Hidden Memories

by Robin Allen

  * * * * *

  The security alarm suddenly sounded, jolting Ava awake. She had just drifted to sleep after arriving home from partying at a popular nightclub. Ava loved the club scene in Atlanta; even though nightclubs frequently closed or changed names, there was always someplace to party.

  Ava waited for Sage to deactivate the alarm, but in her sleepy state, it seemed the piercing sound of the shrill alarm got louder. She reached under the bed for the long butcher knife she kept there if someone broke into the house, although she hoped never to need it. Ava quietly got out of the bed and eased down the hall, listening for footsteps or some sound to indicate a strange presence in the house.

  Crouching low, her feet softly touching the stairs, she slowly crept down the stairs. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the alarm being deactivated and saw that it was Sage.

  “Sage!” she screamed. “What are you doing coming in at two in the morning? You scared me to death!” She could hear her heart pounding fearfully in her ears.

  “It’s my house. I can come home when I want,” Sage retorted.

  “But I thought you were over at Ramion’s.”

  “I was.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I always come home.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning!”

  “I know what time it is. I like to wake up in my bed and get dressed in my house.”

  “Don’t you like his house?” Ava asked. She walked down the remainder of the stairs. “Or did you all fight?”

  “We didn’t fight. And I love his house.”

  Suddenly suspicious about Ava’s protests, Sage frowned and demanded, “Is there a man in your room?”

  “I wish,” Ava replied saucily. “But I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

  “Ava, I always come home. Ramion hates it, but I’m uncomfortable staying at a man’s house all night, even if he is my fiancé.”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Look, I’ll get dressed in my own house. I don’t like to pack clothes, curling iron, shoes, makeup, stockings. It’s a hassle.”

  “This is the nineties, Sage. Get with the program.”

  “I’m going to bed, Miss Nineties,” Sage said as she walked through the foyer to her bedroom. “I’ve got my own program.”

  * * * * *

  Antioch Baptist Church—a sprawling, pale-red brick building with tall stained-glass windows—sat in the middle of run-down housing projects and abandoned homes. Major renovations were being made to improve the area, including a new stadium and new façades for storefronts.

  The beautiful church bordered Atlanta’s downtown area. Coca-Cola’s corporate headquarters and the Georgia Technical Institute were nearby. The South’s elite mecca of black educational institutions were around the corner—Morehouse College, Spelman College, Clark College, Morris Brown College and Atlanta University. After a Saturday night of drinking and partying, many students would attend Antioch’s popular Sunday morning services.

  Ramion drove around the church, looking for a parking spot. The lots adjacent to the church were filled to capacity, cars squeezed together like sardines. He stopped at a red light. A family of five dressed in their Sunday best crossed the street, on their way to service.

  “You can never find a parking spot if you get here after eleven fifteen,” Ramion said.

  “I’m sorry, Ramion. I had to talk to that reporter,” Sage said. She spotted a car leaving the parking lot. “Look, there’s a space.”

  Ramion shifted gears and jetted around the corner. He turned into the parking lot and into the vacated space.

  “A second later and that brother would have had the spot,” Ramion said.

  “You did jump in front of him.”

  “He was too slow.”

  Holding hands, Sage and Ramion walked toward the house of worship, passing a flowing water fountain as they walked up the stairs to the front doors.

  “It’s a beautiful church,” Sage said, taking in the stained-glass windows and eye-catching architecture. “It’s huge.”

  “They spent a lot of money building it. It seats more than five hundred people, but still gets overcrowded.”

  Fierce clapping and thunderous organ chords barreled out when Ramion opened the doors. As they slid into a pew near the back, a few rows from Ramion’s parents, the choir was boisterously singing the gospel song, “His Eye Is on the Sparrow”.

  The choir clapped and stomped each chorus with personal meaning, and the congregation grabbed the verse, breathing the words into their souls, absorbing its blanket of comfort. People stood up and waved their hands, praising God through music, the spiritual harmony of their soul and spirit.

