Mama B - a Time to Love (5 page)

The three of us rode back to Peasner in
good spirits, even singing a few praises. Henrietta like the old hymns, and she
got a voice that hit those notes just right. Make you remember the days when
the saints used to sing with no organ, no drums. All we had was our voices,
maybe a tambourine, and our hands to praise Him.

We’d just about made it home when I got a
text from Frank:
Eunice admitted to hospital
.

Right away, I called Frank. “What
happened to Eunice?”

“Looks as though she was trying to break
in somewhere. She’s got a fractured nose and several lacerations,” he informed
me.

“Break in
where
?”

“I’m not sure…a vacant house, maybe,” he
suggested. “As soon as they finish patching her up, she’s going to jail.”

I sighed. “Okay. I’ll call Libby so she
can get hold of Eunice’s family. Hopefully they’ll come see about her.”

Tell you one thing, having a doctor
friend working at the hospital was the next best thing to having a hotline to
the emergency room. He kept an eye out. “Thank you, Frank, for letting me
know.”

“No problem.”

 I did my best to explain the
situation to Ophelia, but I couldn’t very well do so with Henrietta butting in
every few seconds with topics having nothing pertaining to the conversation.

“Ophelia, I’ll call you later,” I finally
said, hoping she would catch my drift.

 “It ain’t nice to keep secrets from
somebody sitting right in the car with you, B,” Henrietta scoffed.

Just when I thought I could skip one past
her wits, she regained them. Funny thing how the mind works. “I’m not keepin’
secrets, Henrietta. Nothin’ for you to worry yourself about.”

“Mmm hmmm,” she settled.

After Ophelia dropped me off, I barely
had time to set my bag down in the house before I U-turned right out the door
again to pick up Libby. But instead of the hospital, we was on our way to the
jail because Frank gave me the word they’d already transferred Eunice.

You know what? On the way to that jail, I
started thinking to myself.
Why am I rippin’ and runnin’ all over town
tryin’ to help somebody I don’t really know? How do stuff like this always end
up on my plate? 

Really, I was just an elderly woman
trying to live out my golden years in peace. Had my own house, my own life, and
my own family to be concerned with. If Eunice’s kids didn’t want nothin’ to do
with her, nine times out of ten it probably had somethin’ to do with the way
she
didn’t
raise them. Not tryin’ to judge her, just saying it’s always a
serious reason behind a man who don’t care about his Momma.

Anyhow, whatever happened between them
wasn’t my fault. Plus, I could have used a good nap after the women’s
fellowship. This business with Eunice had done messed up my sleep.

With my own well-being in mind, I
declared, “Libby, if her son won’t get involved, I think we ought to let the
state step in. Only so much we can do, you know?”

“What you think the state’s gon’ do?”
Libby wondered.

I shook my head. “I don’t know, but I’m
sure Eunice ain’t the only senior citizen without a place to go. And they got
plenty of our tax dollars to figure it out. We done paid our dues.”

“Now, B, this don’t even sound like you talkin’,”
she chided. “Since when do you pass folks on the side of the road so they can
wait for the
real
Samaritan to come by?” Libby always got to remind me
of the word—even when I don’t want to listen at the moment.

“Eunice ain’t exactly on the side of the
road. She’s in jail. Got three hot meals and a place to sleep. Might be safer
for her in there, anyway. Least she won’t be sneakin’ off people’s porches,
worryin’ ‘em and such.”

“Well, if you didn’t care nothin’ ‘bout Eunice,
you wouldn’ta worried about her so.”

Surrender swept over my heart as I
thought about Libby’s words. Eunice was old and homeless. Coulda been me if it
wasn’t for the grace of God. One of the songs Henrietta sang earlier sprung up
in my heart.
If it had not been for the Lord on my side, where would I be?
Right
then, I knew exactly where I would have been – in Eunice’s shoes.

Thank You, Lord. I don’t even want to
think about where I’d be if You hadn’t been with me all the days of my life.

I didn’t know what all the Lord had
planned for me and Eunice, but somehow I knew before Libby even parked that Eunice
would be coming back home with me.

Eunice’s
son sent the money to bail her out of jail. Once again, his position as judge
had persuaded the powers-that-be in our small town to bend the rules. Took a
little while longer, seeing as she was already wanted for the fine she hadn’t
paid, which her son also handled after they mentioned it to him.

