Blessed Trinity

by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  “I know. I just don’t get why they won’t trust your judgment. Your mother did—that’s why she put you in charge of her affairs.”

  “Rachel spent the night at Mama’s house this past week, and she says Mama gets up in the middle of the night and wanders around the house. She said Mama could leave the house and no one would know where she’s gone. It’s unsafe not knowing what her state of mind might be when she’s wandering around unattended.”

  “I guess none of you would have known this otherwise,” Landris said.

  “No. We thought Mama just went to sleep and stayed asleep until one of us stopped by in the mornings to check in with her. Rachel asked me how I’d feel if something terrible were to happen to our mother just because I refuse to move her to a home. She says I’m being stubborn and reckless. I know she’s the oldest and all, but I didn’t ask for any of this.”

  “Stubborn and reckless—is that what she said?”

  “Yes. And it hurts. I’m trying to do what I think is right. Landris,” Johnnie Mae had tears in her eyes, “I don’t know what to do. I know putting Mama in a nursing facility might seem like the right thing to do to them, but I can’t manage to get something out of my head Mama said when we were little.”

  Pastor Landris moved the almost-empty clothes basket and sat next to her. He placed his arm gently around her. “What did she say?”

  “That no matter what, we had better not ever put her in an old folks’ home.”

  Landris pulled her in tighter, rubbing her upper arm. “I’m sure she didn’t mean that.”

  “Oh, she meant it. Back then, she definitely meant it. Mama’s brother had their mother put in a home. Here was this vibrant, active, alert woman, and Uncle Rusty had her put in a nursing home because he didn’t want to be bothered. When we were little and Mama would talk about the awful things that happened to her mother while she was in that place, how rapidly her mother declined, she always told us we had better not ever send her to one of those places. She didn’t care how bad she got—one of us ought to love her enough to fight for her and even take her in if we had to.” Johnnie Mae laid her head on Pastor Landris’s shoulder.

  “You know, all that your mother said back then was before anybody knew anything about Alzheimer’s. She didn’t know what was coming, and how it would affect her.”

  “I know, but she thinks she’s fine. Fifty-percent of the time she’s her normal self. If we tried to put her in an assisted-living place or nursing home, she’d feel betrayed. I just know she would. Even now, she thinks all we want to do is put her away and take what’s left of her money.”

  “Yeah, I know. She told me last week when I was over there that Rachel was only coming home to try and steal her money out of the bank. She asked me to take her to the bank so she could get it out and hide it. She accused Donald of taking things out of her house and thinking she doesn’t know it. She said she’s not crazy. She knows when things are missing.” He stopped to see how Johnnie Mae was taking all of this. She seemed to be handling it okay, so he continued.

  “She thinks Marie is the really sneaky one because she acts like she cares so much about your mother, when all Marie ever talks about is your mother going to a home just so she can commandeer her house. Your mother feels Marie is merely pretending to care about her. I tried to tell her all of you really do care about her. So naturally, now she thinks I’m part of the conspiracy.”

  “And me?” Johnnie Mae knew Landris was trying to spare her feelings. “What did she have to say about me?”

  Pastor Landris looked at her. He knew he couldn’t lie to Johnnie Mae, not even to protect her feelings. “She said you don’t care anything about her. All you care about is that baby of yours, whose name she couldn’t remember, and that jack-legged preacher you married. I guess that would be me.” He tucked his wife’s side-bang behind her ear. “She thinks most preachers are crooks and your smooth-talking husband needs church money, so she has to be careful around ‘those two holy rollers.’”

  Johnnie Mae cried silently as Landris held her close.

  “I’m sorry you had to hear Mama saying all of that. I know it can’t be easy for you to tell me this, either, but I need to know what she’s thinking.” Johnnie Mae dabbed her eyes with one of the hand towels. “And Christian? What did she say about my brother Christian? Did she mention him at all?”