  The song ended with a huge expulsion of air, and the congregation sat down as one body.

  An older woman with a colorful, high-pillared hat decorated with bright pieces of fruit that blended with the colors in her tropical-print dress went up to the pulpit to read the church’s announcements.

  “Good morning, Antioch,” Sadie Morgan said with a red-lipsticked smile.

  “Good morning,” the congregation responded.

  The two-thousand-member congregation was a cross mix of people from different backgrounds and lifestyles: doctors, lawyers, teachers, entrepreneurs, politicians, production workers, technicians, secretaries and even the homeless. Mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers and children gathered at Antioch for spiritual nourishment and uplifting.

  “It’s a beautiful day, and I thank God for waking me this morning. We’d like to invite you to participate in some of our activities,” Sadie said.

  “But our first order of business is to recognize our visitors. Please stand up, visitors, so that we can acknowledge you and give you a membership packet.”

  Sage stood, along with other first-time visitors. Older women dressed in white blouses and black skirts passed out the packets.

  “We welcome you to Antioch,” Sadie said.

  An assistant minister conducted the collection, inviting members to bring their tithes to the pulpit. After the tithers returned to their seats, the minister asked for general donations, and white-gloved deacons passed collection plates down the pews. The choir began a contemporary rendition of “Pass Me By”, a gospel song with a stomping rhythm-and-blues beat. The stirring voices of the choir and the thumping music brought the congregation to its feet, clapping and singing along with the choir.

  When quiet returned to the church, Reverend Benjamin DuBois approached the podium. Wrapped in a white robe, his tall, rotund body was an imposing figure. Pastor DuBois reigned supreme. This was his church, his congregation of the meek, the haughty, the tired and the poor, who came to hear him speak the word of God, seeking spiritual strength and solace. Those who could not hear would not be denied his message—a woman stood in front of the pulpit, signing the service for the deaf.

  “Good morning, Antioch,” Reverend DuBois greeted, peering at his congregation from behind his glasses.

  “Good morning,” the congregation responded collectively.

  “I’m glad you made it to church this morning. Tell the person in front of you, sitting next to you and sitting behind you ‘Good morning, God bless you’.”

  The organ intoned, as church members turned and twisted to greet people sitting near them. “Good morning, God bless you” rang out from the pews.

  Pastor DuBois gazed upon the congregation. He had their full attention, and the congregation waited for him to wrap his voice around their souls and soothe them, to comfort their pain.

  As the spiritual message about forgiveness poured from his mouth, people were moved to respond—some called out “Amen, Brother” and “Yes, Jesus”, others jumped up from their seats when his words set fire from somewhere within. He pushed and pounded with clenched fists in order to be understood, and he dared not stop the rhythm of his voice until their replies had reached their fevered pitch of satisfaction. “Yes, Lord, free m
y son from addiction.”

  “Merciful Jesus, forgive my sins.”

  “Perfect Father, heal my mother.”

  Pastor DuBois’s chest heaved in long spasms, and the sweat poured down his grey temples and rolled under his chin. His rich voice was now hoarse, and his raised arms waved dramatically like wands.

  “God forgives us for our sins, our numerous sins. That’s why he sent his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. He sacrificed his Son, so that we would be saved. There’s a lesson to be learned. We must learn to forgive each other for mistakes or misdeeds. We are imperfect creatures, and sometimes we expect too much from our brothers and sisters. Forgiveness is the way to peace of mind and soul. Forgiveness is the way of the Lord. And we must learn to forgive ourselves and others.”

  With the ending of his sermon, the congregation sat back, momentarily at peace. His words fortified their souls, giving them faith and strength. While still under the spell of his powerful message, their spirituality fully exposed, Pastor DuBois invited folks to become members of the church, where they could find peace, strength and the protection of the Lord. With his invitation came the moving chords of the piano.

