The Veil (4 page)

At lunch, she stayed in her classroom with the door closed, trying to reach Roger on the phone. He still was not answering her phone calls. How could he treat her that way? He knew her better than anyone. She never would have thought he would do something like this to her.

Sitting in her car after school she again tried to call Roger on the phone. He still did not answer her. She called his job and was told he called in sick. He never called in sick. Upset, she left him an extensive voice message and asked him to call her back.

She started her car and tried to decide if she felt like eating. She didn't. She drove down the street, not really paying attention to where she was going, praying for God to reveal His will in her life. Her life was going well. She had a good job, so they said. At least, she had a stable job. She had a nice apartment, a saved boyfriend, and she thought she had found the perfect church. Now, with the snap of a finger, it had all changed. She was kicked out of the church and her boyfriend was not talking to her and she did not even know why. In addition to all of that, state testing was about to begin in the school and Mr. Davis was on everybody's case about test scores. This only added to all the stressors going on around her.

Suddenly, she could hear her grandmother's voice. She steered her car in the direction of her grandmother's house. She was the only one she could talk to about anything—if only she could get through the conversation without falling apart. Her grandmother would give her the answers she needed.

She pulled in front of the small white wood-frame mill house located near the center of the city. Her grandmother was sitting on the porch as usual, smiling, when she saw Misha's car slowly turn into the driveway. Before she could get out of her car, the tears were flowing down her cheeks. She ran to her grandmother's open arms.

“Baby, what's wrong?” There was concern in her grandmother's voice as she took her hand and led her into the small house. Misha looked around the room. She felt at home in the tiny room decorated with pictures of her family. The smell of fried chicken filled the air. Misha followed her to the breakfast nook and they sat at the small table.

“Everything. Everything.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

“I just finished making some bread and peach preserves. Let me get you some. Have you had dinner? I think there is another piece of chicken in here. Let me see, where is it?” Her grandmother got up from the table and opened the cabinet and retrieved a large plate from the shelf.

“No, Grandma. I'm not hungry.”

“Look at you. What you got yo'self all worked up 'bout?”

Misha told her grandmother everything that had happened. Her grandmother sat at the table listening attentively as Misha opened herself up to her. When she finished, her grandmother started a story of her own.

“You know you a special child.” She picked up Misha's hand and patted it.

“Grandma, you say that about all of us.”

“Listen to me. You a special child.” She continued, “You the first born grandchild on both sides of yo' family. Everyone was so excited 'bout you coming to dis world. But the devil tried to take you outta here before you born.”

“I know Mama had to be on bed rest before I was born so she wouldn't have a miscarriage.”

“Yeah, that ol' devil tried to kill ya. But, God wasn't havin' no part of that. When yo' mama went into labor, your daddy was out of town driving that truck. He was trying to get back before you born. So, I had to go to the labor room wit' her. You came quick, unusual for a first pregnancy. But there you was, all seven pounds seven ounces of you, ready ta make your appearance in the world.”

She got up and got Misha's baby picture from the mantel over the fireplace and gave it to her. “You was a beautiful baby. But, I knew that you'd be diff'rent. See when you was born, you had a veil.”

“What's that? I never heard of anything like that. I don't understand.”

“When you came out, yo' face was covered with a thin skin. This a sho sign that you have the gift to see thangs ordinary folk don't see.”

“Like a prophet?” Misha was curious. This was the first time she had heard anything like that. No one ever mentioned it to her.

“Som'in like dat. Runs in our family. You the only child born this way. I know, 'cause I was at all y'all's birth. I wanted ta know.”

She continued to explain to Misha, in her strong Southern-coastal Gullah accent, that when she was a child she had the ability to tell when something was going to happen. She even knew about things that happened in the family long before she was born. She had wisdom a child should not have and knew things she should not have known. Misha didn't remember any of the things she was hearing. She did admit she knew things like when people were going to die or private things about people.

“You have the gift. You have to be careful who you tell. When you went to the bishop, he upset 'cause you told him the truth. You can't lie 'bout things like that. The Holy Spirit using you to reveal truth and He reveal it to who He please. That was a warning to Bishop Mo'. I bet you not the first one God sent in there to warn him. You an easy target. He thinks 'cause he got rid of you, he got rid of the secret. I bet you anythang those chil'en you saw was his.”

“Grandma, his children are grown and his grandchildren are teenagers.”

