Second Sunday (30 page)

Ray never doubted that the way to any man’s heart was through his wallet. So unbeknownst to Cleavon, once Earl took charge
of Gethsemane, he would get a hefty off-the-record check for working with Ray each and every month. After Ray bulldozed that
old church into the ground and built a new, modern satellite American Worship Center, he would allow Hamilton to serve as
its pastor for as long as he followed orders from the central office. And the very first order he was giving Earl was to eliminate
all that shouting, dancing, and just plain out-of-control black frenzied craziness from the Sunday service. Sometimes Ray
secretly hoped that heaven was segregated, because he knew he couldn’t stand listening to all that noise and “mumbo jumbo”
throughout eternity. And he certainly wasn’t going to stand for it in a branch of his own church.

“Earl, do you have any idea where that deed is?”

Earl had been watching the other two men in quiet desperation. Neither Ray nor Cleavon knew that his current church was working
feverishly to get rid of him. So if this plan fell through, Earl Hamilton was going to be out of a job. He shifted his eyes
to Cleavon, who was digging dirt from under his nails with a pearl-handled pocketknife, wondering why the man couldn’t put
his hands on that deed.

Cleavon looked up from cleaning his nails and said, “What? Y’all staring holes in me like I lost the deed on purpose. Ain’t
my fault that doggone thing disappeared.”

“What I don’t understand,” Ray spat out, “is how you could entrust something that important to some old black janitor.”

Cleavon sat up straight and glared at Ray Lyles. “For your information,
Ray,
” he said evenly, watching Lyles turn red because he called him by his first name, “Mr. Oscar Thomas was a respected member
of Gethsemane Missionary Baptist Church. He didn’t like where the church was going, and he was one of the people in my camp
working to turn things around.”

Ray Lyles wanted to punch Cleavon Johnson. He could tell that Cleavon didn’t believe that nonsense he was handing him.

“Respected member or not,” Ray said in a hard voice that made Cleavon think of a slave driver, “he was just an ignorant Negro
janitor who probably didn’t even know the meaning of the word
deed.
”

Earl looked at Lyles, wondering if he had the good sense to remember that he was alone in a room with two black men. He hoped
the man stayed out in St. Charles when he finally took over the church. Because if Ray Lyles waltzed up in Gethsemane talking
that talk, one of those “ignorant Negro janitors” was going to whip his tail and then lead the charge to run Earl out.

Cleavon stood up and leaned on Ray Lyles’s desk, staring him down. “You may have money and connections and be white,” he said,
“but if you ain’t itching to take this up outside, I’d recommend that you think twice about talking trash about my people
in front of me.”

Ray Lyles squared off his shoulders, trying not to flinch under Cleavon’s street-hard gaze. He reached for the green security
button under his desk and was about to push it when the intercom beeped.

“Ray dear,” his wife Betsy’s voice rang out. “Are you still in that meeting?”

“Yes, darling,” Ray answered. “What are you up to?”

“Honey, I was just about to do a new song,” she answered brightly. In the background the pianist was playing what Cleavon
thought was a very familiar-sounding tune, only the beat was kind of stiff and off.

Betsy Lyles coughed, cleared her throat, and started in on the song that Sister Hershey Jones sang at Miss Mozelle Thomas
and Mr. Joseaphus Cantrell’s wedding. Her voice was real high, thin-sounding, and somewhat off-key, in contrast to Sister
Hershey’s rich and beautiful mezzosoprano voice. Cleavon happened to glance over at Earl Hamilton and noticed that he was
wiping sweat off his brow and grimacing in pain. Cleavon was forced to close his eyes and massage his forehead when she hit
a high note that almost made him cry out, “Help me, Jesus.”

While Earl and Cleavon were suffering, Ray Lyles was sitting back in his chair with his eyes closed, listening to his wife
like Cleavon listened to Gladys Knight. When the song finally ended, he said, “Betsy, darling, that was absolutely beautiful.”

“I am so delighted that you liked it, Ray.”

“Loved it,” he answered with a big smile on his face, momentarily forgetting the two black men sitting in his office.

Cleavon stared at the intercom, wondering how in the world a Beaver Cleaver white woman like Mrs. Lyles got her hands on that
song. It was on the only gospel album ever recorded by the blues singer Big Johnnie Mae. No one but a real blues lover would
even know about Big Johnnie Mae, and then would have to find a record store in the black community to get the album.

