The rebuke in Sister Betty’s silence and her smile hit its mark. The woman moved on. A moment didn’t pass before Sister Betty heard that same woman make the same remark to another. When she saw the other women gather around the gossipmonger, she sighed.
“Why didn’t you tell us that June Bug worked at this conference center?” Sasha’s question was more of an accusation as she approached. She tapped her cane slightly and refused to take her eyes off Sister Betty. “Where’s your Jesus love?”
“That’s a good question. It’s where it’s always been.” Without giving it a second thought, Sister Betty turned and walked away. She was shocked and saddened by her response. Why had she let Sasha back her into a corner? Back in Pelzer, that would’ve never happened. She’d have prayed and smiled while not giving the devil an inch.
Only the third day in Las Vegas and she’d found out her salvation and love wasn’t as strong as she’d thought. But why would God cause her to come to Las Vegas to discover it? Why didn’t He do what He always had?
Again, she’d found something in common with the Bible’s Jonas’s disobedient spirit. Jonas had fled rather than preach to those he considered heathens. Except, in her case, she’d have gone voluntarily into the belly of the big fish, rather than deal with Bea and Sasha.
All the while Sister Betty, Bea, and Sasha were stewing in their personal dramas, the other Mothers Board members observed. For most of them, the new and the old, Bea and Sasha’s behavior was no surprise. However, seeing Sister Betty teeter on the brink of her precious relationship with God was shocking.
The women finally entered the conference room and were surprised that no one told them to leave. Of course, there wasn’t food, or water, or pencils and pads either. Yet, Bea and Sasha claimed a victory refusing to believe that their meeting hadn’t been discovered yet. They’d preferred to believe that they had favor. They weren’t aware that management discovered that Chandler Lamb’s godmother was a part of the group. Management needed to figure out what to do, so until then, they’d do nothing.
Later that evening, long after others had gone home for the day, Chandler was still upstairs in his office.
With his suit jacket thrown over one of the chairs instead of hung up and his shirt and tie unbuttoned and loosened, he poured over a pile of papers. Frustrated, Chandler closed the folder full of paperwork that lay atop his desk. He’d done everything but concentrate on its contents.
A vision of torn hosiery revealing creamy thighs invaded his concentration. “Zipporah Moses,” he mumbled, not in an angry way, but in amazement. In two weeks he’d have to give the “talk” to Zipporah. He’d have to tell her whether or not she could keep her job. There’d be polite conversations before then, hopefully, if he had any grievances or suggestions on how she could improve. He could only imagine she’d do her best not to snicker as he tried to act professional.
“Okay, June Bug,” he imagined she’d say, “if you feel that I can do better.” She’d probably stifle her laughter as she fought for control. “And you want me to take you serious, June Bug?”
Chandler’s hands were shaped like a church steeple supporting his chin when Mandy walked in. He’d forgotten she was still there.
“Yes, Mandy.” By the look on her face he wasn’t sure if he’d spoken quietly or shouted at her. He had to get Zipporah Moses out of his mind before he completely lost it.
“I was trying to wait for you to give me the last report to type.” Mandy stretched out her hand, indicating he should place the folder in it. “I’m starting my vacation tomorrow and I’d like to get a head start.”
“I’m sorry, Mandy. I’d completely forgotten.” He reopened the pages and thumbed through them. It was all an act. He couldn’t remember what he was looking for.
“I know you said that you didn’t need an assistant while I’m gone, but if you don’t give me those papers, right now, you will,” Mandy predicted.
Without meaning to do so, she’d handed him an excuse. “Mandy, you’re absolutely right. Don’t worry about this report and go home. I’ll get one of the other girls from guest services to type it. It’s no big deal.” He didn’t know if that was something that was appropriate or not. He’d never asked anyone in guest services to perform something not in their job description.
“Good luck with that.” Mandy didn’t know what Chandler’s problem was, but she wasn’t about to let it interfere with her vacation plans. It was going on eleven o’clock, way past her six o’clock quitting time, and she had an early morning flight.
