Unexpected Reunion

By Margot Rising

Lynn Marchand, now living in the city, is the former organist for a men's prison. She is surprised when a former inmate choir member contacts her to tell her that another former inmate is looking for her. It seems that he is somehow implicated in a murder, and she was once a witness to his advising another inmate what kind of gun to purchase for shooting birds, deer or people. In a short time, three former inmates are protecting her from this not so nice ex-con.
Even though Lynn gets phone calls from him, she tries to deny that anyone would want to harm her. During the ten years as prison organist, the men seemed to have nothing but respect and affection for her, so she is puzzled by this man's behavior. She enjoys being reunited with the men, and is touched by their concern; but as hard as they try to protect Lynn, one of the bad guys kidnaps her. Can the three brave men save her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 26, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595867431

Margot Rising

Margot Rising likes living in her Minneapolis apartment. She read very little until about ten years ago when her husband died and she found she had time on her hands. She filled that time with reading and later, with writing. ?It fills my day pleasantly,? she says. She writes so others can experience that enjoyment.

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Prologue

Lynn stood at the grave staring down at the headstone. Milton H Marchand, Loving Husband and Father. It was followed by date of birth and date of death, but those facts didn’t penetrate her thoughts. Loving husband and father, she read aloud. Tears streamed down her face. If only that had been true. If only Milt had thought any other living person was important to him, someone who made a difference in his life; but his life had been centered solely around Milton H. Marchand. The only interest his wife and children held for him was how they could improve his quality of life. For whatever reason, Lynn didn’t become aware of this fact until they had been married for almost twelve years.

Her awareness of this fact began when Howard and Angela were eight and nine years old, an age at which they were more able to take care of themselves for most things. Milton had insisted that mothers were meant to stay home and take care of the house and their children. There was no defying him.

Lynn had been attending college during their first year of marriage, although Milton didn’t really approve of her continuing her education. She had only twelve semester hours left to complete her degree when Milton told her they were moving to the other side of the state. There was no way he would allow her to finish college; perhaps, he’d said, she could finish up at a college closer to their new home. He, however, tabled that thought, and refused to hear any discussion on the matter, even long after they were settled in their new home.

They had been married for almost three years when Angela was born, followed by Howard less than two years later. By that time, Lynn found it impossible to leave town for even short periods of time. Childcare was her responsibility, Milton had said, and there was no place in his house for an inadequate substitute mother, which was what he called anyone other than Lynn who took care of the children. Lynn didn’t mind during those first years. She happily stayed home with her children, although she felt like a prisoner at times when Milton set down his rigid rules. She shrugged and did as she was told. After all, the man was the head of the family, and she assumed that he had the final say. It had been that way with her parents, so she felt she had to accept it.

She was filled with regret, not totally without bitterness. Her life, the life she would now have to live alone, was truly frightening. She was responsible for earning her living. She would have to budget and plan, making sure that she could meet her rent, utilities, food, clothing, and medical expenses, not to mention maintenance on her car. Milton had taken care of all that, so she had very little experience in handling the finances. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the task, but she would have to do it without her degree and a decent job that paid enough to guarantee success. If things had turned out as she’d planned, she could have stepped into a teaching position at any school. Now, however, she learned that it would take a full year or more to get her degree. At forty-five, she couldn’t see herself in a classroom with students who were young enough to be her children.

She thought back to the short time Milt had allowed her to teach in a neighboring town. The school was small and lacked a music teacher. The Superintendent managed to hire her on a permit to teach, and she taught until she became pregnant with Angela. That was one of the happiest and most rewarding periods of her life.

Ten years ago, she had accepted a job as organist for the Protestant and Catholic choirs at the Correctional Institution just outside the town where they lived. She wasn’t sure why Milton had allowed it, but he had finally given in and said they could probably use the extra money since providing their teenagers with fashionable clothes required more money than he was comfortable allowing for them. The job was only part time, but she’d felt pride in her accomplishment and a certain measure of freedom that she hadn’t had since she became pregnant with Angela.

The inmates were friendly and treated her with respect, and seemed truly interested in her as a person, not just as Mrs. Milton Marchand, but as Lynn Marchand, talented and capable organist. She began to feel special when she was with the choir. She spoke to Milton about it several times, but he wouldn’t discuss it. He’d said, You know you can’t trust those criminals. They’re con men, and don’t you forget it. End of discussion!

Things had become increasingly uncomfortable for her when Milton continued to control her. After bringing it up many times, she finally got his attention enough so Milton was considering one session with the marriage counselor, but he had a heart attack and died before they had even made the appointment. Planning ahead for it, with the possibility of a legal separation, she had resigned her job at the prison. Good or bad, right or wrong, she’d have to go through with her plans and move to River City where her friend Jennifer had offered her a job as a piano and organ instructor at the new Music Studio Jennifer and her husband had just opened,

She would not let Jennifer down, nor would she change her mind and decide not to move. The timing of Milton’s death could well be an act of God. Who was she to interfere with God’s Plan, if it was indeed that? She was not willing to outguess the Lord, so she would move just as she had planned to do.