He sent his money alright, but he never
once made an effort to drive the little thirty or forty miles it would have
taken him to see his mother. Well, maybe it’s a good thing he didn’t. Eunice
looked pitiful. Her nose all bandaged and taped up, eyes swollen, forearms
wrapped in gauze.  Her lip was busted, too, but that part didn’t look as
bad.

When I finally got her inside, all Eunice
wanted was her pain medication.

“You don’t need to take your pills on an
empty stomach,” I warned her as I lifted her feet up on the bed and pushed them
beneath the covers.

“I don’t think I can eat. My entire face
hurts,” she moaned.

I insisted, “Let’s try a little broth.”

She was able to get down a few spoons
full of soup with the pills. “Thank you.”

Even though she wasn’t much for chewing,
she still had a little left in her to tell me about how she’d gotten hurt. “So
many foreclosed properties these days. The houses just sit unoccupied. Every
once in a while, I find a nice one that I wouldn’t mind staying in for the
night.”

“Eunice, you can’t just go breakin’ in
somebody’s house!”

“It wasn’t anybody’s house, really. The
bank had already put the papers on the front door, I made sure of it. And I
wasn’t trying to break the window. I was climbing in, but I lost my footing and
everything came crashing down, including my face on the hard, tiled floor. It’s
a good thing the neighbors were nosy enough to have already called the police
when they saw me open the window, otherwise I could have been on that floor for
hours or days before I got the wherewithal to get out of there.”

“Chile, God is certainly looking out for
you,” I marveled.

“I know,” she agreed. “They say He looks
out for babies and fools.”

I shook my head sharply. “Don’t call
yourself a fool, Eunice. You get some rest now.” I patted her leg and stood.

“Wh…where are you going?”

“Back to the living room.”

“Whaaaaat are you going to do?” she
slurred.

“I’ve got to get some food together for
afternoon service tomorrow. Then I’ll watch a little TV, read my Bible.”

“Mmmm.” Her eyelids slowly closed.
“Okay.”

Softly, I walked toward the door.

“B?” Eunice whispered.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. You’re my angel.”

I’ve been called a lot of things, but it
always hits a spot in me when somebody calls me their angel. Even if they are
all drugged up or in some desperate situation, it’s nice to be the one Christ
uses to bring relief.

“Bless God, Eunice. Bless
Him
.”

Eunice slept the rest of the night and on
into Sunday morning, which put me in a tight spot. My house rules don’t allow
no able-bodied person to stay home during church service. Thing was, Eunice
wasn’t exactly able-bodied, not considering she probably still needed her rest
as the drugs wore off and the pain kicked in.

The bigger problem was leavin’ her. Now,
I’m kind and loving and all, but I didn’t like the idea of havin’ a stranger
alone in my house, even if she was halfway knocked out on pain-killin’ drugs.

My only other option, though, was to stay
home with her and miss church, which certainly didn’t set well with me.

“Lord, You stay with her and watch over
this house,” I prayed as I walked out my back door then headed through my yard
toward the church. As I made my way, I had to laugh when the Holy Spirit asked
me a question:
Who do you think has
been
watching over this house
every time you leave? 
“You’re right, Lord. You
been
doin’ this
job already.”

He so excellent in all His ways.

I worshipped without one single care
about Eunice being alone in my house. “I give myself away, so you can use me,”
we all sang with our organist, Clive, and the praise team. Every time I sing
that song, I have to swallow my selfishness. Otherwise, I’d be lying in church.
My house isn’t even my own right now.

The thought of Frank worshipping beside
me later on in the afternoon skitted through my mind a few times. I wondered if
he would like Mt. Zion. Our choir. My pastor. Really, I almost laughed at
myself. Been so long since I worried about whether someone else liked the same
thing I liked.

After Angela made the announcements and
the children’s choir sang, we had the offertory. One by one, the congregation passed
by the mothers’ row with envelopes, cash, and checks in hand. Had to be a good
seventy-five people or so in attendance that particular Sunday, not including
the choir and the pulpit.

Some wore their Sunday best, complete
with stockings or with handkerchiefs in the suit pockets. And some of ‘em look
like they done came straight from the nightclub. Breasts hanging all out, pants
sagging all down. We didn’t have all these walks of life in the church before
Rev. Dukes came along. He started that youth outreach program with the free hot
dogs. Ever since, our church got a lot of off-color visitors.

