by Pat Simmons
* * *
Rachel didn’t want to interrupt Nicholas’s ministry, so once again, she stayed in the doorway as a quiet observer. The other day, he’d looked tired and been dressed in his work clothes. Today, he appeared refreshed. Although he still was casually dressed, his choice of clothes was high quality.
If Rachel passed him on the street, he definitely would turn her head. She had never met a minister who was that fine. She cleared her head of those thoughts. God sent him to minister, but he was a good distraction, because she was starting to battle bouts of depression associated with Aunt Tweet’s condition.
She admired Nicholas’s interaction with her aunt. She bit back a smile. If Aunt Tweet were half her age, she would have flirted with the man, but now, Aunt Tweet was subdued.
“How are you, Miss Brownlee?” Nicholas asked and waited patiently for her to respond as if he had all the time in the world just for her. “Do you mind if I read to you and pray with you?”
If she were to describe Nicholas, he would be the old cliché “a gentle giant.” He had a larger-than-life presence, but his manner seemed personal and his voice soothing and comforting.
Whether it was the loud, commanding presence of Mother Jenkins or the humbleness of Minister Nicholas, they both knew how to invoke the “effectual fervent prayer,” a phrase Rachel had heard Tabitha say that meant God listened when they prayed. Rachel hoped God was listening now.
Instead of opening his Bible to a designated passage, Nicholas flipped through the pages as if he knew what he was looking for.
Rachel perched on a nearby ottoman to listen. She anchored her elbows on her knees, then rested her chin in the palms of her hands.
“Our hope comes from First Thessalonians, chapter 4, beginning at verse 14…”
There was power behind Nicholas’s reading. It wasn’t as if Rachel didn’t read her Bible, but it was inconsistent. She never seemed to incorporate it into her daily routine like her beauty regimen.
This time when he mentioned death, she didn’t freak out. As long as folks prayed for her aunt, Rachel was happy for more time to be with her. There was another thing: Nicholas was making her crave more Scripture. Maybe this was what Tabitha meant when she said she could breathe in every word of the Bible as if it were food for her soul.
“‘Comfort one another with these words,’” Nicholas said, finishing too soon.
Aunt Tweet nodded, then closed her eyes.
Rachel wanted to close her eyes too, but when Nicholas stood, she did as well, disappointed that his visit was so short. “Thank you,” she whispered and led him out of the room.
“No need to thank me.” He shrugged. “It’s God who gives her breath every morning.”
Rachel stared. How could a man be this humble? She wasn’t ready for him to leave, but she had no reason for him to stay. “Ah, I’m sure you don’t want a cup of coffee? It’s Thrive Market organic breakfast blend?” She scrunched her nose playfully. “I know it’s afternoon, but it’s never too late for a good cup of java.”
Nicholas released a low chuckle. “Organic?”
“Yep. I believe in eating healthy. Including my coffee blend.” She paused and blushed. “Well, not all the time.”
A hearty laugh escaped, and Rachel laughed too. It was the first real amusement she’d felt in a long time.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I have some errands to run.”
“Of course.” She nodded and walked him to the door. Nicholas Adams was proving to be a dedicated man of God—she couldn’t remember the last time a man had turned down the opportunity to share a drink with her, even a cup of coffee.
Chapter 5
There was something about Rachel that made her special, and Nicholas didn’t know what it was. He resisted the urge to invite her to call him if she wanted to talk or if she wanted him to return and visit with her aunt. Until Nicholas knew what it was about her, he wasn’t about to ask for trouble.
In previous instances, he hadn’t given the cordial gesture a second thought…until one family member started calling him under the guise of praying for her loved one, then counseling her one-on-one. It didn’t take a blind man to sense her motives, and they weren’t pure.
The woman, whose name he couldn’t recall, had tried to seduce him with a dinner when no one else was home. Nicholas walked away and blocked her number. It had been a lesson well learned. His only mistake had been mentioning the incident to Mother Jenkins. He had never seen the older woman so hot! Her nostrils flared, her mouth twisted, and her eyes squinted as if she were aiming to fire. “What’s her number?”