Chapter 1

Gjertson’s Coffee Shop was in a strange area of the city. Strange to her, that is. It was an unpretentious building next to a nondescript book store, midst the other unpretentious buildings with similar store fronts on Elm Street. The street was lined with parked cars, not a space empty. She double checked the address before parking the car in the lot next to the little restaurant. She was by no means a snob, but she wondered if she would venture to this area of the city later in the evening. There weren’t any unsavory characters walking the streets or drunks slumped against the buildings. It just wasn’t what she expected of River City, at least not the area where she had her apartment. She took a deep breath, got out of the car and went through the door. To her surprise, she found a clean, cozy little café with only a handful of guests, understandable at this early hour.

When she said she was meeting someone, the waitress seated her in the corner where she didn’t feel so conspicuous, yet was able to see out the front door.

Lynn kept her eyes on the front window, a little anxious, but at the same time, a little excited. Jerry Jensen said he’d meet her here shortly after 4:30, early enough to beat the dinner rush. What on earth could he want? She hadn’t heard from or about him since he was released from prison almost three years ago. Right now, that seemed like a lifetime ago. Memories crept up on her, some pleasant, some sad.

She thought back to her phone conversation with Jerry. His voice was tight. It’s important that I talk to you. Can you meet me at Gjertson’s Coffee Shop on Tenth and Elm Street?

She’d laughed to herself, careful not to hurt his feelings. He’d always been friendly, teasing, making everyone laugh at his outrageous remarks; but underneath it all was a sensitive, caring man. How he ever got himself sent to prison was beyond her, but she supposed it had to do with his poor self esteem. Either that, or it was a crime he’d committed while under the influence of alcohol or drugs like so many of the inmates in correctional institutions. She seemed to remember that he admitted that he’d been drinking that day.

She had been persuaded to take the job as organist for the church services at the prison, and she’d enjoyed every minute of that job for ten years. Well, most of the ten years. First, she’d had to get over her embarrassment at being amidst a bunch of men, criminals, at that. Up until then, she’d led a very sheltered life, with few dates in high school and hardly any in college. Her experience with men was nil; she seldom associated with men in social affairs. She married the man she’d met when she was in college, and associated with other men only when they went out as couples.

She smiled to herself when she thought of her first day at the prison. After locking her purse in a locker in the front lobby, she, with only a couple tissues in her pocket, was admitted inside the steel gates and finally escorted down the corridor to the chapel area. She wasn’t allowed to take in as much as a comb or a fingernail file. She was introduced to Father Ireland, the Catholic chaplain, and Reverend Sterns, the Protestant chaplain. By the time she was escorted to the chapel where the choir was waiting, she was shaking inside, hoping that the men didn’t notice. She kept her hands busy and smiled as she met each one of the twenty men who sang in the Protestant choir.

George, the choir director at that time was a huge black inmate almost as wide as he was tall. He had a lets-get-down-to-business manner. He pounded his book on the edge of the organ, getting the attention of the men, but making Lynn jump. He said to her softly, Sorry, and turned back to the men. Let’s get started before the Catholics get here.

Lynn raised her head to meet his eyes. In spite of the no-nonsense tone, there was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke to the men. You’ll have some time to get to know her when we get done practicing. He placed a sheet of paper in front of her on the organ. Okay? He waited for their nod or verbal acknowledgement. Besides, he said with a grin, I hear they gave her a pretty long sentence. She’ll probably be here long after we get released.

The men all laughed while Lynn tried to hide her red face by looking around for some music. She’d looked at the sheet he had placed in front of her, but there was no music, just words. Her puzzled eyes met his. I-uh-need music, she stammered. This is just a sheet of words.

He nodded. Just follow us. He hummed a note and the men broke out in song. Why they needed her, she didn’t know. They sounded good. George waved his arms around like he knew what he was doing as the men sang. After one verse of the spiritual, he stopped. You can join in anytime.

She’d been petrified at the invitation. Join in? Figure out which note he’d started on and try to follow him? She shrugged. She’d never done anything like that before. The music classes at college had never prepared her for anything like that. Why hadn’t someone told her this job would be impossible? She sat for a moment as she listened to them, shrugged and found the key. Slowly she added a note here and there, finally finding harmony that fit, She managed to get through the entire piece. When they’d finished going through the song several times, she’d felt fairly comfortable with it.

Good, said George, and the men all clapped and commented how good she was. Unaccustomed to compliments or flattery, she’d like to have sunk through the floor, but there, of course, was no chance of escaping her embarrassment. What other unknown feats must she accomplish before she could go home and make that important phone call to resign as organist? Who ever resigned after only two hours of practice? The word quitter came to mind and she didn’t like the sound of it one bit. She’d always prided herself on reserving judgment in uncomfortable situations like this one, although, she never would have dreamed of anything even close to this happening.