  Sage was spiritually moved. She felt strange, as if the insides of her soul had been physically touched. She understood why so many people felt compelled to become members of Antioch. It satisfied a thirst she hadn’t realized she had. She whispered into Ramion’s ear, “He really knows how to touch your soul.”

  After the service, Ramion took Sage downstairs to meet the reverend. His family had been attending Antioch since he was a little boy, and he’d continued to claim Antioch as his church home after he moved from the area.

  “Well, it sure is good to meet Ramion’s fiancée. I’ve known this young man since he was a teenager. You got yourself a good man,” Pastor DuBois said, patting Ramion on his back.

  “He sure is,” Sage said. She wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a black-and-white wool-crepe suit. A pair of cameo earrings, engraved with the likeness of a black woman, adorned her ears.

  “Have you set a date?” Reverend DuBois asked.

  “Yes, August 15,” Sage answered, observing that the pastor seemed even taller in person. Up close, his presence was awe-inspiring.

  “Have you decided on a church?”

  “Actually, Reverend DuBois, we’re going to get married in the Governor’s Mansion,” Sage said.

  “That’s wonderful. That’s a beautiful place. Beautiful,” he said, patting his sweating brow with a folded white handkerchief. “I hope you’re going to have a minister, a man of God, marry you.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Ramion said. He was dressed in a single-breasted grey suit, silk vest and yellow dress shirt. His tie matched the yellow, pink and grey colors of the vest.

  “What church do you belong to, Miss Kennedy?”

  “I haven’t joined a church in Atlanta.”

  “You haven’t? I know you’ve been in Atlanta for a while.”

  “You do?” Sage said. Her face registered surprise.

  Reverend DuBois gently touched her shoulder. “Yes, I know all about you. You know how Atlanta is. People sometimes know you before you know them. Now, do you believe in God? I wouldn’t want to marry someone who doesn’t believe in the Lord.”

  “Yes, I do,” Sage said. “I just haven’t found a church that makes me feel at home.”

  “Maybe you’ll find our church is what you’re looking for. We’d certainly love to have you as a member.”

  “I was definitely moved by your sermon,” Sage said.

  “Reverend DuBois, I’d like to know if you could marry us,” Ramion asked.

  “I’d be honored to. I’d love to marry a fine young couple like yourselves.” Chuckling lightly, he said. “Especially in the Governor’s Mansion. I surely would. I’ll be sure to mark my calendar.”

  “I appreciate it,” Ramion said.

  “Sage, that campaign was outstanding work. Outstanding,” Reverend DuBois said. “We definitely wanted to see a change in color.”

  Sage knew she must be blushing. “Thank you, Reverend DuBois.”

  As they walked to the car, Ramion asked, “So what did you think of the service?”

  “It was very inspiring. I haven’t been to church in a while. Baptist churches are so different from the Jehovah’s Witnesses services I attended as a child. But I really liked it. I definitely want to go back.”

  * * * * *

  Edwinna spotted Ramion getting on the elevator inside the Fulton County Courthouse. She stepped inside the elevator as the doors were closing. Ramion nodded in greeting and stared at the floor buttons. He got off at the fifth floor and was headed toward a courtroom when he heard Edwinna call him.

  He stopped and turned around as she caught up to him.

  “Is it true?” Edwinna asked.

  “Is what true?”

  “Your engagement to that witch!”

  “Don’t call her that,” Ramion said forcefully.

  “You did that to humiliate me,” Edwinna accused.

  “You had nothing to do with it. I want to marry Sage.”

  “You could have waited. We just broke up a few months ago.”

  “You know it’s been longer than that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Everyone is going to think that you left me for her. And they’re probably wondering why you didn’t marry me.” She reared back, her head bobbing back and forth dramatically with her words. “It would have made more sense, Ramion. You worked for my father. After all, he did so much for your career. You wouldn’t be where you are if it weren’t for Daddy. You’re so ungrateful for all he did for you.”

