both of you. No need to wait until we have our coffees.” Once they started in, Talmage added, “I’m delighted that your mother decided your continued education here was a good idea, Kiko. You have a special talent – and as good a chance to have a fulfilling music career as anyone I’ve ever taught.”

“Except for wondergirl here,” Kiko said, indicating Gabrielle.

“Not true!” Gabe retorted.

Talmage clucked. “No, it isn’t. You both have wonderful – and wonderfully different – voices.”

Winthrop did not hesitate to roll his eyes. “Sorry – if we’re going to have a reprise of this conversation, I’m going to go check out the piano!”

“Who’re you fooling?” Kiko grinned. “You were gonna do it anyway.”

“Maybe,” he said sheepishly. “I just hate to see it looking so lonesome.”

“Oh, go on,” Talmage said indulgently. “You’ll have hours cooped up on a flight without a keyboard, after all.”

He got up and wandered over to the instrument. There were no ropes around it or anything, and the keyboard cover was up. After taking a quick look around, he sat at the bench and began to run some scales, checking the tuning.

Talmage shook her head and turned back to her former students. “Well, very best wishes to you both for a wonderful Christmas. I hope everything goes well.”

“Me too.” Gabe looked nervous.

As well she might, Talmage thought, remembering the only time she’d met Kiko’s formidable mother.

“It’ll be fine.” Kiko sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else at the table.

Two young men with backpacks walked up to the sign in front of the restaurant. One checked out the menu, while the other gave Kiko and Gabe a once-over behind Frau Talmage’s back.

Kiko put a possessive arm around Gabe and pointedly looked at Frau Talmage.

Talmage, however, was looking at Tamara approaching with a couple cups of coffee. She pivoted to give Winthrop a look, just as he launched the sort of run that would give the Steinway a bit of a workout – part of the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that was written for violin and viola. His exquisite playing had already attracted a handful of admirers. “Coffee’s here, Chris,” she called.

She turned to make a comment to Kiko and Gabe – something about Winthrop being unable to get that music out of his head, given how much rehearsal had gone into the last concert – when she saw Gabe leap up to grab the tray that Tamara had almost dropped.

Thus distracted, Talmage almost jumped out of her seat when a tenor and a baritone voice behind her sang out, “Freude, Tochter aus Elysium!” Joy, daughter from Elysium!

Startled, Frau Talmage began to pivot in the direction of the singing, when Tamara and Gabe echoed the young men. “Freude, Tochter aus Elysium!”

She spun back to see Kiko relieve Gabe of the tray she’d taken from Tamara. As Winthrop began another spirited run on the piano, the three young women hit her with what could only be described as shit-eating grins.

A dorm room, three weeks earlier

“You’re insane. Do you have any idea how much work these things are?” Kiko shook her head.

“I know,” Gabe said defensively. “It’s just . . . God! I owe that woman so much, you know? When I asked her if I could sing that Messiah solo as an alto rather than a counter-tenor, wearing the same sort of dress any female soloist would wear, I had no idea what she would say. She could have tossed me out of her office!”

Kiko hiked herself up in bed and pulled Gabe’s head into her lap. Stroking her fine brown hair — all natural, after a year of growing it out — she said, “I know, girl. I still can’t believe you did that.”

Gabe smiled up at her lover. “Any regrets?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

“Maybe.” Gabe’s smile became impish. “Anyhow . . . back to my idea –”

“Your crazy idea.”

“My crazy idea,” Gabe agreed. “If we could get Winthrop to help, it’d just be a matter of talking Kenny and Carson into it. God knows, everything’s already rehearsed.”

“Just four voices?”

“Yeah – four voices and the piano. The next-to-last section of the Fourth Movement starts with just the four soloists, and there’s no reason they couldn’t just go on and do the choir parts as well.”

“What do you mean ‘they?’” Kiko’s voice filled with suspicion.

“Oh, don’t start that again.” Gabe reached up to stroke Kiko’s cheek. “This time, you got the alto solo!”

“That’s for the big performance, goof. What you’re talking about here – that would be different!”

“Why? You’ve got the best voice for that part.”

“Because.” Kiko grabbed her hand and kissed it. “This would be your present to Frau Talmage. I can join you four on the choir part – assuming, of course, that you can convince Winthrop and the boys.”