“Don't know 'bout all that. But truth will be revealed. I know it hurt real bad for somebody to cuss you like that. But you gotta move on. God'll lead you. Pray. Pray hard. Now that you workin' for the Kingdom, devil don't like it. He be out to get you for sho. So you have to pray. Pray without ceasing. And do what the Lord tells ya. 'Til God sends you somewhere, you can come to my church. Pasta Smif won't kick you out. He'll be glad ta have a new memba.”

“Grandma, Roger, he won't talk to me now. He's not answering my phone calls. They said he called in sick today at work. I don't know why he's mad at me. I didn't say anything about him.”

“Roger yo' husband? You know who yo' husband is.” She sat calmly at the table, looking at Misha as she began to cry again. She didn't try to comfort her. She stood and retrieved a glass from the cabinet. Opening the refrigerator, she poured a glass of water and gave it to Misha.

Misha took a small sip and set the glass on the table. “I love Roger. We talked about getting married but we can't afford it now.”

“He yo' husband?” Her grandmother returned to her chair.

“I love him.”

“You not answering me. You know who yo' husband is since you was a child. Now answer me, he yo' husband? I'll answer you. If he was, he be here supporting you 'stead of taking side of that man. He understand the gift and the purpose that God has for you. Now when you was a child, you had one name that you said was your husband, but when you found boys, you stopped talking 'bout him. You rememba?”

Misha did remember his name: Matthew. She remembered talking about marrying Matthew and having children and living in a big house with pretty flowers all around it. She said he was a preacher and she was the elegant first lady who wore big hats and had a successful business. That's all she talked about until she was about twelve. Dismissing him as a figment of a young girl's imagination, she found real boys to be more appealing.

“I know you remember. Now, I know it look hard now. What's important is you learn what you supposed to do with the gift. Rememba, you can't tell everybody about it. I may not understand everything you see and hear, but I do know that it comes from God and don't you let nobody tell you no different.”

She went into one of the cabinets and returned with a bottle of olive oil that she had her pastor bless. Covering the open bottle with two fingers she slowly tilted the oil until it touched her fingers. Then she made a symbol of the cross on Misha's forehead and began to pray that God guide her through this process He was leading her into. Misha allowed herself to cry on her grandmother's shoulder. This was where she found the most comfort, the most peace.

Misha looked around her classroom at the church. She missed the children in her class. She looked at every paper hanging on the wall with the names of her students on them. It had been two weeks since Bishop kicked her out of the church and she still did not understand why. Roger had not spoken to her and surprisingly she felt okay with that. She only cried a couple of nights but it was not a sad cry; it felt more of a cleansing. She learned a long time ago not to waste time on people who did not support her. But, she still had her moments when she wanted to pick up the phone and call him to see if he wanted to go out to eat or something. Old habits die hard. For some reason, she felt her load was lightened.

As she left the classroom, she noticed a hint of light peeking through the crack in the door of Bishop Moore's office. Since the church was almost empty, it would be a good time to talk with him. Slowly she walked toward the office and knocked on the door. Bishop was sitting at his desk, writing something in a spiral notebook. When he saw her, his eyes grew large and he leaned back in his chair. Misha tried to read the expression on his face. It seemed blank, without emotion.

“What are you doing here? I thought you understood you're not welcome in our church,” Bishop Moore said to her.

“I had some things to get out of my classroom.”

“So you're stealing from us?”

“No, I left my jacket and a couple of personal items in the classroom.” She held out the jacket and small box filled with stencils she held in her hand so he could see what they were. “I saw your light on. Your secretary was not in. May I speak with you for a minute? I don't understand what happened the other night and I would like to talk with you for a minute.”

Bishop looked as if he was ready for a fight—his lips poked out and his jaws locked in position. He did not invite her to sit down. “I have an appointment coming in.”

“I won't be long,” she said as she remained standing in the doorway.

“What do you want? Haven't you done enough damage?”

“That's just it. I don't know what happened. I came to you for help and you publicly embarrassed me by calling me out my name—accusing me of being a witch. How did you come to that conclusion? I have never practiced witchcraft. No one in my family who I know of practices witchcraft. I don't know where you got that from.” She began to cry. “I gave my all to this church. When I wasn't at school, I was here or doing things for this church and yet it seemed like it didn't matter to you.”

Bishop sat back in his chair and began swaying back and forth.

