Come Sunday Morning (22 page)

A
round the city merchants jostled sleeping men in doorways.

“Wake up, you bum!” they said. “It's time for me to open my shop.”

The morning sun readied for its first appearance over the horizon as the city grudgingly came to life. Compact cars, with headlights piercing the remains of night, scurried through neighborhoods delivering bundles of information, while vans stopped on every corner, filling news receptacles with the Sunday paper.

 

In the dim morning light the headline read:
OUTSPOKEN NEWSMAN FOUND DEAD
,
SLAIN IN HOME
.

The paper landed with a thud on the front porch of Kenneth Davis's home. Still in his bathrobe, he retrieved the paper and stood in his foyer in shock. He froze when he read the headline, and then quickly read the first paragraph:

Kenneth dropped the paper to the floor and poured a glass of bourbon. His hands shook as he swallowed, but the liquid offered no escape from the bold print that stared up from the carpet.

 

A gentle tap on Cynthia's bedroom door drew her from a fitful sleep. “Reverend and Mrs. Pryce, are you awake?”

“Come in, Carmen. What is it?” Percy responded.

A dark-haired housekeeper wearing a white apron entered. “I've brought your coffee and the morning paper,” she said with a Spanish accent.

Cynthia sat up and probed the nightstand for her reading glasses. The words assaulted her eyes, causing them to blink in disbelief. She covered her mouth with a trembling hand as Percy read over her shoulder.

“Oh my God,” he said, sitting upright.

“I don't believe this. It says they think he was killed by a burglar.” Cynthia continued reading:

Percy got out of bed and began to pace the floor. “You see what you've done, Cynthia. If you hadn't given him those e-mails, he would still be alive.”

Cynthia slammed the paper onto the bed and said, “What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with me. The article says he was being robbed. Oh God, Percy. They must have killed him shortly after you spoke with him.”

Carmen spoke again. “Reverend Pryce, is there something I can do? Your hands are shaking. Can I bring you more coffee? I can put something in it to calm you.”

Percy stopped pacing and sat back down on the bed and said, “No, thank you, Carmen. There's nothing anyone can do now.”

 

The smell of coffee filled Naomi's kitchen as she summoned the courage to open the front door and retrieve the morning paper. She prayed there would be no mention of Hezekiah or New Testament Cathedral. When she opened the door, the headline greeted her as she looked down at the paper on the porch.

Naomi sat at the kitchen table with her favorite coffee mug and read:

Naomi placed the paper facedown on the table and cradled the coffee mug.

“Thank God,” she said out loud. “At least we have a few more days to figure out what to do about Hezekiah.”

 

Sandra Kelly was already dressed for the day when the paper arrived.

“What the fuck?” she said after reading the headline. “Lance, you idiot. How could you do this to me?”

Sandra dropped the paper to the floor and thought,
Fortunately, Phillip's greed is more powerful than his conscience.

 

It was a beautiful Sunday morning at New Testament Cathedral. The parking lot was already filled with freshly washed cars. Members were soon required to park along Cleaveland Avenue. Children played on the lawn in front of the church, carefully trying to keep their flowered white dresses and little tan suits clean for as long as possible. Women rushed their husbands up the stairs to the church to get a good seat. The lobby was filled with members waiting to be seated by the ushers. White gloves handed neatly folded powder blue bulletins to each person who entered the sanctuary.

Rauly Jenkins had dutifully placed
CLOSED
signs at each balcony entrance. Worshippers were directed to Fellowship Hall, where folding chairs had been assembled auditorium-style, when the sanctuary had reached capacity. No one liked viewing the service over the television monitors, but they could not refuse the only remaining option.

At 10:50
A.M
. the choir lined up behind the now-closed double doors to the sanctuary. Except for choir members waiting to enter the sanctuary, the lobby was empty. They waited patiently for the first chords from the organ. Singers nervously fastened buttons on their robes and adjusted the sashes embroidered with the name of the church.

The doors flew open and the procession began when the chord was finally struck. Parishioners stood to welcome the jubilant march.

In the quiet of his office, Pastor Cleaveland retrieved the vibrating telephone in his pocket. “I'm glad you called. I thought you had forgotten me.”

“I could never forget you. How are you?” Danny asked.

I'm okay, baby.” Hezekiah spoke like a teenager in love. “I've got you. What else could I ask for? How are you?”

“I didn't sleep too well last night. I'm still worrying about you.”

“I wish I were there with you now. Maybe I should come by later and give you a back rub.”

Danny smiled. “I'd like that. I'm going to the gym, but I should be back by two o'clock.”

Hezekiah stood from his desk and stretched. “I'll see you then. I love you, Danny.”

“I love you too, Hezekiah.”

Although he was within the safe confines of his office, Hezekiah felt exposed and vulnerable to the world. A cold resolve showed in the lines of his face. His yellow necktie was neatly in place, and the pin-striped suit hung elegantly from his shoulders.

As he reached for the door, the telephone rang again. It was Percy Pryce.

“Have you read this morning's newspaper?” Percy asked.

