Hell on Church Street (14 page)

“I suppose it’s my way of dealing with grim circumstances,” I said.

“I suppose,” he said.

That fucking drunk back there didn’t give two shits about the plan of salvation
,
I wanted to say
. I didn’t say anything, of course, and just sat there.

Nick finally blurted out, “I was thinking about the pastor search committee. I think we should start looking soon. How would you feel about that?”

“The sooner the better,” I said. I saw no point in telling him something he didn’t want to hear.

“Really? I thought you might be opposed to the idea.”

“Why would I be opposed to it?”

“Oh,” Nick said. “I don’t know. It seemed to me as if you had your eye on the job. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just thought you had your eye on the job.”

“I don’t see why. I’ve never expressed anything along those lines.”

“Are you saying you don’t want the job?”

“Nick, my philosophy is to stay open to the Holy Spirit. I certainly wouldn’t rule out looking for a new pastor. I wouldn’t rule out taking the job if the church wanted me to. I wouldn’t rule anything out. It’s about God’s will, not mine.”

“Well, I certainly agree with that, but—”

“Good.”

“—I’m just looking at the situation and trying to get a feel for what you have in mind. I’d like to proceed in as organized a way as possible.”

“I’ve tried to be clear about what I’m thinking. I think we should bend ourselves to the will of the Lord. If you feel his prodding, if the deacons feel his prodding, and if the church seems ready for it, then I say the sooner the better.”

Nick said, “I don’t feel like you’ve answered my question.”

“What is your question?”

“What do you want?”

“The will of God.”

Nick took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry if that exasperates you, Nick,” I said. “But honestly, I’m trying to keep all options open. I’m not sure why you’re having a hard time accepting that.”

“I feel as if your actions are giving me a different answer than your mouth.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. It really grieves me that you feel that way, and I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that. I’ve just tried to do my job the best I could. Really. Honestly. Outside of doing my job as well as I can, I don’t know what my ‘actions’ have been.”

I had him there. Nick couldn’t name what I’d done wrong because I hadn’t done anything wrong.

He took another deep breath. “Look, maybe that was out of line. I don’t mean to act as if I don’t appreciate the work you’ve done, just…I think you’re skimping on your true ambitions. I just want to know what you want.”

“I say
,
the Lord’s will be done.”

Nick swallowed a mouthful of disbelief and forced out a smile. He didn’t say another word the rest of the way.

A week later, it was done. At a meeting of the deacons, Brother Herschel announced, “Brother Webb, we’ve decided we’d like you to take over as pastor of Higher Living Baptist Church.”

The deacons beamed at me, smiling and nodding. Nick stared at his hands.

“Is this the unanimous decision of the deacons?” I asked.

“No,” Nick said.

The room stopped and his face turned red from embarrassment. The chairman’s mouth hung open a little.

Doctor Samuels took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Is that called for, Nick?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we be speaking as one, speaking to this church and to this city with one voice?”

Nick took a deep breath and said, “Brothers, I apologize for that outburst. It was childish.” Then he stood up and turned to me and said, “I can only tell you, however, what God has laid on my heart. I’ve been on my knees about this every day since Brother Card died, and I’ve been reduced to tears about it.” He looked hard at me now, trying to be as calm as possible, but I could see his revulsion for me in his stupid, handsome face. “I don’t think you are the man for this job. I don’t think the Lord wants you as pastor of this church. And I don’t think I’m alone in this. There are others in this room who feel the same way but don’t want to say anything.” He hung his head. “I don’t have any hate in my heart, brothers. Please believe me. But I can’t go against what I know in my heart is right.”

With that he turned and walked out of the room.

For a while we all sat in silence. I
waited. Brother Herschel shook his head and closed his eyes. The minister of music, a chubby guy whose sole ambition in life was to do as little work as possible, sat there with his mouth open. Dr. Samuels looked ready to cry. I waited, and when the moment was just right, I said, “Let’s pray.”

I prayed a good one that day. I prayed for strength and guidance, prayed for all of us and for Nick and for God’s mercy and for a spirit of Christian love. I prayed that the church would rise up as an
eagle, that
we would all know we were in the hands of the Lord. But I was cussing on the inside. I knew Nick could split the church if he wanted, and I knew that the negative publicity wouldn’t do me any good. I also knew that the news of his walking out the room would be shot around town in seconds after that meeting was adjourned. So I prayed a long time because I knew things weren’t going to work out exactly like I’d planned.