“Bishop, what did I do to you? Whatever it was, please forgive me. I didn't mean to say or do anything to hurt you or this church. I love this church. I don't want to leave. And Roger, he won't even speak to me. Was it about the woman and children?”

“There you go again.” Bishop jumped up from his chair and walked to face her. “I don't know where you heard those rumors, but you can't fool me. I'm going to ask you nicely to leave this church, and if you come back again, I'm going to file a restraining order against you and have you arrested. Do you hear me?”

“Misha, what are you doing here?” She heard Roger's voice behind her. Her body stiffened as she turned to see him near her in the hallway. His eyes were puffy and his clothes were wrinkled. The smile he usually wore was absent. He slipped past her as if he was trying not to touch her as he walked into the office.

“Bishop, Misha, what's going on here? Misha, I didn't know you would be here. Bishop, I thought we were talking alone.”

“Roger, I just came by to get my stuff out of the classroom, that's all. I've been trying to reach you. They said you have been calling in sick. Are you okay?”

“I got your messages. I didn't feel like talking. You hurt me.”

“Hurt you? What did I do? You're the one who told me to talk to Bishop in the first place. How can you say I hurt you?”

“So, just like I suspected, you're in on this too, Minister Williams?” Bishop interrupted.

“No, Bishop. I didn't tell her anything. What she did, she did on her own.”

“Roger, how can you lie like that?” Misha yelled. “You told me to come and talk to Bishop. I wouldn't have done it if you had not talked me into it.”

Misha was stunned. This is not the Roger she knew. They had been together almost four years. He had been her rock. He was there to support her in all her efforts. She could count on him for anything—she thought. Of all people, he would never betray her. However, today, he was acting as if they never really knew each other. Her lips trembled as she tried to keep in the words she really wanted to say.

“Roger, why are you doing this? I love you and you said you love me. Don't do this to us. Don't, Roger, please don't.”

Roger moved farther into the office and sat down in one of the big leather chairs, unable to look at Misha in the face. Misha watched as he sat in the chair, looking down at his hands clasped in his lap, and said nothing more.

“Ms. Holloway, I'm going to ask you again to please leave,” Bishop said.

“Roger, you're going to sit there and not say anything? You're going to let them treat me like this when you know I haven't done anything wrong?”

He didn't answer her. He did not even look up. He acted as if he did not hear anything she said. She stared at him as if she stared long enough, he would turn around and talk to her.

“Ms. Holloway, I'm trying to be nice.”

Bishop didn't need to tell her again. Misha ran from the office, her pulse racing as she picked up the pace to get to her car. The click of the door closing behind her only made her angrier. There was no telling what kind of lie Roger was there to tell. She gasped when she heard someone call her name before she reached the door. Turning, she saw a gray-haired lady come out the door of the main office.

“Come into my office quick,” the lady said. It was Gertrude, Bishop's long-time secretary. They entered into the office and she offered Misha a seat and handed her a Kleenex. “I can't talk to you long. Pastor will fire me if he knew I spoke with you at all. I've been praying for you. It's about time you found out about Roger. His head is so far up Bishop's butt he could probably clean his intestines from the inside. He'll believe anything Bishop tells him.”

“I don't want to talk about Roger.”

“I understand. You're hurt and it'll take time to get over it. Count it all joy. It's best you learned this before the two of you got married. I want you to know I believe you. I overheard what you said. I didn't mean to pry, but the door was open and I sort of heard.”

“You believe what?”

“Everything. I want you to know I'm behind you. I'm trying to find another job. I've had enough of this.”

“I'm angry and upset. But, I'm not going to talk about Bishop, the church, or Roger.” Misha wiped her eyes.

“That's because you have integrity. You're one of the few here who do.”

“I'm going. Thank you for the tissue.” Misha stood to leave the office. She knew better than to participate in church gossip. At this point, she didn't believe she could trust anyone in this church.

“Before you leave, let me encourage you. Everything covered will be uncovered. You just remember that. God will lead you where you need to go. Just continue to be obedient to what He tells you. You hear me?”

“Yes. Thank you. I better leave. Bishop said he was going to call the police.”

“He won't do that. You take care of yourself. If you need anyone to talk to, give me a call. God bless you.” She hugged Misha. Gertrude peeped out into the hallway to see if anyone was coming before Misha entered it, and hugged her again before watching her exit through the door into the parking lot.