Once the intercom was off, Ray Lyles went from smiling to scowling in a matter of seconds. “Now about that deed,” he continued.

Cleavon sat there thinking up a kiss-my-black-behind, boldface lie. The truth was, he had given the letter to Mr. Oscar so
Katie Mae wouldn’t find it when she went snooping through his things looking for evidence of other women. And the deed, of
course, might well not even exist.

Luckily, a plausible explanation popped into Cleavon’s head. He looked at Ray Lyles, stroked his chin, and said, “Well, I
thought it best to keep the deed out of my hands because I wanted to avoid facing a court order demanding that I turn over
any church documents in my possession to the pastor. I didn’t want to give it to the current pastor. And I didn’t want the
Deacon Board to know about it, either.”

Ray studied Cleavon’s face a moment and then said, “That was a smart move, Cleavon. But that doesn’t make me worry any less
that the deed may fall into the wrong hands.”

“Raaay,” Cleavon answered, drawing it out, again enjoying how Lyles’s face flushed at the sound of his name in a lowly Negro’s
mouth, “the possessors of the wrong hands at my church also possess very big mouths. They would never be able to sit tight
and keep quiet this long if they had that deed. We’re black, Ray. Don’t you know how black people can’t keep secrets?”

Ray Lyles gave what Cleavon and Earl Hamilton called his “white man laugh”—a hearty chuckle lodged in the back of the throat,
with very little emotion—followed by a crisp, “You’re a riot, buddy,” to drive the point of the laugh home. “Well, buddy.
I’ll bet you’re right. And if the deceased man’s widow does find it, I doubt that she’ll have any idea what to do with it.
Maybe when Earl gets in here he can smoke it out with a little pastoral counseling, eh, Earl?”

Cleavon fought to keep his temper in check. He was sick of sitting up here trying to look like a “safe Negro” with Lyles.
As far as Cleavon was concerned, Gethsemane was
his
church, and it would remain his church after any pastor they hired was long gone. Up until today, he hadn’t possessed any
qualms about doing a shuffle dance with the devil to regain what he considered his right to control his church. Cleavon Johnson
was not a man with a secret desire to be a preacher. Instead, he was a layman run amok—one who was determined that no preacher
ever gained full control over what he believed belonged to him and his family.

Earl responded to Lyles’s suggestion with a weak laugh, knowing full well that Cleavon was trying to play them both for fools.
And as for Ray Lyles, if getting this church wasn’t so important to him, he would have gone over to that hyena-laughing white
boy and beat him like a slave. Ray Lyles didn’t have a clue about black church people. They were not about to let a white
boy come up in their church thinking he was going to run it. They would burn it to the ground first.

“Prayer Changes Things,” the motto for Gethsemane’s Prayer Troopers Intercessory Prayer Group, kept nagging at Miss Mozelle,
causing her to toss and turn so in her sleep that Joseaphus shook her hard to wake her up, so he could get some rest himself.

“Mozie, what did you eat before you went to bed?”

“Nothing.”

Joseaphus eyed her suspiciously, saying, “You sure about that?” Mozelle loved to sneak and eat hand-packed chocolate Velvet
Freeze ice cream late in the evening, when she knew that it would give her indigestion, crazy dreams, and a restless night.

“You think I’m lying?”

“About chocolate, maybe yes.” Joseaphus sat up in bed. “But if you ain’t, why you tossing and turning so, Mozie?”

“I’m just so worried about that letter Cleavon gave Oscar for safekeeping. The hundred years the church got to use the land
is just about up, and we haven’t heard one peep about it. Cleavon never even came looking for that letter after Oscar died.
And remember Oscar’s last words, telling us to keep Earl Hamilton out of the church?”

Joseaphus nodded.

“Well, I just know in my heart that snake in the grass Cleavon Johnson is in cahoots with that serpent Earl Hamilton, and
they are getting ready to spring some poison on us.”

“I think you’re right, Mozie,” he said.

“But, Joe, I don’t know what I should do about it.”

Joseaphus reached out and stroked her cheek. His Mozie was such a busy little thing. Always had to be doing something—cooking,
cleaning, working in the yard, washing her car. Even when she got in the bed at night, the girl had to squirm and fidget for
a few minutes before she could get still long enough to fall asleep.

“What was running through your head in your dreams, Mozie?”

