“We’re eager to move ahead as quick as possible,” Leland said. “Now that Grandpa Eli’s back home.”
“Hmm,” Leah said. “I see a few complications in your plans.”
“What’s that?” Leland asked.
“I reckon that even though the sale went through eight years ago, there’s still a chance Sylvie Carson might be able to have it overturned given the state she was in at the time of the sale and the matters surroundin’ it. We need to follow that up with the courts. This is especially true with the new evidence I’ll be presentin’ on account of I’m reopenin’ the case files for the deaths of Tom Carson and his wife. Something ’bout it all don’t sit right with me. I’m startin’ to think Tom Carson’s hangin’ wasn’t suicide at all. I’ve been thinkin’ maybe more people than just James Richard Cobbler were possibly responsible for Tom’s wife’s death.”
“This could stall the project,” Eli said, his voice rising. “You could hold up the question of land title for the property in the courts for years.”
Leah shrugged.
“Listen,” Eli said, trying to remain calm. “We’ve done nothin’ wrong. We waited ’til the property was available then bought it at auction. We was lucky enough to get it at a low price. There ain’t no funny business happenin’ in anythin’ we’re doin’ despite what you may reckon. It’s all fair an’ square.”
“I don’t reckon it either way, Mr. Brown. Like I said, those deaths just don’t sit well with me. And I want Sylvie to have a chance at gettin’ a piece of any inheritance she might have comin’ to her if she deserves one. That’s all. There ain’t no ‘funny business happenin’ in anythin’ I’m doin’ either. It’s all fair an’ square.” She did say that last bit a mite sarcastically, she had to admit, but she wasn’t prepared for the reaction that followed.
Leland lowered his eyes at her and, in a menacing voice no longer filled with any sort of shakiness, said, “You’d better stay out of our way, or I reckon I wouldn’t want to be in those shoes of yours.” Eli’s hand once again fell onto Leland’s knee. This time with an obvious squeeze.
“Is that a threat, Leland?” Leah asked.
“Take it any way you want to.”
“You don’t want me to take it as a threat. Trust me.”
“You accuse us of all sorts of things, and then tell me what I can and cannot do? In my granddaddy’s house, no less. I reckon you should leave now.” Leah started wondering if the whole “shaken up from talking to the policewoman” thing was an act. This young man didn’t seem to really be too shaken up at all. He appeared completely in command. And a little scary.
One thing was for certain, though: They’d gone for her bluff. That made her happy.
“Yes, it’s ’bout that time,” she said, standing and tucking her notebook away. “Oh, just one last thing. If I catch either of you anywhere near Sylvie Carson, I won’t be askin’ no more questions. I’ll be shootin’ first. And I’m a better shot than even you are, Preacher Eli.” As soon as she said that, even Leah thought she’d overstepped the boundary of good taste.
“Get out!” Eli Brown roared.
CHAPTER 25
“I don’t know ’bout this, Abe,” my mother said as she pulled off Church Street and into the Full Gospel parking lot. She was watching all the black folks driving in and getting out of their cars. A whole bunch of them was walking up to the church’s door where Reverend Starks was greeting each one of them.
“What don’t you know?” I asked. “We was invited.”
“We don’t really . . . fit in.”
“I thought you said there ain’t no difference between black and white, especially in the eyes of the Lord.”
She sighed. “I did say that, didn’t I?” Pulling the car to a stop, she threw it into PARK. “Okay, I guess we’re really doin’ this.”
I was sitting in the backseat with Miss Sylvie and the baby. The baby had been crying something awful when we picked her up. That crying continued through the first half of the drive. Then I suppose the car ride put her to sleep because she wasn’t crying anymore. I was glad about that. Crying babies weren’t something I much liked listening to.
“Seriously, Mom?” Carry asked from the front seat. Neither my mother nor my sister had taken off their seat belts yet. Me and Miss Sylvie had. My mother and Carry just kept watching the people funneling to the front door of the church. There wasn’t a single white folk in the bunch. I thought it was exciting. “This is ridiculous,” Carry said to my mother. “It’s bad enough you make me go to normal church.”