Never again would he tell Mother Jenkins another thing about a woman’s behavior—good, bad, or indifferent. Countless times after that, Mother Jenkins planted bugs in many of the single male ministers’ ears that Miss Such-and-Such wasn’t sincere, and she appointed herself as the single men’s motherly guardian, as if they didn’t have mamas. Nicholas thought of his own mother. Vera Adams was well aware of the women who liked her son, always reminding him, “Your heart will know the one.”
Mother Jenkins would be proud that Nicholas didn’t cave in to a gorgeous face, natural allure, and assets that would have many men ogling. Yet he sensed Rachel wanted nothing more from him except a lifeline for her aunt.
He reined in his wandering thoughts. Rachel’s aunt might have awakened, but she seemed lethargic. Nicholas expected there would be another call, sooner rather than later, and the next trip might not be the scenario Rachel desperately hoped for.
* * *
Hospice? Surely, Rachel hadn’t heard the doctor right. Hospice was a precursor to death. That meant all hope was gone. She couldn’t let that happen—not yet. There had to be more she could do for Aunt Tweet.
What had happened? For the past week, Aunt Tweet had seemed fine. With the home health aide’s assistance, Rachel had been able to get her up to the rooftop pet garden to watch the dogs play and enjoy the warmth of a sunny spring day. Then in a blink of an eye, Aunt Tweet had stopped eating again. It had been going on for four days now.
“Her vitals aren’t looking good, Miss Knicely. Her blood pressure, breathing, and heart rate are fluctuating,” Clara said. “I think you need to call her doctor.”
When the home health aide appeared concerned, Rachel was near hysterics. She frantically called the doctor, who somewhat calmed her down, then put Rachel in touch with an agency that provided hospice care.
Frazzled, Rachel was scheduled to go into the office that afternoon. She called her boss in tears and advised him that she wouldn’t be in.
“Take care of your aunt. We are all in the loop on the project, so rest your mind and keep me posted,” Mr. Goode said.
The next morning, hospice RN Linda Gentry arrived and assessed Aunt Tweet and listened to what Rachel had observed over the last couple of days. She was horrified to learn that Aunt Tweet’s lack of appetite wasn’t the culprit.
“Your aunt is struggling to swallow,” Linda said, and the prognosis was bleak. “It sounds like your relative has been in the pre-active phase of dying for a couple of weeks.” She paused. “I think the active phase has begun and could last anywhere from three to five days. I would contact your other family members.”
Rachel wailed. “You don’t know my aunt! She’ll survive! Aunt Tweet is strong willed and not a quitter!”
When Rachel gave her sisters the heartbreaking news, they cried together before Marcus joined the Skype call and suggested they all pray. He led them until sniffs replaced their tears. Would God hear them? Would it matter?
Her sisters and brother-in-law made preparations to come. “And stay…” Tabitha’s voice trembled.
“Until the end,” Kym finished in a whisper.
That was a day ago. Rachel and the dogs had kept a steady vigil at Aunt Tweet’s bedside, Rachel watching her aunt sleep her life away. She grabbed
Aunt Tweet’s Bible and opened it, then slowly closed it. She didn’t have enough strength to force her mind to comprehend whatever she tried to read. “God, help my aunt, me, and my sisters.”
If the hospice nurse’s prediction was right, Aunt Tweet had two to four more days on this earth.
She opened her Bible again. Didn’t God have a say about those calculations? The pages opened to Job 14. She scanned the passage, beginning at verse 1, but the words from verse 5 seemed magnified before her eyes: Seeing his days are determined, the number of his months are with thee, thou hast appointed his bounds that he cannot pass.
Could that mean that God had a different calculation? Rachel didn’t know if she should be hopeful or not.
Later that night, a soft voice stirred Rachel from her sleep. “Good morning.”
Opening her eyes, Rachel looked around, then met Aunt Tweet’s stare. “You’re awake!” She sighed in relief and couldn’t contain her emotions as she cried with joy. Just as she had told the nurse, her aunt wasn’t going down without a fight.
