When Sunday Comes Again (12 page)
Read When Sunday Comes Again Online
Authors: Terry E. Hill
Tags: #Fiction, #African American, #General, #Urban
The next hymn on the radio began, and this time Hattie sang along. “I am on the battlefield for my Lord. And I promised him that I would serve him till I die. I am on the battlefield for my Lord.”
Hattie sat in her favorite chair in the kitchen window, looking out over the garden. The mint-green and white vinyl chairs had never been reupholstered, yet they were as bright and fresh as the day her late husband had brought them home. The glossy green cracked-ice Formica table with polished chrome legs and apron had dutifully served her family breakfast, lunch, and dinner for over sixty years.
As she reached for another handful of beans, she heard the doorbell ring. Hattie looked at the rooster clock that hung above the window over her sink. It was 3:27.
“Lord, now who could that be?” she said, placing the bowl on the table. Hattie opened the front door without hesitation to reveal a solid metal screen and security-bar door. She could see only the silhouette of a man standing on her porch.
“Good afternoon, ma'am,” came the greeting from the shadow. “My name is Gideon Truman. I'm looking for Mrs. Hattie Williams.”
“I'm Hattie Williams,” she replied cautiously. “How can I help you?”
“It's very nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Williams. I've been trying to find you for a week now. I'm a reporter with CNN, and I'm doing a story on the life of your pastor, Hezekiah Cleaveland. May I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?”
Hattie hesitated for a moment, but her Texas roots prevented her from not inviting the man into her home.
She unlatched the security-bar door and said, “I don't know how I can help you, but come on in.” Hattie directed Gideon to the living room. “It's hot out today. Can I offer you some lemonade or ice water?”
Gideon accepted graciously. “Yes, ma'am. That is very kind of you. Lemonade would be very nice, but only if it's not too much trouble.”
While she was in the kitchen, Gideon looked around the small but comfortable room.
I'll bet she hasn't moved any of this furniture in fifty years,
he thought. Gideon felt oddly at ease in the home.
Amazing how everyone's home from her generation always feels and looks the same.
I'll bet she hasn't moved any of this furniture in fifty years,
he thought. Gideon felt oddly at ease in the home.
Amazing how everyone's home from her generation always feels and looks the same.
A wool, braided, oval rug lay in front of the couch. A carved wooden coffee table held sundry bric-a-bracs, each with its own sentimental significance. Photographs of the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren had been placed on the walls, tables, and shelves. Gideon felt like he was in his grandmother's living room in Texarkana, Arkansas.
After a brief moment Hattie returned to the living room with a tall, clear glass with embossed flowers, which she placed on a coaster on the coffee table. She sat down and with a huff said, “Arthur is really acting up today.”
“I'm sorry, ma'am. Who's Arthur?”
Hattie laughed. “You're too young to know anything about Arthur. But keep living. You'll meet him soon enough.” She could see the look of confusion on his face and said, “Arthritis, boy. I'm talking 'bout arthritis. My knee is aching badly today.”
“I'm very sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
“Nothing nobody can do. Just got to keep moving, or else you lay down and die, and I ain't ready to die just yet.” Hattie rubbed her swollen knee and continued, “So you said you were writing a story about Pastor Cleaveland. What kind of story, exactly?”
Gideon proceeded with caution. He knew it was common for someone of Hattie's age to hold her secrets close to her chest. “First, let me extend my condolences on the loss of your pastor. I know that must have been difficult for you.”
“It's so sad. So, so sad. But you got to believe everything happens for a reason. God don't make mistakes.”
Despite the expensive clothes and the transparent smile, Hattie felt a warmth surrounding the handsome man.
He's got an old soul,
she thought.
I bet his people are from Texas.
He's got an old soul,
she thought.
I bet his people are from Texas.
“I agree with you, ma'am. God does not make mistakes. I'm investigating his death, and I'd like to talk to the people who were the closest to him. I know you are one of the founding members of New Testament Cathedral and a trustee, so I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
I wonder, does his mama know about the homosexual thing? Shame. He's such a good-looking boy. Sho'll would make some pretty babies,
she thought.
she thought.
“New Testament Cathedral is one of the largest churches in the country, and Pastor Cleaveland touched so many people, I wanted to do a kind of tribute to him on my show.”
Gideon's words said one thing, but Hattie heard another.
So you trying to find out who killed him,
she thought. “I think that would be very nice. He was a great man and deserves some kind of tribute,” she said.
So you trying to find out who killed him,
she thought. “I think that would be very nice. He was a great man and deserves some kind of tribute,” she said.
Hattie felt a power around Gideon that she usually only felt around politicians or corporate executives.
Sure is a powerful man to be so young and not be a politician,
she thought.
Sure is a powerful man to be so young and not be a politician,
she thought.
“What newspaper did you say you write for?”
“I'm sorry, Mrs. Williams. You misunderstood me. I don't write for a newspaper. I'm a television reporter. I have a program on CNN.”
That explains it,
she said to herself and nodded.
she said to herself and nodded.
Hattie trusted Gideon. The slick, well-mannered, smiling reporter didn't impress her. What lay beneath the surface was what mattered to her.
His heart is in the right place,
she thought. He'd been hurt as a child. He looked to God for healing and found it.
I hope he finds a good man soon,
she thought.
Too nice of a young man to be alone in this world.
His heart is in the right place,
she thought. He'd been hurt as a child. He looked to God for healing and found it.
I hope he finds a good man soon,
she thought.
Too nice of a young man to be alone in this world.
“You're not drinking your lemonade. Is it too sweet for you?” she asked.
“No, ma'am. It's perfect.”
Gideon saw a familiar glimmer in Hattie's kind eyes. It was the same twinkle he would see every time he looked in his grandmother's eyes. At that moment he missed her very much.