My mother shot Carry a look. “Just for that, I’m glad we’re here. You need to learn more tolerance, both for religion and for differences in people. Now, I promised Abe we’d come here and try it one time, and so here we are. We was invited. It ain’t like we’re showin’ up unexpected.” Then, hesitantly, as though she weren’t quite sure I actually told her the truth about being invited, she asked me, “Is it, Abe?”
“It most certainly is not,” I said.
“How do you feel about it, Miss Sylvie?” my mother asked.
“It’s fine,” Miss Sylvie said. Her voice was soft and quiet, as though she didn’t really care what we did. I don’t think she really wanted to be here or anywhere. I wondered if Miss Sylvie ever got excited about anything.
“Okay,” my mother said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.” She finally undid her seat belt.
The church’s open front door where Reverend Starks was standing was at the top of three large concrete steps that were cracked. There was a hand railing running up the side of the stairs, but it was busted near the top and so it didn’t look very safe.
I tried not to look at everyone else as we approached the door, but I couldn’t help but get the feeling that people were looking at us. I was happy when Reverend Starks spotted us and a wide grin immediately spread across his face. “Abe!” he said, after finishing up welcoming the couple entering in front of us. “I see you decided to take me up on my offer! What a great surprise!”
He squatted down and shook my hand. When he stood back up again, his knees popped. He shook his head. “Indications of gettin’ old,” he said, turning his attention to my mother.
The morning sunlight reflected off his eyeglasses and he pushed them up on his nose. “Ms. Teal,” he said, taking her hand in both of his. “It’s been a long time. How have you been?” His voice was low and soothing and full of what sounded to me like genuine concern.
“Good . . .”
He smiled. “You’ve done such an amazing job raising two wonderful children.” Still holding my mother’s hand, his gaze swept to Carry. “Caroline, right? I haven’t seen you since you were about a foot or two shorter than you are now.” He laughed. “You’re still as pretty as I remember.”
Carry blushed and said thank you.
Reverend Starks let go of my mother’s hand and turned his attention to Miss Sylvie. “And you must be Miss Sylvie,” he said. I couldn’t believe he remembered her name just from the discussion me and him had the other day. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” He lowered his voice while talking to Miss Sylvie, obviously in an effort not to wake the baby she had on her shoulder. He shook her hand.
“Pleasure,” Miss Sylvie said. “I’m Sylvie Carson.”
“It’s a genuine pleasure, Miss Sylvie Carson.” The reverend looked the baby over. “And who do we have here?” he asked in a whisper. “Someone who obviously enjoys a good nap, I see. We have somethin’ in common.” He smiled at Miss Sylvie. I saw the light reflect off the gold of his capped tooth.
Miss Sylvie looked awkwardly to my mother. “Um,” she stammered, “she’s my daughter. She . . . she doesn’t have a name yet.”
Reverend Starks’s smile never flinched. “I see. Well, the Lord loves all babies, whether they be called by names or be nameless.”
Relief flooded across Miss Sylvie’s face and, for the first time since we’d picked her up, she actually smiled. It wasn’t that big, but at least it was a smile.
“I’m so sorry to hear you’re suffering through some hard times right now,” the reverend told her. “Just keep your faith in the Lord Jesus. Remember that God is light and in Him there can be no darkness.”
Miss Sylvie seemed a bit taken aback, but she just nodded. “Th . . . thank you,” she said shakily. She probably wondered how Reverend Starks knew so much about her.
“Would it be all right if I ask my congregation to offer a special prayer for you today?” Reverend Starks asked her.
Once again Miss Sylvie looked to my mother, who didn’t seem to have any response for her. “I guess so.” Miss Sylvie’s voice still quivered.
That big smile once again spread across Reverend Starks’s face. “That’s fine, then. Welcome to my church.” He held out his arm in a gesture for us to enter.
