“Samantha, are you still there?” he finally asked breathlessly.
“Yes, I’m here. Are you all right?” Samantha asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“I said I’m all right!” he shouted. “I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need anything from you but the truth. Was Hezekiah Natalie’s father?”
“I’m not comfortable having this conversation over the telephone. Why don’t you go home and sober up? Come to my home later this evening, and we can talk about this there.”
After the telephone conversation with Samantha, David went home. Scarlet was in the kitchen when he arrived.
“David, where have you been? I’ve been calling your cell. Are you all right?”
David didn’t look at her or respond. He walked past her, placed his keys calmly on the white tiled countertop, and exited the room.
Scarlett followed him through the narrow hallway. “David, I know you’re hurt,” she called out to his back.
“Honey, we have to talk about this.” She matched his stride and touched his broad shoulder. “David,” she cried. “Please, stop and look at me.” The tears began to fall again.
David stopped abruptly but did not turn around. He could hear the gentle sobs in her voice.
There was silence as she caressed his shoulders with both her hands.
Then he spoke. “Are those tears for me or for your pastor?” he asked coldly.
Scarlett dropped her hands from his shoulders. They each stood frozen in front of their bedroom door, in silence.
David waited for a reply, but there was none.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, reaching for the door. He paused again while gripping the handle, hoping for a response. His gesture was greeted by a chilling silence, which answered even more questions than the one he had asked.
David entered the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. She felt the guilt and shame associated with breaking a man’s heart. She did not shun the embarrassment that came with lying to the world for so long. But intermingled with these painful feelings was a faint hint of relief. At least now he finally knows the truth, she thought as she walked through the long hall back to the safety of her sunny kitchen.
Chapter 9
The Cleaveland’s mansion felt like a crypt to David as he squirmed from side to side in the stiff chair. David sat alone in the living room of the Cleaveland estate. Everything was in its proper and precise place. Oil paintings looked down on him with judgmental eyes. Crystal vases stood aloof, as if warning him to not come too close. Elegant wingback chairs and tufted couches, though plush and beautiful, seemed uninviting and foreboding. There was a dead, still quiet. He could faintly hear the waves outside the French doors surrounding a baby grand piano, which he dared not approach.
David had been in the home only once before. Hezekiah had requested his legal advice on a generous bequest by a wealthy church member. The deceased family had contested a will that left two million dollars to New Testament Cathedral and nothing to three children and four grandchildren. David was successful in proving the validity of the will. He charged New Testament Cathedral nothing for his services. “This is the least I can do for you. Scarlett has told me how kind you were to her when she worked for you,” he had told Hezekiah as they exchanged a bonding handshake.
What an idiot, he thought. If I’d known, I would have kicked the fucking bastard in the nuts.
He didn’t hear the door open as Samantha walked into the room. David was startled when she spoke. “Hello, David,” she said as she approached. “Thank you for coming. I hope you’re feeling better.”
Samantha wore a sleeveless, chocolate, silk-crepe halter-neck dress that draped in the front over her full breasts. The sensuous and meticulously crafted garment cascaded from a single point on a gunmetal chain around her neck, which was closed with an oversize gold lobster clasp. Her feet were strapped in a pair of black sandals, which David guessed must have cost at least one thousand dollars.
When he heard her voice, David jumped to his feet and stumbled slightly. His awkward move did not go unnoticed by Samantha.
“Please sit down. You still seem a bit tense. Would you like a drink? I usually have a sherry in the evening. My housekeeper, Etta, is out, but I’d be happy to get it for you.”
Like most men, David was mesmerized by the woman that stood before him. Her casual demeanor was countered by a beauty that caught most off guard. He couldn’t take his eyes off her silky black hair. It looked like every strand had been attended to separately, then combined to form ribbons of shimmering black water pouring from a fountain. The room seemed to come to life now that she was present. Was there music playing softly in the background now? Did the chairs seem more inviting? Was that the call of a peacock he heard in the distance?
“Yes, I’ll join you. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your evening routine,” he said in an attempt to appear at ease.
Samantha poured them each a glass of sherry from a decanter on a console behind one of the couches. “Let’s sit down,” she said, handing him the cut glass.
