And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.
Psalm 40:1–3
Chapter Twenty-eight
That guy is definitely checking you out.”
Zenovia rolled her eyes at her cousin, Corrine. Corrine, who was ten years older than Zenovia, was obsessed with finding her a husband. It was practically unbearable.
Zenovia had not wanted to contact her cousin when she’d started school, but kept the information that she’d found in the telephone book. Her freshman year, Zenovia realized that she had nowhere to go for the holidays and took a chance. Fortunately, her cousin was just as lonely as she was and they’d been friends ever since their first conversation.
“He was not looking at me! Will you stop it?”
“Stop what? It doesn’t make sense that my beautiful, almost-graduated, magna cum laude cousin hasn’t had one date in four years.”
Zenovia couldn’t hide her smile. She knew that Corrine was just worried about her. And she was right. Zenovia hadn’t had a date in four years.
It wasn’t as if Zenovia had avoided men completely. There were a few who had caught her interest, but as soon as they’d started asking questions about her family, and her religion, she’d retreated.
“I could’ve had plenty of dates! I was just focusing on school. I didn’t come here to meet a husband.”
“You should’ve!” Corrine scoffed. “Wait until you’re my age. You’ll wish you’d scored a man in college.”
Zenovia tossed her long two-stranded twists over her shoulder and slyly glanced at the man Corrine had spotted. He was tall, thin, and had very light skin. His low haircut looked stunningly attractive on him. And he was staring in Zenovia’s direction. She looked away quickly.
“He’s not my type, Corrine.”
“Seriously, Zenovia.”
Zenovia smiled and took a bite out of her burger. She wasn’t sure she had a type anymore. After Tristan and then Emil had stolen her heart four years ago, she hadn’t given herself the opportunity to find out.
“I bet I could find you a boyfriend at my church.”
Zenovia closed her eyes and sighed. Corrine’s second favorite pastime, behind finding her a boyfriend, was trying to convert her back to Christianity. Zenovia had given up on being a church member. She hadn’t entirely given up on believing in God—but she was close.
God seemed to be only a concept, and Christianity a set of rules and consequences. At least that was the Brethren way. Even though she’d only been a member of the Brethren for a brief period, it had seemed like a lifetime. All of her other religious experiences seemed foggy and forgettable.
“Can we talk about something else?” Zenovia asked.
Corrine leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “Okay. When is the last time you spoke to your mother?”
“It’s been a few months. New Year’s, I think.”
It was New Year’s. She had called to wish her mother a good year. She remembered that after she’d hung up the phone, she’d wished she hadn’t called.
Zenovia found it very hard to keep in contact with Audrey and simultaneously leave her past behind. After Zenovia left, Audrey had become even more thoroughly indoctrinated with the Brethren teachings. Every conversation they had was about Zenovia turning back from her sinful ways and returning to the Brethren.
Audrey also managed to inform her of all of the comings and goings of her former friends. Emil had married the mother of his child and had two more. Alyssa was engaged to some nice young man from a neighboring congregation. Tristan was still happily serving at the Brethren headquarters.
Hearing about their happy vanilla-flavored Brethren lives had almost launched Zenovia into a bout of depression.
Corrine leaned forward and lovingly said, “You should try to reach her, you know. It can’t be healthy for her, being trapped in that cult.”
Zenovia frowned thoughtfully. She couldn’t decide if the Brethren were healthy for Audrey. Her mental state seemed nearly stable, even though she hadn’t taken any medication for years. But Zenovia couldn’t be sure about Audrey’s schizophrenia because Phillip refused to speak with her. They’d had one conversation since she’d left for school, in which he’d told her two things. One, that her mother had been healed by God. And two, that she was an apostate.
She’d been shocked at that term—apostate. It seemed so vile coming from Phillip’s mouth. He’d hurled it at her as if it was the worst insult he could think of.
Zenovia knew the definition of the word. It meant someone who forsook his or her religion. She supposed it was appropriate, if by religion he meant the Brethren. But she hadn’t forsaken her belief in God, not completely, and that was more important.
“I think my mother is fine,” Zenovia finally replied. “She’s got her husband, and he loves her.”
Corrine said, “Well, your mother always was happiest when she had a man in her life! I remember when she dated your father. Grandpa was ready to use one of those shotguns on her.”
Zenovia grinned. She enjoyed hearing stories about the father and grandparents she’d never known. She wished she could’ve met them, but her grandparents had both passed on when she was little and no one knew where her father was.
“So are you going to come to church with me tomorrow or not?” Corrine asked. “We’re having Friends and Family Day.”
Zenovia wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think so. I’ve got other plans.”
“No, you do not have other plans. The only thing you do besides study is play in that nappy hair of yours!”
“I am happily nappy, thank you very much.”
“Whatever. They have perms for five dollars at the Korean store on the corner.”
Zenovia laughed. Her first week of school, she had done what the natural hair sistas on campus called “the big chop.” She’d cut off every inch of distressed and chemically repressed hair from her head leaving her with a teeny-weeny afro.
