Lady Jasmine

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  “Wait,” Pastor Wyatt called her, but she kept moving, ignoring him. “Jasmine, come on. Don’t make me chase you.”

  Those words made her whip around. For a moment, she had to hold her breath as he swaggered toward her. Pastor Wyatt was truly a fine specimen of a man. That had been her thought the first time she had seen him.

  Jasmine had been holding Hosea’s hand when she met Pastor Wyatt at last year’s reception, but when the man parted his lips and smiled with that deep dimple, she’d had to remind herself that he was married, she was married and she didn’t do that cheating thing anymore. But if she did, he would be the one.

  In the year that had passed, he still made her wonder what it would be like to feel his lips on her. To feel his hands all over her. To feel the weight of him on top of her. Even though there wasn’t a single thing—outside of his movie-star looks—that she liked about him, she couldn’t deny the electricity that surged between them whenever they shared the same space.

  “Thanks for stopping,” he said. “I didn’t feel like chasing you down the hall. Although”—he took a step closer to her—“I would have if you made me.”

  Jasmine took a step back, crossed her arms. “What is it that you want, Pastor Wyatt?”

  “Why don’t you call me Eugene?”

  “I’m fine with Pastor Wyatt.”

  His lips slowly spread into one of his cool smiles. “That’s too formal for friends.”

  “We’re not friends.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Look,” she said, blowing out a breath, “if you don’t have anything else, I’m going to find my husband.” She turned away.

  “If I were your husband, I’d be looking for you.”

  Spinning back around, she asked, “Why are you flirting with me?”

  He grinned and held up his hands like he was innocent.

  This time, she was the one who stepped closer, but he didn’t back away. With just a breath between them, he smiled, but she didn’t.

  “I don’t like the way you talk to me.”

  One of his eyebrows shot up slightly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do, and I’m not having it anymore. The next time you say something inappropriate, I’m going to tell my husband.” She paused, thought about Enid, said, “Or maybe I’ll just tell your wife.”

  That made him step back. He laughed, but Jasmine could tell that the shot she’d taken had landed.

  “Look,” he touched her arm lightly as he directed her away from the ears of the nurses standing at their station. “I’m not trying to make trouble. I wanted to talk to you about your husband and his quest to be pastor. Why does he want it so bad?”

  Jasmine frowned. “Because that’s what his father wants.”

  “That letter was a mistake,” he said, his voice rising, a little. “The church is my territory.”

  Now it was his tone that made Jasmine step back a bit. “I wasn’t aware the church was anyone’s territory. I thought it all belonged to God.”

  “To God and to me.” Her widened eyes made him soften his tone. “I’m just sayin’ that City of Lights means a lot to me. I moved to New York with the expectation that I’d be taking over one day.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you.”

  After a moment, he said, “You know, being a pastor’s wife isn’t easy. No matter how clean you are, there’s always something that could come out.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not an easy life, but it’s what my wife and I have been called to do.”

  Jasmine searched his face, trying to see his true thoughts. Then, “I’m going to find my husband.”

  “And when you find him, talk to him,” he said. Even though she was walking away, he added, “Hosea may not realize it yet, but sitting in his father’s chair is a big job, too big for him.” Before the elevator doors closed the last thing she heard was, “I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

  It took her almost fifteen minutes to find him, but when she saw Hosea, sitting at the cafeteria table, with his eyes staring into a cup of coffee, she knew something was wrong.

  She slid onto the bench next to him. “Hey, babe.”

  He looked up with glassy eyes.

  She had to remind herself that she’d just seen Reverend Bush—and he was alive. But the way Hosea looked still made her heart strike hard against her chest. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve got to operate,” he said softly.

  “For what?”

  “Doctor Lewis said that Pops has been intubated for two weeks, and they don’t like to keep people with a tube down their throat for that long, so”—he took a deep breath—“now they have to put in a tracheostomy tube.”

  “What’s that?”