It had been a long while since I’d been in the Full Gospel, and I’d forgotten how it looked. Inside, the church wasn’t a lot different from Clover Creek. From the outside, I could have sworn it was a smaller building, but now that I was inside it actually felt larger. Or maybe it was just that the pews were closer together and there were more of them. Like Clover Creek, everything was made of wood (probably pine), although the wood here at Full Gospel didn’t shine the way it did at Clover Creek. There were holes where knots had fallen out and gouges in some of the boards.
We were about three quarters from the front where the pulpit stood, which was as close as we could get. I wondered if the church would fill up completely. If so, that would be a lot of people, probably more than the congregation we usually had at Clover Creek. Considerably more.
The walls left and right of the pulpit were angled and each had a large stained-glass window set in the top. There were four other stained-glass windows along the main side walls. On the angled wall right of the pulpit stood a choir of twenty-six people. I counted them twice, so I knew. They formed three rows, each row standing on a higher bench. The back row stood above the rest. I think they were all teenagers. Mostly, they were girls, but six of them were boys. A white cross hung above them, just below the stained-glass window.
We didn’t have a choir at Clover Creek. We did a lot of singing, but just by ourselves.
I knew services always ran longer here at Full Gospel than at Clover Creek on account of all the extra singing they did. They were really big on singing and the singing was the part I was most excited about.
The light shining through that window above the choir cast down on the pulpit, lighting it in an array of reds and yellows. It gave it an unearthly glow. Behind the pulpit was another cross, bigger than the one by the choir and very similar to the one that hung behind Reverend Matthew. Only this cross wasn’t nearly as big as the one at Clover Creek.
Spaced along the main side walls every few feet were candles that weren’t lit. I guessed they were used for special occasions. The sunlight coming through the stained glass was the only light inside the church, making everything feel as though I was in a dream.
Miss Sylvie shuffled in first, the baby still on her left shoulder, asleep. I went in next, followed by my mother and then Carry, who I could still hear complaining under her breath.
My mother kept shushing her.
The pews weren’t padded like the ones at Clover Creek, they were just wooden, but they weren’t that uncomfortable. They were old and the row we sat on wasn’t attached to the floor very well. It rocked back and forth a bit as we took our seats.
About fifteen or twenty minutes later, Reverend Starks closed the front door and the light from the colored glass in the windows suddenly really made everything magical. I looked back over my shoulder, amazed to find every pew full. There were even some people standing behind the last one. I didn’t know exactly how many people had shown up for church today, but it was a lot more than we ever got at Clover Creek.
And every single one of them except us was black.
Reverend Starks walked slowly up the center aisle and stepped up to his pulpit.
“First,” he said, in his low voice that now grew as he used it to preach. “I would like you all to welcome some guests today. Y’all may have seen them as you came in. They are sittin’ there.” He pointed us out. “They are the Teals, Ms. Leah Teal, from the Alvin Police Department; her son, Abe Teal; her daughter, Caroline Teal; and their friend Miss Sylvie Carson.”
All around us people began to clap. In front of me, people looked over their shoulders and smiled. A woman wearing a pink lacy hat gave me a little wave. I felt a mite embarrassed, but I did feel welcomed just the same.
“Now, Miss Sylvie is goin’ through some tough times right now, so I promised her we’d all give a little prayer for her. So before I get started with our regular service, I’d like to do just that.”
And he went right into his prayer for Miss Sylvie, asking the Lord Jesus to please help her find her way. He called her one of His flock and said she had lost her way and needed guidance and a road map. I was pretty amazed he was able to give such a detailed prayer about Miss Sylvie based on what little I’d said about her. He even made mention of the baby, who I hadn’t even talked about and he’d only just met outside for the first time.
The fact that he had even remembered her name had been a miracle in my eyes. Then I remembered him quoting those Bible passages to me and Dewey off the top of his head. He was really something.