Gabe smiled beatifically. “Oh, that part’s easy.”

“Why’s that?”

“‘Cuz I’ve managed to convince you. And you can convince anyone of anything!”

Kiko growled, “you think I can just snap my fingers and it’ll all work out?”

Gabe gave it some thought. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

As usual, Gabe was right. Winthrop had been more than just willing. He felt as deep a debt of gratitude to Frau Talmage as Gabrielle did, and he’d been wracking his brain for a way to show his appreciation as she wound up her time at Branford. When Gabe and Kiko came to talk to him after one of their rehearsals, he’d been downright enthusiastic.

And just full of ideas.

The Airport Food Court , December 13, 2025, 8:00 a.m.

Ping.

Kiko groaned. “What now?”

She pulled out her phone – already down to a 70 percent charge – and quickly looked over the latest text. “Now Darren’s got transport issues.”

Gabe grimaced. “I’d suggest an Uber, but . . . .”

“Finding one that’ll hold a concert bass is tough. Yeah.” Kiko chewed her cheek as she thought furiously.

“Doesn’t Dan Allen have a pickup?” Gabe suggested.

“It’s twenty degrees out,” Kiko snapped.

“Darren knows how to wrap his instrument,” Gabe soothed. “Find out if that’ll work for him; I’ll text Dan.”

“Fine,” Kiko growled.

Gabe was midway through her negotiations when she spotted Katrina Keller, somehow manhandling her full-sized cello onto the escalator. Gabe trotted over to the bottom of the ramp to give her a hand. “I’d have helped you get that here,” she admonished. “Honest!”

“I’m used to it.” Katrina was an intense young woman, but she nonetheless gave Gabe a big smile. “This is going to be so much fun!”

“Don’t say that where Kiko might hear you,” Gabe warned. “She’s about ready to kill me for coming up with this!”

Katrina looked around the food court, checking out the layout and immediately focusing on the location of the piano. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Winthrop’s gonna bring her down the escalator, and Kiko and I will draw their attention and get them to join us at the Coffee Klatch. He’ll get her seated with her back to the atrium. The manager at the Tandoor Grill across the way said that you and Darren can bring your instruments into the back so they won’t be visible until it’s time. Everyone else has stuff they can kinda-sorta make inconspicuous.”

“Trombones aren’t exactly inconspicuous,” Katrina observed.

Gabe laughed. “Trombones? Try timpany!”

Katrina’s eyes went wide. “Shit! I hadn’t even thought of that!”

“All under control,” Gabe assured her. “Put a tablecloth over it, and it looks like one of Tandoor Grill’s tables. As for the rest . . . a lot of people would be carrying instruments today anyhow. Long as she doesn’t see them all in one place before the ball drops, we should be okay.”

“You’re the boss,” Katrina said, shaking her head.

“Me? Not hardly!”

At that point, they reached Kiko, who was just finishing a phone conversation. “Okay, Darren’s set. Not happy, but he’ll get over it. Trish Beckman called to say she can’t make it – she thinks she caught something at the reception, and she sounds like a toad.”

Gabe nodded. “It’s okay. We’ll have enough sopranos.”

“Four voices, she said.” Kiko wagged her finger at Gabe. “Just four voices. It’ll be easy, she said!”

Gabe threw up her hands. “Don’t blame me! The embellishments are all Winthrop!”

“Who knew he was even crazier than you!”

Katrina excused herself to make sure her precious cello was still tuned before taking it to the Indian restaurant.

One by one, singers and instrumentalists checked in. Minor dramas were addressed. Kiko made decisions and Gabe soothed ruffled feathers. The AV team showed up and started deploying their gear, with much internal debating and shaking of heads. But they couldn’t entirely hide the fact that the chance to do a stealth deployment was like catnip for them.

The guy who managed the food court operation stopped by to make sure everything was going alright. He’d been thrilled at the idea when Kiko had approached him two weeks earlier, knowing that they’d draw a good crowd and he’d get lots of publicity. He’d even put in a surreptitious call to the local ABC affiliate, but decided that was something Kiko didn’t need to know.

At around 9:45 Kiko got a text from Winthrop. Just about to pick her up. We should be there by 10:30.

She shot back a thumbs up, then turned to the small group that was with her. “Winthrop’s in motion, and they’re on schedule!”