  “Oddly, she thinks Christian purposely stays in the army so he won’t have to be bothered with her. She doubts if something were to happen to her that he would even take the time to come home and see about her.”

  “Wow, you certainly received an earful.” Dabbing at her eyes some more, she tried to control her sniffles, then grabbed up the remaining four towels and began to fold them.

  “Johnnie Mae, don’t be hard on yourself. When your mother came back to herself again, which was about thirty minutes following her rant about all of you, she had the most wonderful things to say about each of you.”

  Johnnie Mae began to cry again. “Why is this happening to her? Why my mother?” She sat back and began to rock slightly. Pastor Landris pulled her close to him again and held her still. Johnnie Mae sat straight up. “I have to find a sitter for Mama, at least during the night. And that’s that. The sooner, the better.”

  “Excuse me, Johnnie.” It was Ms. Bertha. She was a tall woman, six-feet-one, and a few years younger than Johnnie Mae’s mother. “I was coming to get the towels to put them away before I left for the day. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation just now, but did I overhear you saying something about needing a sitter for your mother?”

  Johnnie Mae smiled and wiped her face completely, hoping to erase any visible signs of her distress. “Yes, Ms. Bertha. Do you happen to know anyone who might be interested and would be really good? I don’t need anything major done for Mama, at least not at this point.”

  Ms. Bertha slowly placed her hand over her heart. “Yes, ma’am, I believe I do. In fact, I have the perfect someone in mind.” She released a huge grin. “Me.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, Johnnie. All my kids are grown and gone. There ain’t nobody left but me. It gets lonely being at a house by yourself,” Ms. Bertha said. “So staying at your mama’s wouldn’t be a hardship on me. And you know I love your mama…I love me some Countess Gates. Truthfully, it wouldn’t even be a job to stay there with her. I don’t come here to your house but three times a week, so it wouldn’t be too much on me to do both. I’m a light sleeper, so keeping an eye on her wouldn’t be a problem a’tall.”

  “Ms. Bertha, I can’t ask you to do this. I’m sure you don’t want to be confined to sitting around during your off time. What about the bowling league and the other things you do with the people at your church? No, but I truly appreciate your offer—”

  “Johnnie, you need a sitter. And I could use the extra cash. To be honest, I was thinking about looking for more work to supplement my income. Things keep going sky-high these days. It’s getting harder and harder for us old folks to make the ends of our dollars wave at each other from a distance, let alone get close enough to meet.”

  “You’re not old, Ms. Bertha.”

  “Oh, you’re just saying that ’cause you’re hot on my trail, seeing as you’ve hit your forties now,” Ms. Bertha said with a chuckle. She was never one to hold back when it came to stating the truth. “I’ll be sixty next month. My social security won’t kick in for another two years at best. A woman still has to eat, even though you can probably tell I ain’t missed any meals yet.”

  Ms. Bertha wasn’t fat but what one might refer to as thick. She was solid through-and-through, with curves in all the right places topped off by a perfectly shaped, white afro she vowed would never even flirt with a bottle of anybody’s dye. She was “all nat-u-rale,” as she liked to say, and proud of it.

  “It wouldn’t be too much on you?” Johnnie Mae stared hard at her. “Ms. Bertha, are you sure about this?”

  “Sure as my name is Bertha Ruff. Like
I said, your mother was there when I needed someone; now I’d like to do what I can for her. She was the one who sent me to you for this job, which I appreciate more than you’ll both ever know. I’ve worked in plenty of white folks’ houses. Most of them now use maid companies to come in and do their cleanings and whatnots. Folks like me used to could count on this kind of work, but now it’s become big business. There ain’t a lot of places available for many my age.” Ms. Bertha gathered the folded towels and began stacking them neatly inside the clothes basket.