Samantha sat down in an equally stiff chair directly in front of David. They were separated by a cream-colored, six-foot distressed wood coffee table with claw feet. The table held an alabaster bust of a Greek goddess, a spray of exotic flowers, and three crystal bowls. There was a large black Bible with gold embossing in the middle of the table.
David stared blankly at the ancient leather-bound book.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Samantha said, sipping from her glass. “It’s a sixteen-eleven King James, first edition pulpit Bible, very rare. There are less than two hundred of them in the world. It was a gift to us from Pope John Paul the Second.”
David looked up in amazement.
Samantha immediately stared directly in his eyes. “Now, what was that nonsense you were talking about this afternoon? You sounded a bit disoriented. I was concerned about you.”
David took a sip of sherry. “I wasn’t disoriented, and you know exactly what I was talking about, don’t you?”
“Unfortunately I do. I take it Scarlett has told you our little secret.”
“The secret is not so little anymore. Natalie is five years old.”
“I’m aware of that. I see her occasionally at church. She’s a lovely little girl,” Samantha said with a warm smile.
The patronizing tone of the woman sent a chill up David’s spine. His head quickly became clear and lawyerly. “Don’t patronize me, Samantha. You and Hezekiah abandoned her. Scarlett made a mistake, but it wasn’t only her fault. Hezekiah was just as guilty. But you kicked her to the curb without any regard for the child. What kind of heartless, hypocritical monsters are you?”
Samantha listened quietly until he finished. “That’s not entirely true, David. Did Scarlett also tell you that I offered her a substantial amount of money?”
David looked surprised. He tried to read her face for a trace of deception, but there was none apparent.
“I also offered to relocate her to another state,” Samantha continued, “but she turned it all down.”
“I don’t believe you. She said you tried to convince her to have an abortion.”
“I don’t deny that. At the time it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“The right thing for you!”
“Yes, for me, but also for New Testament Cathedral and for Scarlett. She was young, alone, and stupid enough to get pregnant by my husband. Hezekiah wasn’t going to leave me for her, so what other options did she have? I presented her with good choices, and she foolishly turned them all down.”
David was repulsed by the casual way she spoke of the life-altering events.
“Ask her, David. Ask her how much money I offered her to leave the state.” Samantha’s tone grew harder. “You’re a big boy, David. You know how much was at stake. There was no way I was going to let some young, silly girl destroy all that I had built because
she couldn’t keep Hezekiah from getting into her pants.”
David flinched at the harshness of her words.
“I’m curious, David. Why did she tell you this now? Hezekiah has been dead less than a month. Does she want to cash in on this death?” Samantha stood from the chair and walked around the dazed man to a writing desk behind him. She removed a checkbook and pen from a drawer. “Now that Hezekiah is dead, she realizes she’ll never have him,” she said with a slight laugh. “So how much does she want? One million, two? I hope she’s going to be reasonable about this.”
David leapt to his feet. He could take no more of the callous woman. He rushed to the desk and snatched the checkbook from under Samantha’s moving pen. David threw the checkbook across the room. He grabbed Samantha’s wrists, forcing her to stand directly in front of him. Her hair glided across her face with the abrupt turn.
“You disgust me,” David said in her face. She could smell the sweet sherry on his breath. “Scarlett doesn’t even know I’m talking to you. She has no interest in your fucking money, and neither do I.”
Samantha tried to twist from his powerful grip, but he held her tight.
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to pay for what you did to Scarlett. I want you to know how it feels to lose everything. I want you to suffer, and I wish your husband was alive so that he could suffer with you. I’m going to the press. I want everyone in the world to know what hypocrites you are.”
Samantha stopped struggling to free herself from his grip. “Haven’t we all suffered enough, David? If you go public with this, you’ll ruin Natalie’s life and everyone will know your wife for the whore that she is.”
David quickly released Samantha’s hand and slapped her hard on the cheek. Her head jerked from the blow. He grabbed her wrist again and pulled her back to his face. “I’m willing to take that risk as long as you are brought down in the process. You’ll be preaching to bums on skid row after I get through with you.”