But Linda had advised that any sudden awareness could be a brief period of terminal lucidity. “Your relative may become fully aware and return to her normal personality,” she’d said. “Call it God’s blessing that you’re getting some last glimpses of your loved one.” Rachel pushed that warning aside and doted on Aunt Tweet, situating the pillows so she could be more comfortable, then turning on the television.
“Water…rivers of living water…”
Her aunt’s mumbling continued as Rachel hurried to the kitchen for a bottle of water. When she returned minutes later, Aunt Tweet’s voice had ceased, and so had her breathing.
Rachel dropped the bottle on the table as she screamed, “Aunt Tweet! Aunt Tweet!” She shook her—nothing. Her aunt wasn’t cold, stiff, or rigid as many described death. Aunt Tweet was warm, soft, and relaxed. Rachel checked Aunt Tweet’s pulse and listened for her heart—time stopped.
“No! I still have four more days.” Her sisters and brother-in-law were scheduled to arrive midmorning so they could keep vigil over their aunt. She had thought her aunt wanted water. That had been the only reason why Rachel had left her side.
How could she be gone? Rachel bawled and threw herself on the bed. The dogs seemed to mourn through their whines. Only when her reservoir was empty, she looked up and strained her eyes at the clock. She had no idea how long Aunt Tweet had been gone. Time of death: 2:42 a.m.—or rather, that was the time when Rachel stopped crying. The pain that shot through her heart seemed to travel throughout her body. Her life had changed again—first her parents, now her beloved aunt was deceased; the Knicely sisters had only each other.
She reached for Aunt Tweet’s hand and squeezed. “I love you, Auntie. I love you,” she choked, then sobbed. The dogs tried to comfort her with their licks of love. Despite being a dog lover, she didn’t welcome licks to her face. Tonight was an exception to the rule, because their affections were comforting. It took almost half an hour to contain her emotions, then she debated whether to wake her sisters now, hours before they had to get up, or wait until she met them at the airport.
The torment of suffering alone overruled her compassion. She called Tabitha first and gave her the devastating news. Once they were somewhat composed, Tabitha called Kym, who had already checked in at the Baltimore/Washington International Thurgood Marshall Airport.
When Rachel broke the news, Kym tried to stifle her emotions, to silently mourn in a public place. Finally, Kym’s voice cracked as she advised Rachel to call the hospice nurse, then the mortician.
“I can’t.” Rachel shook her head vehemently as if she were a little girl again. “That…that makes it so final. As long as her body is here, a part of her is here with me.”
Tabitha said softly, “Aunt Tweet isn’t there. She’s gone.” She paused. “Call that minister too.”
“Why? There’s nothing more he can do.” Rachel was angry, confused, and devastated.
“Because we all need prayer,” Tabitha said before their tearful goodbyes.
Chapter 6
Why didn’t Rachel call him directly? Nicholas’s heart had sunk when the church secretary informed him of Priscilla Brownlee’s passing early this morning. He should have called her to check on her aunt. Had he tried to protect his emotions and failed to show compassion?
“I happened to come in this morning to help with a project, and Mrs. Whittington, the niece from St. Louis, contacted us to see if her sister had been in touch. Miss Knicely hadn’t, and I offered her our condolences. Mrs. Whittington didn’t want her sister to be alone until they arrived.”
His heart grieved for the woman he had only met twice. “I’ll pay her a visit.”
Nicholas tapped on Rachel’s number from his contact list. It went straight to voicemail. “Rachel, I’m sorry to hear about your aunt’s passing. If there is something I can do, please let me know.”
Since he had finished his workout minutes before Mrs. Emerson called, Nicholas showered, then ate a light breakfast, all the while checking his phone. When Rachel hadn’t returned his call within an hour, he made the drive to the West End.
As he rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor, he chided himself for not bringing something: flowers, food, a card. Hopefully, his presence would be enough.