“I’ve got packing to do,” Mandy said. She was still watching him struggle with whatever had taken his attention. He hadn’t bothered to ask where she was vacationing, so she told him, “I’m going to beautiful Hawaii, the island of Kauai to be exact.”
Chandler didn’t look at her but he did respond. “Make sure you pack a coat.” He hadn’t paid attention and thought he’d covered the fact very well.
“I’ll do that.” Mandy shut the door hard as she left his office. He was her boss but that didn’t mean she couldn’t let him know that she wasn’t pleased with his lack of attention.
Thirty minutes later Mandy was gone and Chandler had turned off the office lights. During that time he’d had no further thoughts about Zipporah or his embarrassing old nickname, June Bug. But by the time he’d entered the underground garage and turned the key in his 2007 Avalon Limited, thoughts of Zipporah had returned.
It had taken one look at a bra advertisement. It was the Victoria’s Secret model Selita Ebanks. The creamy, coffee-colored complexion, well-proportioned body, and inviting smile; it all reminded him of Zipporah. All that was missing from Selita was Zipporah’s sexuality and enticing hazel-colored eyes. He had hazel eyes, too, but he wouldn’t call them sexy. He stuck his head out the car window and peeked again at the billboard. His smile was appreciative. “Beautiful.” Selita’s eyes were dark brown but gorgeous nonetheless.
It was well after one in the morning. Zipporah wrestled with sleep. She’d arrived back at the West Strip shelter before the midnight curfew. If she was grateful for anything else, it was that Miss Thompson was supposed to be away for another week. The woman watched her like a hawk and Zipporah had already stayed beyond her time. If she could manage to pass her two-week orientation, she’d have the job permanently. She ran down a laundry list of things she needed to do better than just survive.
If she combined her salary with adequate tips, which she was determined she’d earn, she could move into a cheap kitchenette or a studio. She craved a place with her name on a mailbox and a key that she controlled. She’d rent a place where she didn’t have to hear the sound of another person’s voice, if she didn’t want to. She wanted out of that shelter.
A small hum emitted from Sasha’s hotel room air-conditioner. It was a low sound that somehow had joined in harmony with a whirring sound coming from the bathroom. Sasha could’ve stopped the annoying bathroom sound but she didn’t want to sleep without a light. Keeping the one on in the bathroom was the least invasive but she’d have to endure that buzzing sound.
It wasn’t hard to fall asleep the first couple of nights in Las Vegas. Sasha’s tired body had claimed sleep the moment her head hit the oversized pillow, but not tonight.
She couldn’t sleep because she’d seen the same thing Bea had. There was no doubt about it. The young girl working in the casino could’ve passed for her niece’s twin.
Sasha’s mind raced back to reclaim memories. Some of those memories were forgotten on purpose and others due to aging.
Sasha, in her youth, had lied to save the honor of her family. Back then, if an unmarried girl became pregnant, it meant unbearable banishment by the community.
And, if a church girl became pregnant, then she was banned from all church activities as well. It would start by her being called out by the pastor or the mother of the church. Each auxiliary would follow the lead and as they called it back then, she’d be “sat down.” As the months would pass,
her belly swelling with the promise of life inside, the woman’s heart would fade and shame would surely kill her slowly.
And so shame came to Sasha’s family and it came without apology.
Sasha Hellraiser wasn’t the oldest child but she was the tiniest of the three girls and one boy, and she had the most gumption. Even back then, almost sixty years ago, in Anderson County, South Carolina, her nickname was T.T. They’d called her Tiny Terror and she tried effortlessly to live up to the nickname. Whenever trouble came to their doorstep, she’d answer the knock, armed for battle.
By the time she was a young adult, her temper was well known in the church, too. Had the Hellraiser family members committed acts that should’ve had church doors shut in their faces? Of course, and no matter how destructive their behavior, they always did it with style. Hardly anyone was permanently hurt by their little acts of indiscretion. A little embarrassed or inconvenienced, perhaps, but never physically hurt unless deserved. However, nothing was ever done that actually caused them the embarrassment of being asked to leave the church. Until . . .