  She could see his thoughts as his face contorted. “They’re going to cut a hole in his throat and then put a tube in to go to the trachea.”

  The image of that made her want to run to the restroom. But she pushed the picture in her mind aside and lifted Hosea’s hand to her mouth. She kissed his fingers before she said, “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

  For the first time, he looked directly at her. Shook his head and smiled a little. “You’re not a good liar.”

  “What I should have said was, I’m sure the doctors know what they’re doing. Some of the best in the country are here.”

  He nodded and glanced at his watch. “Doctor Lewis said that she’d have the papers for me to sign. They should be ready.” He stood. “But I want to go to Pops’s room and pray first.” Taking Jasmine’s hand, he pulled her up.

  All right, she thought as they walked shoulder to shoulder through the halls. This was not what she’d expected today, but she had no doubt that Reverend Bush would make it through fine. They just had to do what they always did—they had to get back to that room and pray.

  TWELVE

  THE TALL WHITE FELT HAT was trimmed with lace and pearls and felt a bit heavy, but since it perfectly matched the two-piece form-fitting suit with bell sleeves, Jasmine wasn’t about to take it off. Hats had never been her thing. Neither were calf-length skirts. But she was a first lady now.

  Holding on to Brother Hill’s arm as she stepped through the door from the back offices, she glided into the sanctuary as if she were royalty. She tugged a bit at the waist of the skirt, deciding it needed to be a tad shorter to better display two of her best assets.

  The suit was dazzling—a bright white silk that almost glowed in the sunlight. It was a bit thin for the thirty-something February temperature, but Jasmine didn’t care. She’d ignored the personal shopper at Saks who told her, “This is a fabulous summer suit.”

  Fabulous was her focus. This was a spectacular outfit for her debut.

  Jasmine pretended that she didn’t notice Brother Hill’s scowl as he led her to her seat. She wanted to tell him to straighten up and get right, but she only smiled. No one would know that she couldn’t stand him as much as he couldn’t stand her. Her parishioners would see only class and grace and elegance when they looked at her.

  It had been Hosea’s idea that his godfather escort her into the sanctuary. She’d wanted to walk out with her husband, but he’d told her that was inappropriate. At first, she wasn’t happy. If she came out too early, would there be enough people to see her entrance?

  But it had worked out fine; the sanctuary was already full, and she could feel the heat of the stares as she stood in her place—the first pew, the first seat, the seat of honor.

  The praise team was rocking “Glory, Hallelujah!” when Hosea ambled in slowly, with Pastor Wyatt following. It was Pastor Wyatt who looked at her and smiled, as if he hadn’t threatened her yesterday.

  But Jasmine’s thoughts were not on that man. Instead, she was staring at Hosea—wearing the long burgundy robe that she’d seen his father wear only on special occasions, like funerals.

  While the singing continued, Hosea knelt in front o
f the chair where his father always sat.

  A lump crawled up her throat as she watched her husband pray.

  I should have spent more time with him this morning.

  But the hours before church had been hectic—it took a lot to prepare for her debut. And it wasn’t just about her—there was Jacqueline, too. She’d had to oversee every detail of her daughter’s dressing—from her white patent-leather Mary Janes to the white faux-fur hat. There had been little time for Hosea.

  Through the recognition of visitors and announcements, Jasmine kept her focus on her husband. But his eyes stayed lowered, as if he was still in prayer. So from where she sat, she joined him—and prayed to God to give her husband strength and wisdom, the two things he always asked for whenever they prayed together.

  Then the moment came. Hosea stood; Jasmine inhaled a deep breath and didn’t let it go.

  “It is with an incredible mixture of joy and pain that I stand here today.” His voice was low, but strong. “The joy is that I get to speak about the love I have for my heavenly Father; the pain is that my earthly father still sleeps in a coma, in a battle for his life. And I have to admit, church family, there is more than a bit of fear inside my heart.”

  When he paused, someone yelled out, “Take your time, baby.”