But once I got past the fact of too much
skin showing, I could only thank God for bringing them back to His house and
pray away the offense the enemy was trying to bring me. Satan will do anything
to get your mind off track at church.

Couldn’t help but notice Geneva’s empty
seat to the left of the pulpit area. That’s where all the ministers’ wives sit,
so the ministers can look down and see their wives supporting them whenever
they preach.

The enemy tried to steal my attention
again with the dance team—another one of Rev. Dukes’ projects that stayed
around. Chile, one of them praisers had a belly that would not stay put under
her shirt. That gut came spilling over the top of the pants that was already
too tight to begin with.

Help us, Lord.
Now I’m sorry, but if was she gon’ get up
there next to the pulpit dancin’, she would have to put on some kind of
under-fabric or maybe wear a sash. I know peoples are doing their best to make
everybody feel welcome and included, but if you a big girl, you got to take
extra precaution when it come to stuff like this.

I hope she don’t wear that again.

No sooner than I had the thought, the
praise team leader, Queesha, invited everyone to come back and see them perform
again at the Friends and Family service.
Oh, Lord.

Ophelia led the prayer for the sick and
shut-in. In my mind, I added Eunice’s name to the list since I hadn’t had time
to get her name to Angela for the bulletin. What I did have time for, though,
was to write Ophelia a note about the dance team situation. As the choir sang
its final song, I tore a sheet from my journal and scribbled: We need to talk
to Queesha about the dance team clothes real quick.

I folded the paper in half and gave it to
Henrietta to my left as I whispered, “Pass this to Ophelia.”

Henrietta’s nostrils flared indignantly.
She squinted at me and looked down her nose like a mean usher from back in the
old Baptist church about to pop your head for chewing gum in the sanctuary. “Is
this church business?”

“Since you asked, yes it is.”

“Well, I’m a member of this church, too,”
Henrietta huffed, “and I got every right to read this here paper.”

Before I could put an end to her
shenanigans, Henrietta unfolded the note and read what I had done intended for
Ophelia’s eyes only. Not that I didn’t want Henrietta to know, but I didn’t
want it spread all over the church, you see.

“You got some nerve,” Henrietta breathed
down on me. “Queesha is my grandbaby, and I won’t let you discourage her from
the work of the Lord.” Henrietta tore up the note and stuffed the pieces deep
down in her purse.

“You don’t think that gal’s shirt was too
short?” I accosted Henrietta.

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see
nothin’ but my granddaughter’s wonderful choreography. Queesha’s just as good
as
your
granddaughter, you know?”

I couldn’t do nothin’ but turn my face
back toward the choir. I let Henrietta have that one for free. Couldn’t blame
nobody but myself for forgetting she wasn’t quite all there.

Pastor Phillips started his message off
slow, thanking several of the brethren for helping him trim the church’s
hedges. He preached from Romans chapter six about being dead to sin. He said a
few things I didn’t agree with, but that’s normal, I think. You ain’t got to
agree with every word come out of your pastor’s mouth any more than you agree
with everything come out of your husband’s mouth or your supervisor’s mouth.
Long as it don’t happen too often and they still got the right heart, just
respect the position, pray for a better understanding for both of you, and go
on.

I figure since he had to preach again at
the three o’clock service, Pastor didn’t get himself too revved up in the
morning service. We let out half an hour early and I did manage to snag a
second with Queesha on my way out the front door. Once Henrietta had done
passed on outside, I locked elbows with Queesha and whispered, “I need to chat
with you for just a second.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We stood there together while the
majority of the members passed by, waving their quick good-bye’s seeing as we
was about to come right back in a few hours. Once I saw I could talk to her
without an audience, I said truthfully, “Sweetheart, you are doing a lovely job
with the dance team.”

“Thank you, Mama B,” she beamed all
thirty-two.

Give me the words, Lord
. “And honey, I know you want to do
everything in excellence before the Lord, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said as her face
crinkled a bit. “Is everything okay? Was the song okay?”

“Oh yes, the song was fine.” I took a
deep breath. Though I done corrected folks in love plenty of times before, it
still ain’t easy. “But Queesha, one of the dancers need on something extra so
her belly won’t show while she’s ministering before the congregation.”