I really should go and see her soon,
he thought.
I really should go and see her soon,
he thought.
“God's given you a gift, boy,” his grandmother would say every time Gideon went to visit her in the little shotgun house in Texarkana. “Don't waste it.”
“How's your grandmother doing? Is she still with us?”
Gideon froze as he lifted the glass of lemonade to his lips. He didn't remember saying anything about his grandmother out loud.
“Don't look so surprised, boy,” Hattie said casually. “You got a good spirit, and somebody's praying hard for you. I assumed it must be your grandmother.”
Gideon sat the glass on the coaster and blotted his moist hands on his trousers. He was quiet for a moment. He did not question the old woman's wisdom. He knew from a lifetime of experience with his grandmother that there were some people in the world who saw and knew things that most others did not.
He smiled at Hattie and said, “You are correct, Mrs. Williams. I was raised by my grandmother, and yes, she is still alive. Her name is Virginia.”
“That's good, 'cause she still has a lot more she can teach you. You need to get home and see her soon. She misses you.”
“Yes, ma'am, I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Now, young man, I can't sit here, talkin' all afternoon. I got a basket full of green beans that need snappin'. What did you want to ask me?”
Gideon had interviewed some of the most powerful, notorious, and famous people in the world, but he found himself unprepared for Hattie.
He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and took out a small recorder. “Do you mind if I record our conversation? It's easier than taking notes.”
Hattie did not reply but simply nodded her head in approval. Gideon pressed a red button on the little box and placed it on the coffee table between them.
“How long had you known Hezekiah Cleaveland?”
“I've known both Hezekiah and Samantha since they first started New Testament Cathedral fifteen years ago. Their first church was just a block from here. My husband and I, rest his soul, and my grandkids used to walk there every Sunday morning. Couldn't been more than ten members back then. But I knew he was somethin' special.”
“How do you mean special?”
“Are you a religious man?”
“Yes, ma'am. I was raised in the church.”
“Then you'll understand what I'm about to tell you. God loves everybody, but He put some people on this earth to do great things. I knew Hezekiah was one of those people the moment I laid my eyes on him. Deep calling unto deep. He was covered in light the first time I saw him, and it stayed around him until the day he died. The Bible says sometimes those gifts are a vexation. It's a heavy burden to carry. That's why I stayed with him all these years.”
“To intercede on his behalf?” Gideon said as if a light had just turned on in his head.
A pleased smile came across Hattie's face. “You are a religious man. Not a day went by that I didn't pray for Hezekiah.”
“Did he know that?”
“He would sometimes call me at three or four in the morning and simply say in the phone, âMother, would you pray for me?' and hang up.”
Gideon saw a single tear fall from Hattie's brown eyes. She reached for a crumpled handkerchief from the pocket of the floral-print apron tied at her waist and dabbed her cheek.
“When I saw him lying on the floor, covered in his own blood, that Sunday morning,” Hattie continued, unprompted by Gideon, “I couldn't help but feel I had let him down.”
“It certainly wasn't your fault. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent it from happening.”
“I knew. I knew something terrible was gonna happen,” she said, looking out the window.
Gideon leaned forward in the chair. “How did you know?” Gideon asked gently.
Hattie looked him in the eye, smiled, and said, “Old people just know some things, boy.”
Gideon knew Hattie would say nothing more on the subject and decided to move on. “Can you tell me about your new pastor, Samantha Cleaveland?” he asked.
Hattie looked back to the window, sighed, and dabbed her cheek again. “What would you like to know?” she asked while clearing the thoughts of Hezekiah from her mind.
“Just give your general impressions of her. How do you think his death has affected her? Do you think she will make a good pastor? Things like that.”
“Whether or not she'll make a good pastor is in the hands of the Lord.”
“Then I assume you don't see the same light around Samantha Cleaveland as you saw around Hezekiah.” Gideon sensed Hattie was holding back. “This can be off the record if you'd prefer. Would you like me to turn off the recorder?”
“No need,” Hattie scoffed. “There's no light around Samantha Cleaveland.”
“But it's my understanding that you and the other members of the board of trustees voted unanimously to make her interim pastor. If you didn't see any light around her, why did you vote for her?”
Hattie didn't hesitate in her response. “Because I love New Testament Cathedral. I believed that she's the only person right now that can keep the ministry together. She will keep people coming in the doors and turning on the TV every Sunday morning. You've seen her. She's beautiful, and people around the world love her, but there ain't no anointing there. New Testament needs her until God sends us the right shepherd. People need that church, and I didn't want to see it fail. That's why I voted the way I did.”
Gideon was honored by her candor. “Thank you for being so open with me, Mrs. Williams. I assure you I will not use any of this in my story.”
“I know you won't,” she said calmly. “Because that's not why you came here.”
“Then, why do you think I'm here, ma'am?” he asked, somehow knowing that she actually knew the answer.
“Because you want to know who killed Hezekiah.” Gideon tried to conceal his discomfort. He felt vulnerable and exposed sitting in the chair, facing the old woman. It was as if she could see parts of him that he himself didn't know existed.
Gideon felt weak. There was no point in denying the truth. “So who do you think killed Hezekiah Cleaveland?” he asked, not as the acclaimed reporter, but as the vulnerable little boy sitting on his grandmother's couch.
Hattie gave a wry smile. “I know a lot of things, son. For example, I know you're about to meet somebody you've been looking for your whole life. And they've been looking for you too. I know you're scared to death that one day people will find out about that secret you've been hiding for so long. But don't worry 'bout that, boy. People are gon'na love you no matter what.”
Hattie paused to allow the handsome young man to digest all that she had said. Gideon struggled to maintain his composure. Then she continued, “I know there's a dark cloud near you, and you seem to be walking right into it. Do you know what that means?”
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