After a year or so, her tiny afro was giant, curly, and breathtaking. She’d never known that her hair was curly and it was a welcome discovery. When she didn’t feel like picking it out and pinning a flower behind her ear, she made small two-stranded twists that cascaded down her neck like curly ropes.
“Will there be food after service?” Zenovia asked.
Corrine sucked her teeth. “Just like a heathen. Yes, we will be having fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, yams, collard greens, and Mother Sylvia’s peach cobbler.”
Zenovia’s mouth watered. “Okay, then. Count me in.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Zenovia stayed close to Corrine as they entered the church. She let out a breath of relief when she saw that Reaching the Masses was a normal church. Zenovia was ready to buck toward the exit if it even remotely reminded her of a Brethren sanctuary.
Reaching the Masses had all of the comfortable church effects that she’d forgotten: long wooden pews with red velveteen pillows, a big white pulpit with an area for the choir, and a “Do this in remembrance of me” table all decked out in white for communion.
“Are you all taking communion today?” Zenovia whispered to her cousin.
“Yes. It’s first Sunday.”
Zenovia swallowed hard. It was the first Sunday in May. Communion Sunday and Friends and Family Day all wrapped into one. She was going to look like such a sinner when she didn’t partake of the bread (crackers) and wine (probably grape juice).
Corrine seemed to notice Zenovia’s hesitation. “You take communion, right?”
“I have taken communion, but I don’t think I will today.”
“And why not?”
How could she voice the words that she felt in her heart? Zenovia didn’t feel worthy of putting anything holy in her body, even if it was only symbolic. In her heart she’d rebelled against the Brethren’s chastening. And what if they were right? What if she didn’t deserve this?
“I just haven’t bee
n to church in a long time, Corrine. Don’t you think I need to start off kind of slow?”
Corrine frowned. “You have let those Brethren damage you, Zenovia. You need to leave that guilt on the altar.”
“What does that look like, Corrine? Leaving something on the altar? It just sounds like church talk.”
Corrine shook her head and led Zenovia up the aisle. Zenovia objected. “Do we have to sit all the way in the front? I like to blend.”
“There is no way you’re going to blend in that outfit, sweetie. Plus I want some of the single brothers to get a good look at you.”
Zenovia looked down at the pink suit that Corrine had loaned her. It did fit her perfectly, hugging every curve. The skirt was a little on the short side, but it showed off Zenovia’s flawless caramel legs. She’d styled the front of her hair in pretty, shiny Bantu knots and the back was a free-flowing afro.
Corrine was right. There would absolutely not be any blending.
They took a seat in the third pew from the front. “Wow. I’ll be sure to get a dose of the Holy Ghost sitting up this close.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. You need it! You’re too young to be this burdened down.”
Again, Corrine had spoken truthful words. Zenovia didn’t feel like she was twenty-one years old. All of her life, she’d seemed older and wiser than her years. But this was different. It wasn’t about maturity at all.
It was all about carrying a heavy load. She would love to leave it somewhere—at the altar or anywhere else. On her lowest days, she stood in the mirror with tears streaming down her face, wondering what happened to Kyle after he’d taken his life.
Was he at peace or was he somewhere roasting in eternal torment? Usually, after having a good cry she decided that she didn’t want to find out.
“Where’s the bathroom, Corrine? I don’t want to have to walk down the aisle with one finger pointed in the air in the middle of service.”
Corrine laughed. “So you do remember something about church! It’s through those double doors on the left. And please don’t use the handicapped stalls. I don’t want you getting cussed out by anyone on the Mother’s board.”
Zenovia walked up the side aisle, trying to wipe the smile from her face. Corrine was so funny, and most of the time she didn’t even know it.
“Zee?”
Zenovia stopped in her tracks. She’d recognize that voice anywhere, but she was too afraid to turn around. What if she was hearing things? What if this was a vision, which would be even worse, because it wouldn’t be tangible and real. And she couldn’t hear that voice without it being tangible.
And then she felt a light touch on her arm. “Zenovia, it is you.” Now the silky smooth voice was all up in her personal space.
She turned slowly, hoping that this was someone from campus who she’d met in passing. But it was not. The voice belonged to Justin.
“What are you doing here?” Zenovia asked with a panic-stricken tone.
Justin laughed in ripples. The same beautiful laugh she’d remembered. “Aren’t you just a little bit happy to see me?”
She was more than a little bit happy to see him, but she was afraid to say so. Memories of their last encounter flooded her brain, and she could almost taste his stolen kiss still lingering on her lips.
Zenovia did not offer a response, so Justin continued, “I’m here with a friend. It’s Friends and Family Day.”
“No. I mean why are you here in D.C.? And why aren’t you at a Devotion Center? I hear there are plenty in town.” Zenovia gathered herself long enough to pose the questions on her mind.
“I’m here because I live in Baltimore and my friend invited me. I could ask you the same thing about the Devotion Center.”
Zenovia narrowed her eyes. She knew that there was more to Justin’s tale, but she didn’t want to probe. She had no intention of sharing her horror story, or even talking to him for thirty more seconds.
“Well,” Zenovia said, “it was good seeing you, Justin. Have a nice life.”
She tried to walk away from him, but Justin grabbed her arm again. “Zee…”
How fortunate for Zenovia that Justin’s friend decided to walk up to them at that very moment.