“I never read the paper on Sunday morning. You know that,” Hezekiah responded with a hint of irritation.

Percy dropped his head and propped his forehead up with his palm. “Lance Savage is…” There was a pause. “He's dead, Hezekiah. They found him yesterday in his home.”

Hezekiah froze in place. “What happened to him?”

“The police don't know. From what I read, it sounded like a robbery.”

“God rest his soul,” Hezekiah said softly. “Did the article mention the story he was working on?”

“It did, but no details were given.”

“Well, at least we can be thankful for that.”

“Yes, but this is not over yet, Hezekiah. Phillip Thornton said they will run the story eventually.” Percy began to sob into the telephone. “You know I would do anything for you, Hezekiah. I'm so sorry. I am so very sorry.”

“This isn't your fault, Percy. You're a good friend. I know I can count on you and Cynthia.”

Percy dropped his head to the dining-room table in front of his penthouse window and continued to cry as Hezekiah said, “I'll see you in the pulpit in a few minutes, my friend.”

 

Willie Mitchell dropped Virgil three blocks away from the church. He then double-parked his car in the parking lot of the church and ran up the stairs. His seat was waiting for him in the pulpit. As he passed Samantha on the front row, he bent over to kiss her cheek and whispered, “Everything is set.”

Samantha had decided against pearls for her wrist and instead chose a diamond bracelet that Hezekiah had bought her for Christmas. She listened attentively as the church secretary read announcements from the morning bulletin.

The woman at the podium had a sultry voice better suited for radio. Her glasses rested on the tip of her nose as she read, “Please mark you calendars for the first Sunday evening of next month. As you know, that is the kick off of our tenth anniversary at New Testament Cathedral.”

Everyone applauded. The worship service proceeded as it had for the past ten years. The choir sang, the people rejoiced, and the cameras rolled. Pastor Cleaveland entered the sanctuary on cue. The cameras followed the precisely sculpted black suit as it floated up the steps to the pulpit. He nodded good morning to the choir as they continued their song. When the song ended, all cameras focused once again on Hezekiah. The applause subsided and Hezekiah spoke his first words of the morning.

“I know a lot of you are not going to want to hear what I have to say this morning, but, praise God, I'm going to say it, anyway.

“Brothers and Sisters, it's time for us to stop lying to ourselves. It's time we stop lying to each other, and, most important, it's time we stop lying to God. He already knows our hearts, so who is it we think we're fooling? Now, please understand, I'm preaching to myself just as much as I'm preaching to you.”

A mixture of laughter and “Go ahead, Preacher” came from the far reaches of the sanctuary.

“Now, one lie is only the tip of the iceberg. Once you tell one lie, you've got to tell ten more to cover it up. Pretty soon we don't even know what the truth is ourselves. We lie about our hair color. We lie about our jobs. We stretch the truth about our income.” Hezekiah extended his arms to illustrate his point. “And some of us even lie about whom we love.”

Samantha looked nervously over her shoulder to the balcony. She hoped Virgil would act before Hezekiah said something that would destroy the rest of her life. She wanted to be remembered as the wife Pastor Cleaveland loved, not as the woman he had planned to divorce for a man.

Virgil Jackson entered the now-empty lobby unnoticed and quietly climbed the side stairs of the balcony. The double doors of the sanctuary were closed, and all eyes and ears were focused on Hezekiah and his cryptic sermon. When he reached the landing at the top of the stairs, Virgil knelt down and crawled along the side aisle of the balcony. He could not see the pastor, but he heard his familiar baritone voice.

On his knees Virgil turned into the second row of pews and crawled toward the center of the gallery. He tensed as the uncarpeted floorboards creaked from his weight. The gun in his pocket accidentally banged against the leg of a pew, and Virgil froze on the wooden floor. No one seemed to have heard the noise, so he raised his head. Pastor Cleaveland was now in clear view. The tall man in the black suit was standing behind the podium. Virgil waited patiently, hoping Hezekiah would move from behind the oak structure.

Hezekiah continued his sermon. “I will be the first one to say before God and all of you that I've told my share of lies. I'm just a man, a man who must humble himself daily before God to confess my sins and to plead His forgiveness.” Hezekiah picked up the handheld microphone and walked away from the podium. “I, like you, have done some things in my life that I am not proud of.”

No amens were uttered. Hattie Williams sat rocking with her Bible open and reading the Lord's Prayer. A quiet confusion began to work its way through the pews. This was a sermon like none they had ever heard from the pastor. He had lowered himself to the level of mortal. The faces became troubled by his descent, because they needed him to be better than themselves.

Hezekiah put one foot on the steps, preparing to walk down, when two loud shots reverberated over the sanctuary. The first shriek came from someone in the center of the church as Hezekiah fell backward into the pulpit. Everyone was paralyzed for what seemed like minutes. Women began ducking behind pews, while men shielded them. Screams were heard now from every part of the auditorium. Hezekiah Cleaveland lay bleeding from bullet wounds to the head and chest. The members in Fellowship Hall gasped as they watched the mayhem on the massive flat screen unfold.