  “First, you shouldn’t care what people think. Second, our relationship had nothing to do with your father. Besides, we didn’t have that kind of relationship.”

  “That’s because you didn’t want to be serious. I did, and you know it.”

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  “And now you are. Just seven months later.” She waved her hands in a dismissing fashion.

  “Look, Edwinna, we had a thing going. It didn’t work out. End of story.”

  “I’m not some nobody you can simply dismiss. Sage is a nobody. She doesn’t have the connections I have.”

  “You’re free to think whatever you like,” Ramion said impatiently.

  “I’m not going to let you humiliate me like that, Ramion. You’re not going to get away with it!”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Ramion said, throwing his hands up in the air, wondering what he’d ever seen in her. Selfish and spoiled, she’d never inspired anything resembling love.

  “When I win that seat in the state senate, you’ll see what it feels like to have something taken away from you that you want.”

  “Edwinna, I can’t stop you from running, but I can sure stop you from winning.”

  “You can try, Ramion. You can try. But you know I’ve got money behind me.”

  “It takes more than money to win an election,” Ramion said. “I know things about you that you wouldn’t want to become public knowledge.”

  Edwinna glared at him suspiciously. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening to run a dirty campaign? Because don’t forget I can dish up some dirt too.”

  “That’s not my style, but I’m not going to lose the election just because you want to be vindictive.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve always wanted to get into politics.”

  “Since when? You only recently thought about it. We’ll see what the public believes,” Ramion said, as his beeper sounded. He checked the number and said, “I have to go.”

  Edwinna angrily narrowed her eyes at Ramion. As she watched him walk down the hall and open the door to a judge’s office, she thought about how much she wanted him. She was furious that he didn’t want to marry her. Only she didn’t know who she was most angry with: Ramion for letting her go, or herself for not being able to let him go.

  Chapter Seven />
  Sage drove through the ornate iron-gate entrance of Georgia’s Governor’s Mansion, up the sloping hill, past the vast expanse of finely manicured lawn and hand-tended gardens. She normally drove around to the side entrance, to the administrative offices but, accompanied by Ava, parked in front of the Governor’s Mansion instead.

  A fountain and pool, centered in the octagon turnaround featuring Georgia marble carved in Greek-key design, graced the front of the twenty-four-thousand-square-foot mansion located on eighteen acres of land. Located on West Paces Ferry, in one of Atlanta’s most expensive real estate areas, the Governor’s Mansion was nestled between elegant million-dollar estate homes.

  Sprinkles of fountain water sprayed Sage and Ava as they got out the car. They buttoned their coats to ward off the wintry air.

  The sisters went inside the stately red-bricked, three-story mansion surrounded by white columns bracing the elongated white roof. Their feet touched the bronze seal of the State of Georgia inlaid in the marble floor that dominated the foyer in the Governor’s Mansion.

  Seeing the Governor’s Mansion for the first time, Ava said, “Wow!”

  Turning left, they entered the State Dining Room encompassing a mahogany accordion-style extension table that seated eighteen.

  “This is where the formal dinners will be held,” Sage said.

  “What kind of formal dinners?”

  “Dinners for bill signings or to welcome politicians or foreign dignitaries.”

  “I guess I better check up on my table manners,” Ava said, running her hands along the chairs, reproductions of originals found in the Telfair Academy in Savannah, Georgia.

  “Like you’re going to be invited,” Sage teased.

  “Fine with me. Sounds stuffy and boring,” Ava said. “Oh, look at the silver. It’s beautiful.”

  “This silver is old. It’s from a World War I battleship.”

  “It sure is shiny,” Ava noticed. “They must have someone polishing and buffing it every day. I used to hate it when Mama brought out the silver. I had to stay in the house all day to get it to a shine.”

  “A live-in staff is employed to clean, cook and maintain the gardens. Let’s go into the drawing room,” Sage said, stepping onto the Turkish carpet.