  “You pay better than anyone else I’ve ever worked for, but that ain’t why I want to do this,” Ms. Bertha said. “You know you could have gotten me for a lot less than you did, but you, being your mother’s child, can’t help but do more than right by people. And God’s gonna bless you for that, too. I just know He is. Your mama is so proud of you. And I know I sho’ am. We talk about you and all you’ve accomplished all the time at church. Countess and Jericho Gates did a fine job raising you. A fine job! You’ve done them proud.”

  “Well, thank you, Ms. Bertha. Okay, so I need to hire a sitter. And you definitely would be perfect for the job. If you really want it, it’s yours.”

  “Thank you, Johnnie.” She clapped her hands once, then picked up the basket of folded towels and started toward the arched entranceway. Turning back, she said, “We can hash out the details later.” She winked, gave a quick nod, then left.

  Johnnie Mae smiled as she hugged Landris. “Landris, I know everything is going to work out, but this is so much harder than people know.”

  “Well, I know,” Pastor Landris said as he held on to his wife, enjoying every second of their embrace. “And you know God knows. People say that if God allows you to come to it, He’s going to bring you through it. We just have to hold to His hand. He’s given us His promise and His Word that He won’t let go.”

  Pastor Landris caressed Johnnie Mae’s hands as he brought them, ever so gently, to his lips and lovingly planted them with a kiss.

  Chapter 7

  Have we not all one father? hath not one God created us? why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother…

  (Malachi 2:10)

  It was not so cold on Wednesday, that 13th day of February. Pastor Landris had agreed to meet Reverend Knight for lunch at a little restaurant on the east side of town famous for its down-home, country cooking.

  “Glad you decided to come,” Reverend Knight said. The two men were being escorted to their table by a tall, young, reddish-hued woman whose hair, pulled up on top of her head, swung and bounced like a real pony’s tail with every step, twist, and turn she made.

  “Is this okay?” the young woman asked. She stood next to a booth well away from the kitchen or any other distractions.

  “Very good, as always,” Reverend Knight said. “Thank you, Sherry.”

  The woman blushed after hearing her name and smiled at Reverend Knight, then Pastor Landris as she placed two tall, laminated menus on the table.

  Pastor Landris started to sit down when Reverend Knight touched his arm lightly. “Say, Doc. Do you mind if I sit on that side? It’s just a thing with me.”

  Pastor Landris thought nothing about it and switched to the other side of the table, his back now turned toward anyone who might come up to them. “Looks like you’re a regular here,” Pastor Landris said as he picked up the menu.

  “I like this place. It’s family owned and operated.” Reverend Knight placed his cell phone on the table. “A woman named Sophie started all of this. She passed her tried-and-true recipes down, and now her children and grandchildren run it almost the same way she did. Although I have come to the conclusion that good cooking is more than just knowing all the right ingredients. I can tell a slight difference in the taste from when Sophie was running things and now. Maybe it’s all the health-conscious changes—banning hog jowls, ham hocks, fatback, and the like. But this is still the best soul food place you’ll find anywhere around these parts.” He leaned in and watched Pastor Landris scan the menu. “See anything you’re interested in?”

  “Everything looks good.”

  “Get whatever your heart desires. As I’ve said, this is on me.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “The seafood section is always great. You’ll get your choice of three vegetables with every entrée. The slaw, with its special sauce, will have you begging for your own bottle to take home, which is why they had to start selling it. Now me, I lean toward the fried food section, but my doctor’s been getting onto me about that. High cholesterol and Type II diabetes mumbo-jumbo—just the devil trying to steal my joy. My doctor says I need to eat more broiled and baked foods and lay off the grease. He doesn’t know our people were raised on grease. I have to catch myself to keep from licking every one of my ten fingers. Grease virtually runs through our veins.”

  “He probably knows that, but we now know grease is not good for our health. You know what they say: when you know better you should do better,” Pastor Landris said.

  “Then I suppose you don’t want to hear me suggest you try the fried macaroni and cheese.” He laughed. “It’s to die for.”

  “Really? Well, I believe in life, so I may give that one a try and say it’s to live for.”