Sasha’s hands grabbed at the bed sheets as she tried to turn over. Her tiny body ached from lying in one position so long. It also ached from knowing that if she didn’t do something quick, a secret could come out. But what if she was wrong and it was a coincidence that the young woman looked like her niece, Ima? What if she was losing sleep for nothing?
Sasha could feel her heart beat faster. She could almost hear it as it joined the combined chorus of the air-conditioner and the whirring sound coming from the bathroom.
To her surprise, Sasha got off the bed and heard herself praying aloud. “Lord, what can I do? I haven’t heard from You in quite some time, but I need to hear Your voice, now.”
For the first time in quite a while, Sasha actually knelt to pray. She’d not done so in the past few years. She used her various ailments, specifically arthritis, to deprive God of His most humble due. But this night, trouble could come in such a manner as to cause Sasha to skip rope, double Dutch, if necessary. She needed to hear from heaven and true to her tenacity, she’d not get up until she did.
Down the hall, Bea looked over at the clock with the huge numbers and too many buttons. She saw that it was almost two o’clock in the morning. She’d lay down around midnight and two hours later, she still couldn’t sleep. The only thing she’d managed to do was run to the bathroom a few times. But that’s something she’d do whether she’d been sleeping or not.
It wasn’t the strong resemblance between the young girl in the casino and Ima Hellraiser that bothered Bea. She’d always heard that everyone had a twin somewhere. But this girl looked so much like Ima that even a blind person would’ve agreed with her. So why did Sasha lie and then walk off? Sasha’s denial was what caused the sleep to stay away.
Two more hours passed and the alarm clock buzzed as it struck four o’clock. Why Bea hadn’t heard the alarm the past two nights, she didn’t know. She struggled to find the right button to turn it off. It was two more trips to the bathroom and several more tries before she was able to disarm it by pulling out the radio power cord from the wall socket.
Bea’s mind was kidnapped by Sasha’s lie. Sasha lied; that was nothing new. But why this lie? They were in Las Vegas, miles away from Pelzer. No need for Sasha to lie about something as small as a family resemblance.
Suddenly, Bea sat straight up in the bed, no easy task for her curved spine.
“There’s a family resemblance!” If she weren’t absolutely sure about it before, she was then. There was no reason for her to speak, or shout it out, since she was in the room alone, but she had. Just hearing those words sent her mind into overdrive. She didn’t know how yet, but she was determined to see that young lady again.
A sly grin appeared on her chubby face. Of course, that meant she’d have to revisit the casino. A good detective always went back to the scene of the crime.
18
The next morning came and neither Bea nor Sasha showed signs of tiredness. They even decided to share a cab to the conference center. But they rode in silence, not out of anger but a need to gather their thoughts. Each had a mission and one had nothing to do with the other.
“Mothers, please take a seat.”
Standing at the podium in the conference room was an elderly woman with a lemony complexion and teeth to match. She rocked side to side trying to adjust the microphone. The woman, named Mother Lizzie J. Borden, was dressed in yellow, which was the color for the morning, so she thought. She wore thick glasses that made her look like an owl tangled in a sunflower patch as she continued her fight with the microphone.
“I’m trying to get this thing adjusted,” she laughed nervously, as she finally positioned the microphone.
“This morning, I’d like to thank all of you, again, for coming. As you all know, this morning we must finish the nominations for the Mothers Board presidency positions for all churches involved. And, we will also vote for a national president.”
The rest of the mothers did the appropriate amount of clapping—thirty seconds and no longer, along with the appropriate amount of two “hallelujahs.”
Had they been at their home churches, no doubt, there’d be two or three of them shouting. The shouting would be followed by a good amount of them just passing out from sheer exhaustion, although they’d claim to be in the spirit. But today, they were in Las Vegas. Most of them just wanted to get on with the meeting so they could go and witness the other sinners downstairs inside the casino. Of course, there were some passionate Bible toters who had their tithe money and a little extra inside their Bible. The money would be folded neatly and prayed over as it lay in the nineteenth chapter of Numbers.