“Justin, baby, who is this?” She made sure to emphasize the word baby as if sending a message to Zenovia.
Justin beamed at the young, curvaceous woman. Her jealous glare melted away. “This is my friend Zenovia, from back home. The last time I saw her, she was in high school.”
The woman’s eyes swept up and down Zenovia’s outfit, and rested exactly where Justin’s eyes were resting—on her legs. Zenovia wished the Lord would singe them both with a lightning bolt. The nerve!
“Welcome to Reaching the Masses. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I’m Lynora.” She extended a stiff hand toward Zenovia.
Zenovia shook the hand gingerly. “Thank you. My name is Zenovia, and Corrine is my cousin.”
“Oh, Sister Corrine is a sweetie. Tell her I said hello.” This time Lynora gave Zenovia a warmer smile.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, so Zenovia said, “Well, like I said before, good seeing you, Justin and nice meeting you, Lynora.”
Zenovia half-stumbled the rest of the way to the bathroom. What were the odds that the first time she set foot inside a church in four years she’d see one of the Brethren? Especially Justin.
Hopefully, it was a coincidence, but it felt like an omen.
And wasn’t there a rule that the Brethren had about visiting other churches? Zenovia thought that it wasn’t allowed, but that was years ago. Maybe the rules had changed.
Or maybe Justin was breaking the rules.
Zenovia refused to let her mind linger there. She didn’t want to know if Justin was in rebellion or a former Brethren member. Either way, it was too close to home.
She walked back to her seat next to Corrine just in time for service to start. “What took you so long?” Corrine whispered. “I wanted to introduce you to a few people.”
Zenovia knew that she meant a few men. “I guess I just took my time.”
“Are you okay? You look a little rattled. Did someone say something crazy to you about that skirt? I knew I should’ve given you something longer to wear.” Corrine snatched a scarf out of her purse and threw it on Zenovia’s lap.
Zenovia smiled. “No one said anything. I’m fine.”
“Okay, but you let me know if someone offends you. We’re supposed to show love to our visitors.”
The service started with a small group of very talented singers, but they were unable to hold Zenovia’s attention for more than thirty seconds. She forced herself not to turn around in her seat to locate Justin, but it was as if she could feel his eyes burning a hole into the back of her head. She wished she’d convinced her cousin to sit somewhere in the back, so that she could escape if need be.
Zenovia caught bits and pieces of the sermon. It was about how humans cannot have a relationship with God without the Holy Spirit. The church really seemed to be receiving the message, as evidenced by the nodding of heads and the random “Hallelujahs” being shouted across the sanctuary.
But as captivating as the message was, Zenovia felt distracted. At first, she attributed her lack of focus to Justin. But, for some reason, she felt drawn to a woman sitting in the very front pew. The woman’s shoulders were hunched and she was trembling. The trembling was almost unrecognizable, but Zenovia was concentrating so hard on the woman that her movements seemed exaggerated.
At the moment of Zenovia’s greatest concentration, the woman suddenly turned around and looked over her shoulder.
The woman is standing in the center of a room and surrounding her are men sitting in folding chairs. She is scantily clad and wearing a long flowing wig. One of the men yells something, and she starts to dance and gyrate. The men throw money at her—dollar bills.
A single tear rolls down her cheek.
The vision ended as quickly as it started. Ze
novia gasped for air; it felt like she was suffocating. The woman from the front pew was the woman in her vision minus the wig. She had not had a vision since she’d left home for college, and thought that maybe she’d been healed of her affliction.
She breathed deeply and waited for her heart rate to slow to its normal pace. It was a good thing that Corrine was in the midst of a full-fledged praise break, because she would have definitely noticed that something was not right with Zenovia.
“Go to her.”
Zenovia nearly jumped to her feet. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard the voice or if it was as she suspected and only in her mind. Since no one looked alarmed—and that deep booming voice would have alarmed someone—she assumed that it was in her head.
That assumption made her heart start racing again. She’d never heard voices outside of the visions. Was she losing it? All her life Zenovia had been terrified that some latent schizophrenia gene was going to surface.
“Tell her what you saw in your vision, and tell her that I forgive her.”
Zenovia shivered. Maybe she really was unraveling. She was sitting in church, having visions and hearing the voice of… God?
She decided to make an appointment with a psychiatrist on Monday.
“Zenovia, you are not insane, but you are to be My mouthpiece in this house. Go to the woman… tell her what you saw.”
There was something so calming and so peaceful about the voice that she believed it. She felt no fear either, just a compelling need to move over to where the woman still shook with sobs.
Since there were no empty seats in the woman’s row, it was hard for Zenovia to get to her. She stepped on a few pairs of toes and stumbled over a variety of purses. She smiled at the elderly woman sitting next to her target and squeezed between the two of them.
The young woman stopped crying long enough to stare at Zenovia with wonder in her eyes. “Do I know you?” she asked.
Zenovia replied, “No, but I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
Zenovia whispered to the young woman what she’d seen in the vision and then the exact words that she’d heard after her vision. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea that the voice might actually be God talking.
In the Midst of It All Page 16