As he spoke each line, everyone in the congregation (who were sitting holding hands with their heads bowed and their eyes closed) repeated the line. When he was finished, he said, “Amen.” And everyone followed with one loud “Amen” in unison.
Miss Sylvie looked as though she had no idea what to make of everything or how she was supposed to react. The baby continued sleeping. To me, that was yet another miracle.
After that, Reverend Starks started the service with three songs from the hymnal. The choir led the way, bellowing out the words so loud and fine it sent a shiver through me. Everyone sang along, including me. At least I tried to, following with the hymnbook I found in the back of the pew in front of me. After the three hymns, Reverend Starks went into a pretty standard sermon, much like Reverend Matthew would give at Clover Creek First Baptist. Like I usually did, I tried to keep up but couldn’t quite understand everything he was saying. Normally, it didn’t bother me so much, but today I was trying extra hard to stay on top of things. I really wanted to know what Reverend Starks was talking about.
He went on for probably thirty minutes until finally coming to what sounded like the conclusion. Usually the conclusion was when you got the real important stuff.
“I would like you to recall Psalm Thirty-four, versus sixteen through nineteen,” he said. “ ‘The face of the Lord is against them that do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.’ ” Reverend Stark shifted his hands on the pulpit as he read the next verse. I couldn’t see it, but I assumed he had an open Bible in front of him. I didn’t think he could possibly have all this Bible stuff memorized. “ ‘The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart; and saveth such as be of a contrite spirit. And many are the afflictions of the righteous; but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.’ ”
He looked up and scanned the congregation in silence. I got the feeling this was the end of his sermon and, as I said, usually the end was pretty important so I really wanted to figure this part out.
I didn’t rightly know if I understood completely what he had said, but it sounded to me like Lord Jesus was going to protect everyone who was good from evil and that even good people had problems and cried and stuff. I whispered to my mother if that was what he meant by what he said.
She shushed me.
“I’m only tryin’ to understand church,” I said quietly. “You should be happy.” I never really took that much of an interest in church usually. I mean, I always listened to what Reverend Matthew said at Clover Creek First Baptist, but I didn’t much underst
and what he went on about most of the time and didn’t bother following up like this. Today I felt like I should really try to clarify things. I’m not sure why, but for some reason, today church felt kind of special. Maybe just because we were at Full Gospel. Maybe I didn’t want to let Reverend Starks down by not being able to figure out what he was preaching about.
My mother whispered back, “He’s sayin’ God is close to the broken hearted.”
Miss Sylvie sat there with the baby on her shoulder. If ever anyone looked broken hearted, she certainly did. I suddenly felt a whole lot better for her. I wondered if Reverend Starks had written this sermon special just for Miss Sylvie, but then I remembered he didn’t know for sure that we were coming today or not.
There actually was more to the sermon after that, but the rest didn’t last too long. Unlike at Clover Creek, the sermon ended early so that a lot of the time could be spent doing more singing, which really did turn out to be the best part. This was different singing from the hymns we sang at the beginning of the service. It was much more powerful. It seemed to hit me right in the heart.
The choir led every song and the singers had incredibly loud voices. Actually, so did the congregation. It seemed as though everyone attending Full Gospel knew how to carry a tune better than anyone I ever met in my life.
Their voices were beautiful and they rose up until they filled that entire building, which suddenly didn’t seem very big at all. It felt so small, in fact, it seemed like the voices were going to shatter the stained glass. Then, the choir grew even louder and it felt like the whole church might burst with the joyousness of song.
I tried to sing along following the words in the hymnal, but I wasn’t a very good singer. My mother also mouthed words, but she didn’t seem to be actually singing anything. It didn’t matter. There were more than enough people singing already. I was downright amazed how loud that group of people and that choir could sing. I was sure most people up and down Main Street could hear them right now.
And then it felt as though the song somehow did break through the small building and lifted it up into the sky where it shone in the heavens like a bright star.
Close to the Broken Hearted Page 24