Bea and Sasha had arrived together but sat seats apart. Counting them and Sister Betty, they were the only three from Crossing Over Sanctuary Temple. Yet they all sat as far apart as possible. There wasn’t a hint of fellowship between them.
Each woman had an excuse. Bea and Sasha didn’t want to sit next to one another. That was their excuse; they just didn’t want to.
Sister Betty, on the other hand, told herself that she’d be more comfortable seated in one of the cushioned folding chairs. She was still in denial and growing bolder in it, day by day.
“As you know,” Mother Borden announced, “we’re doing a new thing this year. The home pastors have nominated the person they wished to see as president of their respective Mothers Boards.”
Mother Borden lifted a typed sheet of paper from the podium and stepped out. She began to call off names.
Sister Betty heard the words, “I decline.” She recognized the voice. After all, she should know her own voice. But she felt like she was having an out of body experience. She was supposed to say, “I accept.” That’s why Reverend Tom sent her. More importantly, she knew that’s what God wanted her to do.
Disobedience was out of character for her and yet, her own will had interfered with the plan. All she could do was rush from the room in tears. Again, like Jonas in the Bible, she just didn’t want to deal with the likes of Bea, Sasha, and some of the other board members of her home church.
The truth was, she’d become too comfortable, physically, financially, and spiritually. She just didn’t seem to have the old soul-winning, demon-fighting energy and driving determination God had given her years ago. And she couldn’t remember when it’d stopped.
Sister Betty had barely left the room when the buzz started.
“Hmm,” one of the mothers whispered. “I always thought she was just too good.” Her comment was one of many that echoed throughout the conference room. Women who’d have never said anything bad, aloud, about Sister Betty suddenly seized the opportunity to do so.
The moment was all that Bea and Sasha could’ve hoped for. Sister Betty had embarrassed herself. They were poised to take advantage of such a situation whenever it would occur. Yet, at that very moment Bea and Sasha only wanted to do one thing. Each, separately, wanted to walk out of t
he meeting and look for the young woman working in the casino.
So in silence, they slipped out. Not together but with the same purpose, they headed to the casino.
19
The elevator door on the Jaeger Conference Center’s fourth floor opened. It took Sister Betty by surprise when Chandler walked on.
Immediately, Chandler saw signs of tears and his smile left. “Aunt Betty,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?” Except when she was praising God and overjoyed about it, he’d never seen her cry or get too upset. She was everyone’s Rock of Gibraltar. She was the go-to woman of God, the one who God used for everything.
Chandler’s stepping onto the elevator caused Sister Betty to lose control. Until that point, she’d only had tears in her eyes. His appearance brought about sobs.
Chandler immediately ushered Sister Betty off on the next floor. Fortunately it was the same floor as his office, so he took her there.
“What’s wrong?” He was grateful that Mandy wasn’t there and no one from the human resources office had arrived to take her place.
Sister Betty couldn’t speak. Her small shoulders heaved and her spiritual wall built of “God is good all the time and all the time God is good,” collapsed.
“I’m just tired.” She said each word as though it were made of concrete and just too heavy to carry. “I’m just tired.”
“God’s always given you strength.” Chandler didn’t know why he said that except it was what came to mind. “You’ve been saved, sanctified and filled with the Holy Ghost for as long as I can remember. I’ve never seen you like this.” His concern was genuine and seeing her like this was unsettling. If her burden was heavy enough for her to throw in her spiritual towel, what chance did anyone else stand? After all, God had called her personally.
Chandler didn’t ask any further questions. Instead, he took her small hands in his and lowered his head. He found himself doing something he’d not done in quite some time. Chandler prayed. He didn’t pray the quiet little prayer that some would out of habit or custom. Chandler prayed like he’d heard his grandmother, Ma Cile, do when rough times visited.
Somewhat Saved Page 10