Tamara was fussing with the tie on her chocolate brown Coffee Klatch apron. “I guess I’d better figure out what I’m supposed to be doing, to look credible!”

Gabe took over and put a big bow over the small of the lead soprano’s back. “C’mon Tamara – literally anyone can get one of these jobs!”

“I know, but I’m such a klutz! My Mom told me I should sing, because I’d just drop any instrument I tried to play!”

Kiko looked at Kenny Swanson and Carson Teller. “You guys ready to kick us off?”

“I need to hydrate a bit more, and we’ll run a little warm-up before we come down,” Carson promised.

“Where were you thinking of doing that?” Tamara asked. She’d planned on doing some very low vocal exercises in the Coffee Shop kitchen before she came out.

“Sorry, Tam – we’re gonna use the head, you know?” Kenny grinned. “We’d invite you, but . . . you know how it is!”

“Warm-ups in the men’s room?” Gabe shook her head.

“Upstairs,” Carson confirmed. “Some folks will think we’re weird, but . . . hell. They know there’s a music conservatory around. Weird’s just part of the package.”

“Fair enough.” Kiko gathered the rest of the group together with her eyes. “Okay . . . here goes. Marissa – the sopranos have all checked in?”

“Yep. Everyone’s here.”

“Haley?”

A buxom woman who hit six feet without heels grinned. “Altos say ‘go flight!’”

Kiko returned her good friend’s grin. “Andy?”

“Tenors are ‘go flight.’”

“DaQuan?”

“Ben’s still in traffic, but he’ll make it. Basses will be a ‘go’.”

Five violins, two viola’s, a bass, a cello, a piccolo, two flutes, a clarinet, both a bassoon and a contrabassoon, a pair of French Horns, three trombones, timpany, a triangle, cymbals. Some would be hidden, others in cases scattered around. Kiko knew that she and Gabe would have to be really good at drawing Frau Talmage’s attention when she hit the top of the ramp.

She took a deep breath. “Okay, people. We’ll get a ping from Winthrop when they’re about to come down. Once they’re seated, everyone will have about ten minutes to get into position. Go be inconspicuous, but . . . don’t go far!”

Carson dropped his baritone to the bottom of his range and growled, “Ready and . . . BREAK!”

The group dispersed, laughing.

“Okay, woman,” Gabe said, gazing fondly at Kiko. “Now you need to sit down and relax, okay? I know you’ve just accomplished the impossible, but you have to make it look like it’s just another day.”

Kiko sank into a chair at the table they’d carefully chosen. “I know. But I think we can chock any visible nerves up to me taking you to see the dragon lady.”

Gabe put a hand over Kiko’s. “Are you really worried about that?”

Kiko shrugged. “Sure. Some. Chances are good she’ll say something stupid that hurts you, and I’ll blow up, and . . . well. You know. But the best thing about this crazy idea of yours is that I haven’t had any time to think about all that.”

“I’m glad I could help, in some small way.” Gabe’s smile was soft. “You’ve been amazing. You know that, right?”

“Does that mean I can count it as my Christmas present to you?”

Gabe opened her mouth to deliver a mock indignant response, then checked herself. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Because no-one has ever done anything this wonderful for me before. And no-one else could have pulled it off.”

“Don’t go jinxing us,” Kiko warned. “This whole thing can still go sideways. But . . . thanks, sweetie.” She leaned over to give Gabe a kiss.

Gabe returned the kiss with interest. When they broke apart, though, she followed up her earlier point. “Alright, I won’t count my chickens or anything. But seriously, if this works out, you should definitely add it to your resume. A singer who can also direct something like this has a leg up on someone who’s just got a good set of pipes.”

“Depends on how good those pipes are,” Kiko smirked. “But I agree, it can’t hurt. We’ll have to see how it goes – and how good a job the AV people do recording it!”

Tamara came and joined them. “Okay, I’ve got my warm-up in. I’ll hold the fort here, and you two can go back and get in a couple exercises.”

Back in the kitchen, Gabe and Kiko got smiles and giggles from the “real” workers while they ran through a series of short exercises, keeping the volume at a minimum. At the smell of the breakfast sandwiches, Kiko’s stomach gave a most unladylike growl.