  Jasmine recognized Sister Pearline’s voice.

  “But fear doesn’t come from God, so I’m able to walk through it and do what He asks, no matter what.”

  “That’s right,” many shouted.

  “I am able to be obedient,” Hosea said, “and that is what I want to talk about today, saints. Obedience. I want to talk about the audacity to obey.”

  Strong “Amens” rang through the church, and Jasmine finally exhaled.

  He continued, “I am here today because I have the audacity to obey. But I am not the first, nor am I alone. This book,” he held up his Bible, “is chock-full of people who dared to believe God and obey. Take a look at Noah. He had the audacity to build a boat on dry land. It made no sense; the earth had never seen rain. But he had audacity.”

  “Preach!” a voice called out.

  “And then there was Abraham,” Hosea said, his volume rising.

  He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief, and Jasmine shifted in her seat. He was heating up, and the thought took her back to their home, to their bed. She loved to see him sweat.

  “Now you know Abraham had audacity.” Hosea waved his handkerchief in the air. “God told him to take his son up for a sacrifice. And do you know what he did?”

  In unison, many shouted, “He obeyed.”

  “That’s right.” Hosea stomped one foot. “He took Isaac straight up the mountaintop. He didn’t have a Plan B. All he had was Plan G—God’s plan. And do you know what else he had?”

  “Audacity,” the parishioners shouted.

  It was hard for Jasmine to hear any more of Hosea’s words. All she could do was take deep breaths as his skin began to shine. All she could think about was last Wednesday when his skin had glistened that way—as they lay together in the Arlington Hotel.

  She crossed her legs, tried to hold back the stirring she felt inside. Tried to focus on his words and not think about what his lips could do.

  He said, “And dare I talk about the prophet after whom I am named. Let’s talk about Hosea. Y’all know what God told him.”

  Jasmine’s between-the-sheets thoughts stopped right there. If there was any part of the Bible she knew, it was the Book of Hosea.

  He said, “God told the prophet Hosea to go marry that ho. Go marry Gomer.”

  The congregation roared with laughter.

  From across the aisle, Mrs. Whittingham took a quick glance at Jasmine before she yelled out, “That’s right!”

  Jasmine sat straight up and frowned.

  He said, “Now you know everybody in Hosea’s town was dissin’ him. Asking what kind of fool was he?”

  More laughter rolled through the church, but not a bit of it came from Jasmine.

  Hosea kept it up. “You know they were tellin’ him to get rid of that no-good woman.”

  “That’s right!” Brother Hill yelled out.

  Jasmine sat stiff, arms folded, lips pressed together.

  “I’m telling you, they probably came up with new names for dumb just for my man Hosea.”

  People were buckled over with laughter.

  Okay, Hosea. We get it! She shot a look at her husband that was meant to burn.

  “Now, y’all know that story has nothing to do with me.” For the first time, he glanced at Jasmine and sent her a smile. But she didn’t smile back.

  As the laughter simmered to chuckles, he continued, “My point is, even when people were telling him not to do it, Hosea had the audacity to obey God. And that is why I’m here. It was my father’s wish that I stand in his place if anything were ever to happen.”

  The sanctuary was quiet now.

  He said, “I have no doubt that my father’s desires were not personal.”

  This time, it was Pastor Wyatt who twisted.

  “If my father wanted me here, it was because he had a directive from God. My father obeyed. And like my father, I am here because I, too, have the audacity to do what doesn’t make sense.

  “So saints, this word today is to assure you that City of Lights will continue. My prayer and my expectation is that my father will recover soon.”

  “Amen,” some shouted.

  “Hallelujah,” came from many others.

  The congregation stood, waving their hands and their Bibles. Saying their own prayers for Reverend Bush. Sending up their own praises to God.

  Long minutes passed before the church settled so that Hosea could continue.