Mozelle thought hard and then said, “I kept dreaming the words
Prayer Changes Things.
”

“Then, Mozie, I think the Lord is telling you to come to Him with the problem, reminding you that He is in control. And when
the Lord has given you some answers and His direction, you can tell the rest of us Prayer Troopers what we need to do.”

“Yeah, I’ll do just that,” she said.

“And now, get some sleep. Remember, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“Don’t know how you could forget, as much as you been praying on it, girl,” Joseaphus said, smiling and then pinching her
on the thigh.

“What was that for?”

“I just remembered that I’m still on my honeymoon,” Joseaphus said, grinning and pulling Mozelle close to him.

“You so grown, Joseaphus Cantrell.”

“I know that’s right, baby,” he answered with a sexy laugh running all through his voice.

Mr. Louis Loomis stood next to Sheba, who was radiant in a pale peach two-piece ensemble designed by Essie Simmons. Sheba
had seen the fabric in Essie’s shop when she was there to buy the lavender suit she wore to Miss Mozelle’s wedding. And as
soon as she saw it, she said, “Essie, hold on to that material. Don’t know why I’m thinking this. But I know that’s what you
gone make my wedding dress out of. Hope I don’t sound like I’m crazy, seeing that I ain’t even got a man.”

All Essie did was laugh and say, “Girl, I will put this away for you. If you feel strong enough to risk asking about it, then
you know in your heart that you need it. You just have to have enough faith to sit back and let the Lord work it all out.”

And in only two weeks, Sheba ran back into the shop hardly able to contain herself, breathlessly blurting out, “Essie, you’d
never believe it but—”

“You need your peach wedding dress.”

When Sheba nodded, Essie embraced her, then immediately set out to fashion a Ghanaian-inspired gown that had Precious Powers
drooling over it when Sheba came in for her final fitting. The fabric alone was breathtaking, a rich brocade pattern on handwoven
cotton, so soft and delicate that it looked like silk. The ensemble had a peplum top with cream-colored silk braiding on the
collar and edges of the sleeves, and a long, straight skirt with a slit high up the side. For the wedding, Sheba’s hair was
wrapped in a headpiece made of the same material as the dress, and she wore white gold hoop earrings, engraved white gold
bracelets on each arm, and cream satin platform pumps. Her bouquet was a large assortment of bright colors and shades—oranges,
reds, hot pinks, and sunshine yellows.

This was the second time that Mr. Louis Loomis had to give a bride away in a month, and he was starting to feel like “Marryin’
Sam.” He was so proud of Sheba—ever since she’d joined the church, she had grown more and more into a godly woman on the order
of that described in Proverbs 31. And he had to hand it to Louise, Mozelle, Nettie, Viola, and Sylvia for pulling together
a wedding in less than one week’s time. The tiny side chapel at Freedom Temple Gospel United Church looked beautiful decorated
with fresh flowers and ribbons in the same reds, oranges, pinks, and yellows as Sheba’s bouquet.

George and Sheba had picked a popular gospel love song by Elroy Thorn and the Gospel Songbirds for her entrance, played on
the small stereo Rev. Simmons kept in his office. The song was so perfect for the two of them—with lyrics stating so loud
and clear what George and Sheba had secretly felt from the moment they first met:

“
I took a walk with God one morning, and on that day I asked Him to send me someone just like you. On that morning while I
prayed, I didn’t even know if it were meant for me to have a love so true. But God was with me on that day. He listened to
my heart and sent you my way. I said, my God, He truly heard me pray, and sent me one as wonderful as you—my blessing in the
form of you . . .”

As the song faded, Sheba took her place beside George, with her children standing behind her, along with her closest friends.
She had always dreamed of having a big, fancy wedding. But never had she imagined that her real wedding would be as beautiful
and spiritual as the one the Lord had given her today.

When Sheba got saved, she understood that she had been looking for love the wrong way, partying at the Mothership Club all
Saturday night and coming home so early on Sunday morning that the thought of going to church made her head hurt worse than
the drinking, hours of dancing, and lack of sleep ever did. And on the day she accepted Christ in her life, she had gotten
down on her knees, praying, “I tried it my way, Jesus, and we both know it didn’t work. Now I want to do it Your way. Deliver
me from this aching loneliness and give me a witness to the power of God to answer our deepest prayers, especially when we
pray for love to come our way.” And the Lord granted her that witness, with today shouting out her testimony.