Chapter Fifteen

And then it all started to fall apart.

The first blow came when I reached the house. After the meeting at church, I’d driven around for a while just thinking. Driving around didn’t do much good, though, and I was still feeling tired and stressed when I walked through the front door. I didn’t have both feet inside when the phone started ringing. I sighed. I wanted to turn around and leave, but I had to answer it.

It was
her
.

“I want to see you,” she snapped.

“Maybe tomorrow we—”

“Now,” she said. “At the elementary by my aunt’s house.”

Then she hung up.

I cradled the receiver and leaned against the wall. I just stood there getting my senses together for a second before I headed back out the door.

It was a
ten minute
drive over to the school, and when I pulled up she was there already, standing on the concrete steps leading up to the front door. School was out and the parking lot was empty, and it felt as if we were meeting in a ghost town. As I got out of my car, a bitter gust of wind blew a Wal-Mart bag across the asphalt like suburban
sage brush
. Angela wore a nondescript yellow sweater and blue jeans, and she stood there in the cold like she was a goddamn cop.

 
As soon as I got out of my car, she rushed down the steps.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Are you going to run the church?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Are you?”

“Well, I—I don’t know really,” I stammered. “There’s been some talk.”

“Just answer me,” she said. She put her hand on the hood of my car as if to steady herself and sort of bent over like she might be sick.

“Are you all right?” I asked. I looked around at the vacant parking lot and the empty playground.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she said, “Just answer my question!”

“I told you I don’t know, Angela,” I said.

She stood up straight and looked me in the eye. “You’re always talking,” she said, “but you never say anything. You know whether or not you’re going to be the pastor. You’re not stupid. Why won’t you just tell me what you know?”

“Look,” I snapped. “I don’t know. But I think so, yes. So if you just want a one word answer—if that’s your idea of ‘talking’—then the one word answer is yes. Are you happy now?”

She shook her head and leaned against the car. When I drifted toward her, she put her hand out to stop me.

“Just… Don’t touch me. Not right now.”

“Would you tell me what’s wrong then?”

She took a deep breath. “It’s my father’s church. You can’t just take it away from him. It’s not right.”

“Baby,” I said, “you’re talking irrationally.”

“I don’t want you to take it away from him.”

“No one is taking it away from him,” I said softly. “He died. I am so, so, so sorry he died, but he did. What do you want to happen? Do you want the church to have no leader? Think about it. I know you’re upset, but the church needs a leader. If they want me to be that leader, don’t you think I should do it?”

She stared across the parking lot and the wind blew again, stirring the creaky swings on the playground.

She looked back at me finally and sucked on her bottom lip. She was just a kid, but I could tell there was something turning inside of her.

“Where were you the night my parents… Where were you?”

My stomach felt terrible and heavy, like it was full of hot water. “Angela…I was home.”

She shook her head and started to cry.

“Baby…”

“I called there,” she said.

“I didn’t answer,” I said. “I don’t answer the phone every time it rings, you know.”

She wiped the tears away with the white knuckles of her fist. “You’re not telling me the truth.”

“Of course I am. You’re talking crazy. I don’t always answer the phone. I sat out on the porch and read a little. I…ate. I watched some television. I was there all night.

“Look,” I said, “I don’t want your father’s church. The deacons asked me to fill the pastor position for a while and I said I would. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. If you have some bizarre notion that I’m after the church, I just won’t take the position of pastor, that’s all. There’s nothing I want in this world but to be with you. You know that.”

A car turned down the street and I tensed up. Angela was obviously crying. What could I do but stand there and let her cry? The car slowed down as it neared the school, and I kept my back to it. Then it turned into the school’s driveway.

It pulled up alongside us, and Gabe got out and said, “Hello” to me and looked at his sister. She stared at the ground.

I extended my hand, and Gabe gave me a weak handshake. He was wearing gloves and a heavy coat, but he looked like he might be shivering. To her he said, “Been looking all over for you, Buttons.”

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “Maybe we should get on back to Aunt Carol’s.”

Still staring at me, she said, “Okay.”

I scrambled to think of what to say. I’m always the talker. Saying nothing was like putting on an orange prison jumpsuit. But I couldn’t think of one goddamn word. I waited on her.

“Let’s go,” she said to her brother.

I didn’t think she was going to say anything to me—which would be suspicious—so I blurted out, “I hope you get to feeling better.” It was stupid, but my mind had ground to a halt.