  “In closing, you should know that I am committed to anything that God, my heavenly father, and Samuel Bush, my earthly father wants. I will stay here until my father comes back, and trust me, he will be back. I have the audacity to believe and the audacity to obey.”

  They were standing again as Hosea moved back to his chair. He wiped his forehead with the handkerchief and nodded, silently thanking the still-standing, still-praying, still-praising congregation. Finally, he glanced at Jasmine.

  She stood, too. Clapping like the others. When their eyes met, with two fingers he tapped the spot on his chest that covered his heart, then blew her a kiss. And in that instant, Jasmine melted. She tossed aside the plans she had to tell him that she wasn’t pleased with his sermon.

  Because in that instant, all was forgiven, and all she felt was his love.

  THIRTEEN

  THIS WAS IT. ANOTHER MOMENT Jasmine pressed her shoulders back, held her head as high as she could underneath the weight of her hat, and then tried not to shift too much from one leg to the other. She had to go to the bathroom bad, but she wasn’t about to miss one minute of standing by her husband’s side.

  She took hold of Hosea’s hand, but not a second passed before he let her loose to greet the first parishioner.

  “Hosea! Oh, excuse me, I mean ‘Pastor.’” Sister Pearline wobbled toward them, balancing her eighty-year-old legs on a cane that looked to be as old as she was. “I’ve watched you since you were a little boy, but I’m telling you, that sermon was almost as good as any your father ever gave; God bless that man.”

  “Thank you, Sister Pearline, but I have a long way to go before I’m anywhere near my dad.”

  The woman turned to Jasmine. “How’re you, baby?”

  She smiled, but as Jasmine leaned in for a hug, she heard a voice that made her stand straight up.

  “I think you’re pretty close to your dad right now.” Those words came from another woman, a much younger woman, somewhere in her thirties, around Hosea’s age.

  Jasmine’s smile turned upside down as her eyes rolled down, then back up the woman’s slender frame. She’d seen her before, with her fiery red hair weave that was twisted in long curls down her back. Jasmine had never cared for the way the woman always waltzed down the center
aisle a half hour after church started, pushing her way to the front, in too-short, bright-colored skirts and too-tight, cleavage-raising tops, as if she was the center of the world. She even suspected that this woman had her eyes on Reverend Bush—as if he would ever be interested in a hoochie like her.

  But if Jasmine wasn’t feeling her before, she definitely didn’t like her now. Especially not the way she stuck the deep V of her purple skin-tight sweater underneath Hosea’s nose.

  “I think you’re just like your dad,” the red-haired girl said, taking Hosea’s hand. “Only you’re younger. And better.”

  Jasmine’s frown deepened. Why did this woman’s chest shimmy with every word she spoke?

  Hosea smiled. “How are you, Nikki?”

  “Ah, you remembered.”

  “How could I forget?”

  Forget what? Jasmine pushed her hand in between her husband’s and Nikki’s. “I’m Mrs. Bush,” she said.

  This time it was the woman who looked Jasmine up and down and when, after her perusal, she grinned, Jasmine wanted to ask her what was so funny.

  “I know who you are,” Nikki said, and then looked back to Hosea. “That was a great sermon. Especially the part about the prophet, Hosea, and his whore.”

  Oh, no she didn’t.

  But before Jasmine could move to take off her hat and her earrings, the next woman stepped up.

  After another, then another, and yet another woman pressed her hands against his hands and her lips against his face, Jasmine turned to get a look of when all of this would end. But the reception line—filled with women—stretched long. Women of all sizes, every shape. Some standing next to a man. Most standing alone. Twenty-somethings, thirty-somethings, forty-, fifty-, even sixty-and seventy-somethings. Every one of them waiting to spend personal moments with her husband.

  Jasmine had never paid any kind of attention to the women in the church. Sure, she noticed their demure smiles and cutesy waves as she and Hosea walked across the parking lot on Sundays. But not one woman had ever stepped to him the way they were doing today. As if wearing that burgundy robe had turned him into a lure for all of these female leeches.