One minute after the other she was being tested, if not being expected to play music from words, then being questioned and teased with comments some of the men made for the sole purpose of making her blush.

Let’s go through the hymns for Sunday. George announced the number of the hymn that Chaplain Sterns had chosen, and designated the hymn book in front of her.

Who ever said, my kingdom for a horse couldn’t possibly know how she felt when she saw the hymnal. She actually had notes in front of her. The chaplain had come in to apologize for selecting such a difficult hymn for her first time, and offered to change it.

She told him it was no problem, and it wasn’t. He’d stayed just long enough to compliment her on being able to play something so difficult. You’ll do just fine, he said. Hang loose. He left the chapel so the choir could finish their rehearsal.

With a sigh of relief, she’d weathered that first rehearsal and was still living, so she might try to make it another week, that is, if the Catholic choir wasn’t any worse than the Protestant. What more could she be confronted with?

Would you like to order? asked the waitress, interrupting her thoughts and bringing them back to the present.

Lynn looked up. I’m waiting for someone, but I’ll have coffee while I wait.

The waitress left and Lynn’s eyes went again to the door. What was so important that Jerry needed to see her? How did he even know where to find her? She’d moved to River City after Milton’s death. Not many people knew where she was living, but she’d occasionally seen some of the former inmates in a store or on the street. A lot of them had relocated to various cities to break ties with their partners in crime who were from the same area where they had lived before their incarceration. River City seemed to be a popular choice.

Lynn’s cell phone rang and she took it out of her purse. Hello.

Lynn? This is Jerry. Look I’m gonna be a little late. Can you wait?

Lynn looked at her watch. How late? It wasn’t that she had anything special to do, but she didn’t quite trust the reliability of his word. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe the men when they were under lock and key, but she had to face the fact that these men were different people than they were while they were in the prison choir.

Twenty minutes at the most.

She sighed to herself. I’ll be here, Jerry. Can you tell me what it’s about?

I’ll tell when I get there. He hung up without another word.

She held back her frustration. Okay, she whispered as she pressed end and put her phone back in her purse.

The waitress had put her coffee in front of her and waited until she had put her phone away. Any cream or sugar?

Black is fine.

The waitress looked at her sympathetically. Your date not coming?

He’s coming, but he’ll be a little late. She felt the need to set her straight. He’s not a date, by the way. Just someone I knew a few years ago.

The waitress nodded. She guessed the lady was in her mid to late forties. Neat shoulder length brown hair and milk chocolate eyes drew one’s immediate attention. She was nice looking, and friendly, as if she didn’t view strangers with skepticism, as if she’d answer any question you’d ask. That meant only one thing. She was a small town girl and Cindy could spot one from a mile away. Are you new in town? she asked innocently.

Not really. I’ve been here for two years, but I live in a different part of the city. This area is new to me.

I see. And she did. This lady was too classy to come to places like this. Her hair was neat and trim, hanging loosely on her shoulders. Her face was attractive more than it was pretty, but the impression Cindy got was that this woman was warm and gracious. You could tell before she even opened her mouth that she was nice. It wasn’t the clothes she wore that made her unique, but more the way her personality stood out. She belonged in a high-classed place where they had white table cloths, silver candlesticks and a hostess in a stylish gown showing you to your seat. She didn’t want to press her luck with more questions. It mattered little if you made an enemy of someone who would probably never come back; but you never knew. Did you want to wait for your friend before you order?

Lynn smiled. Yes. She glanced at her name tag. Thank you, Cindy. She waited for the waitress to leave. She seemed to be in her late thirties, a very nice figure and she judged her to be about five-five. She was pretty in her own way. Her dark hair was caught in a pony tail, her lips just slightly pink, and she didn’t wear a lot of makeup like some waitresses did. Her eyes didn’t look particularly cold or warm, but they left Lynn with the impression of confidence.

Lynn looked out the window at the people walking by, people who had a purpose. In spite of the cold wind, most of them had eager looks on their faces, probably looking forward to getting home after a long day at work; getting home so they could get warm, relax and watch the threatening snow from inside their cozy homes.

Her meeting with Jerry had reminded her of the prison choir and how she had worked her way into the job. During her ten years as organist, she had played for well over a dozen inmate directors, some of them talented and capable, some even trained; but there were those who knew nothing about music outside of the fact that they could carry a tune and had the ability to tell the men what to do. She often wondered how the group could sound so good together with little or no direction. They must have liked music enough to stick with the choir through thick and thin, with capable directors or not so capable ones.

One director stood out above the others because he had directed a large choir of his own in a suburb of Detroit. Joe’s crime was writing worthless checks to pay the expenses for the extremely talented group of black gospel singers on an extensive tour. This happened not once, but a number of