  “I’d like to get some myself,” Reverend Knight said. “But if I do, there goes my doing better right out the door before I even get started.” He sat back, his attention vacillating from Pastor Landris to various people as they walked in. He acknowledged them with a slight wave or a quick nod.

  Sherry came back and took their orders. “I’ll be back shortly with your appetizers,” she said with a smile.

  “So,” Pastor Landris began, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “Direct and to the point.” Reverend Knight nodded. “All right. That building you were interested in buying…I suppose you’ve probably figured out I have some vested interest in it.”

  “Vested, like head of the nonprofit organization that holds the deed to it? Yes, I figured it out, right after I learned it was no longer on the market.”

  “Tell me, Pastor Landris. Where are you and your family attending church these days now that you’ve moved to our fine city? I’m sure you must be visiting somewhere while you’re in between assignments.”

  Pastor Landris paused as a plate of six golden brown, golf-ball-shaped items were quietly placed in front of him.

  Reverend Knight eyed Pastor Landris’s plate as a bowl of clam chowder was being positioned in front of him. “Now I wish I’d gotten some of those instead of listening to you about doing better. They look scrumptious. Even more than usual.”

  “Would you like me to bring you some, Reverend Knight?” Sherry asked.

  “You’re welcome to have some of mine,” Pastor Landris said.

  “If you could bring me a small plate, I think I’ll take the good Pastor Landris here up on his offer and liberate him of some of his. This way, I’ll be halfway doing better.”

  “Oh, my,” Sherry said. “It really is you! You’re Pastor Landris. Oh, my goodness! I knew it. I told one of my coworkers back there that you looked just like that Pastor Landris who used to come on television all the time. Dreadlocks and all! She said I was tripping. Wait until she finds out it really is you. You here visiting?”

  “No—actually, I just moved here.”

  “You…are…kidding me! You actually moved from Atlanta to Birmingham? That’s awesome. Are you the pastor of a church yet?” She was giving her full attention to Pastor Landris.

  Reverend Knight looked at her as though he couldn’t believe he was having to wait to get the plate he’d just requested.

  “I’m working on starting a church congregation. But no, I’m not a pastor here as yet.”

  “Well, if I have my way,” Reverend Knight said, “he will be soon. I’m trying to convince him to come aboard The Church of Revelation. You’ve been to our church.”

  Sherry looked at Reverend Knight and smiled, then tu
rned back to Pastor Landris. “Pastor Landris, I loved watching you on television. A few of us wondered what happened to you. There was this other preacher who started coming on in your place. His name escapes me, and truthfully, he really wasn’t that good. It didn’t surprise me he didn’t stay on TV long. Anyway, if I were to give you my name, address, and phone number, would you please let me know when you begin holding services? I know so many people who would love to come hear you.” Sherry wrote her information down, tore off the sheet from her ordering pad, and handed it to him.

  “I’ll let you know,” Pastor Landris said as he folded the paper and stuck it inside his jacket pocket.

  Reverend Knight cleared his throat. Sherry looked at him. “My plate?” he said.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll get that for you right now. Sorry.” She left and came back in minutes.

  “Enjoy,” she said, her attention mainly directed at Pastor Landris. “It was so nice meeting you.” She flashed a warm smile at them both, even though her last comment only applied to Pastor Landris.

  “Same here,” Pastor Landris said.

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Reverend Knight said after she was out of earshot. “Better not let your wife find that phone number on you.” He shook his head and smiled. “Smooth,” he said. “May we say grace now?” He bowed his head and prayed.

  Looking back up at Pastor Landris, Reverend Knight took his fork and rolled two of the golden brown, fried macaroni and cheese balls onto his plate. “Mmm-mmm. These look divine!”

  “Yes, they do,” Pastor Landris said, slicing one of the four left on his plate with his fork. He placed it in his mouth. “You’re right about this—they are good.”

  “Okay. Now, back to my question: where are you and your family attending church these days?”