He knocked, and a man opened the door. Rachel hadn’t mentioned any brothers, so who was this guy? Could this be an on-and-off boyfriend who came to console her? “Hi, I’m Minister Adams. You have my deepest sympathy. I’m here to offer prayer and words of comfort.”
The solemn expression on the man dissipated as he exhaled and opened the door wider. They were about the same height and probably around the same age. “Thank you for coming. I’m Marcus Whittington, Rachel’s brother-in-law from St. Louis.” He extended his hand. “My wife is the one who initially reached out to your church.”
Nicholas nodded. At a loss for words, he asked the standard, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Pray for us, please.” Marcus choked back his emotions. “Aunt Tweet was the sisters’ rock after their parents died. If it wasn’t for Aunt Tweet wandering through the neighborhood…”
“Excuse me? She what?” Nicholas blinked and leaned closer. Surely, he hadn’t heard right.
That brought a smile to the brother-in-law’s face. “Long story.” Marcus placed an arm around his shoulder, then patted Nicholas’s back before leading him through the house to where the ladies were gathered in the living room. He spied the loft and noted that the bed was made. As expected, Aunt Tweet’s remains were gone. The sisters were sifting through photo albums.
From behind him, Marcus spoke in a low voice. “Aunt Tweet is the reason I met Tabitha. I have no regrets.” He pointed to the ring on his hand. “We’re newlyweds.”
“Congratulations.” He paused as the women looked up from the table and stared at him with blank expressions. Even Rachel looked right through him. Her aunt was gone, and she seemed to have taken a piece of Rachel with her. “Good morning, ladies. I’m Minister Nicholas Adams, and I’m so sorry to hear about your aunt’s passing.”
One sister, who had to be Marcus’s wife judging by the rock on her finger, jumped up to meet him. “I’m Tabitha Whittington. Thank you so much, Minister, for visiting. We really appreciate your prayers.” Her husband wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her hair.
Their show of affection sparked a longing inside Nicholas, even at this solemn time. He refused to be envious of their love. God had someone special for him to love too. Where is she? he wondered for the umpteenth time.
“This is our sister Kym,” Tabitha said, and the woman mustered a tentative smile.
Rachel didn’t look at him or move, sitting as if she were in a deep trance. He wanted to sit next to her, touch her hand, and break the spirit of sadness that lingered on her.
Instead, he moved clo
ser to the table and squatted before her. “I’m here for you. No matter what you need,” he said softly. Slowly, her acknowledgment came in a nod as if a puppet master were pulling the string. Taking her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers to add warmth, then stood. “Do you mind if I pray now?”
“Please!” Tabitha’s and Marcus’s desperation was said in unison.
Bowing his head, Nicholas closed his eyes and petitioned God for comfort, also thanking the Lord for being a giver of life.
“Amen,” they all mumbled at the end of the prayer.
Nicholas took a deep breath. He guessed his job was done. He had no reason to stay. Marcus escorted him to the door, then stepped outside in the hallway with him at the same time as a group stepped off the elevator, heading their way with boxes of food and flowers.
Marcus smiled and greeted them as they stopped at Rachel’s condo door. Two identified themselves as her coworkers. The woman at the back of the group spoke to Marcus and gave Nicholas a quick appreciative glance.
“Hey, Jacqui. Go on in,” Marcus told them and opened the door.
Once they were alone again, he turned back to Nicholas. “As you can see, Rachel is taking it hard. I can’t imagine being the last one to see someone alive and then the first to see them dead.”
“Me either,” Nicholas admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Although we knew it was coming,” Marcus said, “it’s hard for us to accept she’s gone.”
Nicholas could feel the sorrow and pain piercing Marcus’s heart. The impact the woman had on her family was apparent, making him wish he had met her when she was vibrant.
“Knowing someone has prepared to see God makes the transition easier, believing God’s promises,” Nicholas reminded him. “Take my number and let me know about the funeral arrangements. I’d like to be there.” Priscilla Brownlee’s eulogy was sure to give him a glimpse of his missed opportunity at not having crossed paths with her earlier.