“How you can even think about food is beyond me,” Gabe laughed.

“Worst of it is, our food’ll get cold by the time we’re all done.”

“Nonsense – even with doing the final section, the whole thing will only take about four minutes!”

Kiko shook her head. “I guess . . . it just feels like it’s more, know what I mean?”

“Sometimes,” Gabe said with her gentle smile, “a minute’s worth a lifetime.”

Kiko gave her a squeeze. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They went back out and joined Tamara. “Oh, miss?” Kiko said sweetly. “Those breakfast sandwiches smell wonderful!”

“The coffee, too,” Gabe said, but she softened the teasing with a smile. “Thanks for being such a good sport, Tamara.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Tamara jumped as all of their phones made a collective “ping!”

“Showtime,” said Kiko.

Tamara got up. “See you in a couple!”

Kiko threw her a fierce grin, then turned her full attention to the top of the escalator.

“Chill, woman,” Gabe laughed. “We’re just having a coffee, remember?”

“Right, right!”

“Look at me, now – we’re talking,” Gabe suggested. “I’ve got half an eye on . . . whoops! There they are!” She started waving furiously.

Kiko joined her.

When Frau Talmage waved her acknowledgement, Kiko and Gabe kept their eyes fixed on the pair, trying to hold their attention without being too obvious about it.

Everything seemed to go well. Talmage didn’t appear to notice anything odd about the number of students who were scattered around the food court, but it was pretty full. She took the seat that Winthrop offered, and once she was seated more and more students took their designated places, moving freely so long as her back was turned.

Everyone took pains, though, to look like nothing unusual was going on. Groups of two or three, at most, casually dressed for both cold weather and long travel. But by the time they were done, the instrumentalists were grouped by instrument, the sopranos were gathered at the Cinnabon, the altos at the Chinese place, the tenors congregated by the Sbarro, and the five baritones sat at two tables close to the Subway.

Talmage saw none of it, and the crowd appeared to be oblivious, focused on their own concerns. Just another day. At strategic spots around the food court, young men and women were apparently engaged in FaceTime calls, their phones taking everything in.

Back in the kitchen at Coffee Klatch, Tamara did a couple breathing exercises, centering herself. Then she took the tray one of the servers had prepared for her.

“Knock ’em dead,” the older woman said, her eyes twinkling. “I can’t wait!”

“Here goes!” She brought the tray out to the table, took the coffee orders for Winthrop and Talmage, and returned to the back. When she got on the other side of the swinging door, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“C’mon,” the older woman teased. “That’s the easy part!”

Tamara shook her head, smiling. “Not for me! I’ve always been able to sing, but I’ve never been able to act!”

Then she heard the piano – the practice runs that Winthrop had promised. Deep breaths!

As Tamara was preparing to take the second tray out, Carson and Kenny sauntered over to the “entrance” to Coffee Klatch – really, just a break in the chairs and tables, with a sandwich board outside. Carson pretended to check out the menu; Kenny, being more of a practical joker, pretended to check out Kiko and Gabe.

From his seat at the piano bench, Winthrop kept half an eye on what was going on. Spencer Waldman and Joy Hartley had joined him at the piano, along with several people who’d just wandered over at the sound of music playing. But Waldman and Hartley stood with the piano between them and the table where Frau Talmage was sitting, and they held their instruments – a violin and a viola — so that Talmage wouldn’t be able to see them if she turned around.

Finally Tamara came out of the kitchen and Winthrop turned to give Spencer and Joy a wink. “Go flight.” Then he launched into the penultimate section of the Ninth Symphony, Allegro ma non tanto.

It was all Gabe could do to keep her excitement from showing. She was ready for Carson and Kenny’s entrance, of course, but she was watching Tamara, who looked nervous. Suddenly the tray Tamara was carrying wobbled, sending coffee spilling over the lips of the cups and into the matching saucers. Gabe jumped out of her seat to steady it.

Tamara’s heart skipped a beat as she felt the tray slip and her eyes were wide as Gabe managed to catch it just in time.

“Freude, Tochter aus Elysium!”

And just like that, Tamara’s panic disappeared. She would never be an actress or a waitress, but her voice was a gift from God – a gift she had developed until its use was almost second nature. She joined her voice with Gabe’s as she echoed back the joyful words, and she grinned when Frau Talmage spun to gape at them both.