Queesha’s chest deflated and she leaned
in to me. “I know, Mama B, but I don’t know how to tell her without her getting
mad. And I don’t want her to feel like she has to dress differently when we’re
all supposed to be uniform.”

“She ain’t got to dress different,” I
said. “She just got to dress in her real size or have some kind of safeguard so
when her hands go up, we don’t all get a flashin’. Now, I know you don’t want
to hurt her feelings, but if you plan on being a leader, you got to learn how
to take correction and give it, too.”

“Thank you so much for saying something
to me,” Queesha said, her words laced with grace. “If no one had mentioned
this, I probably would have dismissed the thought from my mind.”

“Oh no, chile. If the Spirit put a check
in your heart about something, you don’t overlook it, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Thank You, Lord, for helping her receive
this in love.

“But how do I tell her?” Queesha begged
to know.

Just then, Henrietta come barging up to
us. She grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and pulled her out of my grasp. “Come
on, Queesha. You ain’t got to listen to this foolishness.”

“It’s okay, Grandmomma, Mama B
was—”

“Stickin’ her nose where it don’t
belong,” Henrietta poked her
own
nose into my conversation with Queesha.
“Let’s go.”

Poor Queesha didn’t know whether to
follow her grandmother or stay by my side. “He’ll give you the right thing to
say,” I said as I released her arm, not wanting to put no division between her
and family.

I had to get my mind on finishing up my
food contribution for the after-service fellowship anyway. I waltzed on out the
sanctuary, saying good-bye to Pastor on my way.

“See you in a few hours, B,” he prompted.

“Oh, you know I’ll be here with bells
on.”

Just then, Henrietta called my name like
I was somebody’s child outside after dark.

I stopped and turned back toward the
church, putting one hand over my brow to shield from the sunlight. “What?”

Henrietta crossed her arms on her chest.
“Who’s that lady smokin’ a cigarette on your back porch? And why she got all
kind of toilet paper on her face?”

Lord, she said it so loud everybody left
in the parking strained to get a good look at Eunice sitting in my lawn chair,
huffin’-and-a-puffin’ like a choo-choo train despite the bandages covering half
her face.

I lowered my voice, walking back toward
Henrietta in hopes that Eunice wouldn’t be offended by all this. “That’s not
toilet paper, it’s medical dressing. Her nose is broken. She’s a lady I met at
the food pantry.”

Henrietta looked past my shoulder, I
guess checkin’ Eunice out. “She sure is fat. Don’t look like she need no free
food and no more pets.”

“
Pets
?”

“You know what I’m saying. Don’t try and
change the subject,” Henrietta growled.

I was speechless.

Henrietta carried on, “And for the
record, don’t be tryin’ to tell my granddaughter what to do when you livin’
with cigarette-ment in your own house!”

Pastor approached us, his right hand raised
in a gesture of peace. “Sisters, is everything okay?”

The last few stragglers went ahead and
got in their cars, thank the Lord.

“Yes, Pastor, everything is fine,” I
stated as calmly as possible.
I can’t let Henrietta get to me.

“No, it ain’t.” Henrietta pointed toward
my yard. “She got somebody over there smokin’ a cigarette.”

Pastor’s eyes followed the finger to Eunice,
who waved back at us between drags.

“Pastor, she’s a homeless woman. She fell
and hurt herself yesterday. I’m housing her until we can figure something out.”

“And she’s smokin’ cigarettes!” Henrietta
insisted he acknowledge.

“Yes, I see. B, you keep up the good
work,” Pastor commended me.

“Good work? How she doin’ good work while
she got the devil stayin’ with her? And tryin’ to tell my granddaughter what to
do?”

Pastor gently cupped Henrietta’s elbow.
“Now, sister, who are we to judge?”

Henrietta smiled and softened her voice.
“I guess you’re right, Pastor.” Obviously, she was pleased that she’d gotten
the Pastor’s attention enough to warrant his touch.

He turned and led Henrietta to her car,
then he winked at me. I took this as my cue to escape.

I knew Henrietta was sick. I knew she was
delusional. When peoples are off their rocker, we all got to be patient with
them.

But that don’t always stop your feelings
from gettin’ hurt.