At the piano, Waldman and Hartley raised their instruments and joined Winthrop in the run that launched the soloists’ second call and response. This time Tamara and Gabe began, then the men followed when they hit “Elysium!”

Tamara led the next section, in which each soloist entered a measure after the one before, soprano-alto-tenor-baritone. “Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng geteilt!”

Gabrielle felt the power of the words as she lifted her clear voice, twining it with Tamara’s in an intricate harmony. Your magic power binds together what we by custom wrench apart.

Oh, yes, the young transwoman thought. That’s what friendship – and music! – has done for me. For my life.

As the quartet sang, three students rose and walked over to the piano, and the sweet sounds of the piccolo and the flute soared above the music.

Renata Talmage was by no means slow, but she was so completely blindsided that it took her a moment to understand how thoroughly she’d been snookered. She shook her head as if to clear it, then turned slowly to see the crowd beginning to form by the piano. The oboe and the brasses were lining up in their regular places . . . but more was coming.

Sixty-some students suddenly stood up at the same time, joining a four-part chorus, a powerful repeat that then continued Schiller’s verse. Deine Zauber binden wieder, Was die Mode streng geteilt; Alle Menschen werden Brüder Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

Throughout the food court, people were staring with mouths wide open, or scrambling to pull out their phones and record a bit of the magic that was happening around them. A line of faces could be seen above, where people on the upper concourse were leaning over to see what was going on. A TV camera was recording from close to the top of the escalator.

Winthrop stood, the piano no longer needed, and brought everyone together through the intricate parts. Then he turned to the soloists to lead them through their final quartet, the achingly beautiful repeat of what the full choir had just sung. All men will emerge as brothers, where you rest your gentle wings.

As the soloists finished their parts, the choir came forward to take positions behind the instrumentalists gathered around the piano.

Kiko came up to stand in front of Frau Talmage, and now her face was solemn. Between her delicate hands, she held a thin wand of highly polished white oak. “Director?”

Talmage rose slowly, working hard to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. But her right hand was steady as she took the baton from her student’s hands. “Miss Agatsuma.”

Then she stepped forward into the atrium, her concentration solely focused on the artists who were awaiting her direction. She had no need of sheet music; this score was burned in her very soul.

She looked at the violinists and the viola player, arrayed to the left. Behind them, Darren Smith and Katrina Keller had set up the Bass and the Cello. All eyes were on her.

Now.

First the strings. Six bars later, she brought in the wind instruments. The brasses. Then the timpany. The triangle. The grand tambourine.

Finally, the choir. The great, glorious choir that she had shaped and trained. Nurtured — and disciplined! — like they were her own children. Oh, there was no way she could have turned down the offer to lead one of her Bavarian homeland’s most storied symphony orchestras, but . . . whether she wanted to admit it or not, these students were hers, and she loved them all.

Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt!
Brüder über'm Sternenzelt
Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen.

Her heart soared to hear their voices, one more time, and ached as she gave the final cut-off, silencing them. She brought the orchestra together for the final, powerful prestissimo section, a racing, thunderous, crescendo of sound.

Then with her signature slash of the baton, she brought the symphony to a close.

She didn’t even hear the applause, though the airport had never experienced anything like it. Through a prism of tears, she could only see her students. Her beautiful, talented, students. It was to them, and not the random, gathered audience, that she made her conductor’s bow.

Only Kiko and Gabe, who had come up behind her, were close enough to hear her murmur, “Seid umschlungen, Millionen!”

Be embraced, all you millions.

Be embraced.

– The end

Author’s Note: This is written as a stand-alone story, and I hope that it works as such. But the characters are taken from my novella, Who Makes Intercession, which I wrote for last years’ “Change a Life” contest. I would like to thank my good friends Joanne Barbarella and Rachel Moore for beta reading this story for me.

Musical Coda: Joanne, who shares my love for flash mobs, insisted that I include the link to a wonderful video of a group that did portions of the last movement of Beethoven’s Ninth a few years ago. Apart from the very end of the performance, where they skip to the orchestral conclusion of the symphony, there’s very little overlap with the portions that the Branford crew do in my story, but at least it gives you a bit of the feeling. :)

For information about my other stories, please check out my author's page.