A wicked smile crept across Samantha’s face as a drop of blood fell from her lips. She tossed her hair from her eyes. The strands brushed against his cheeks, and she said, “There must be something I can do to make this right for you, David. You’re a reasonable man, and I’m a reasonable woman. We can work out some arrangement that we both can benefit from.”
Samantha moved closer, until their bodies were pressed together. David could smell a hint of lilac in her hair. He could feel the warmth of her breath. Her breast pressed against his heaving chest.
“I’m so lonely, David. Please don’t do this to me,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I need someone like you in my life right now.” Samantha leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his. “I need you near me.”
He could taste the sweetness of her blood on her lips as she gently kissed him. A momentary confusion and fear overtook him. The image of Scarlett crying at the kitchen table flashed in his mind. What is happening? he thought. What am I doing? This is Pastor Samantha Cleaveland. Then he saw Hezekiah shaking his hand while he held Natalie in his arms. Nice sermon this morning, Pastor, David heard himself say as Hezekiah touched the little girl’s head. She is such a beautiful little angel. You are a lucky man, David.
Yes, I am, Pastor.
Fear and confusion were replaced with betrayal and rage after seeing the image. David held Samantha at arm’s length and looked in her eyes.
“Don’t push me away, David,” she pleaded.
David saw Hezekiah’s face again, but this time it was pressed against Scarlett’s lips. With that thought he slapped Samantha again hard on the cheek. Her hair twirled from the impact of the blow.
“I don’t care if you hurt me,” Samantha whimpered. “Do whatever you want to me. Beat me, hurt me, but don’t leave me.”
David grabbed her shoulders and yanked her head to his and kissed her deeply. The flow of blood increased from the roughness of his kiss. His large hands groped the fullness of her body through the silk dress.
“Make love to me, David,” she panted.
Samantha could feel David’s erection pressing against her stomach. She knew now he was hers to possess. In a frenzied motion Samantha ripped open his shirt. Little white buttons popped free from his fresh white shirt and scattered to the carpet. His chest heaved as she caressed him and undid his belt buckle.
“Do whatever you want to me, David. Hurt me, slap me, but please make love. I’m yours.”
David unfastened the lobster clasp from her neck. The weight of the gunmetal yoke dragged the dress over her breasts, around her hips, to form a pool of silk at her feet.
David could feel her hand guide his erect member as he caressed her exposed breast and kissed her moist lips.
In unison they fell to the carpet. Samantha pulled his full weight to her, and he landed on her with a thud, with his shirt draped from his shoulders and his pants around his ankles. As they writhed on the floor, he entered her with one violent thrust.
Her hair formed a velvet fan on the carpet as she threw her head back and cried out in ecstasy. “Hurt me, David,” she panted. “Harder. That’s it. As hard as you want to.”
With her commands his thrusts intensified. Each one delivered harder than the one before. “You bitch,” he moaned in time with each blow. “You fucking bitch.”
As he pounded into her flesh, she moaned in agony and pleasure. With each plunge her cries became louder and his breath more shallow.
“I’m going to cum you, bitch,” he moaned. “You fucking whore, you’re going to make me . . .”
Before he could finish his last assault, his entire body stiffened, and he let out a gut-wrenching cry.
Samantha matched his tone. “That’s it, David. I want all of you inside me,” she demanded.
For moments afterward they lay tangled and twisted in each other’s arms, until the room slowly stopped spinning.
Samantha stroked his temples and nuzzled under his cheek. He belonged to her now to do with as she pleased.
Hattie Williams hummed along with the hymn on her crackling radio.
“Walk in the light.
Beautiful light.
Come where the dewdrops of mercy shine bright.
Oh, shine all around us by day and by night.
Jesus is the light of the world.”
A large mixing bowl filled with snapped green beans rested in her lap. A straw basket filled with the vegetables from her garden was at her feet. She reached into the basket for another handful of fresh beans. One at a time she nimbly snapped off the tips of each bean and peeled away the stringy strip along the side. She then snapped each bean into three equal parts and dropped the pieces into the bowl.
“I am on the battlefield for my Lord.”
The next hymn on the radio began, and this time Hattie sang along. “I am on the battlefield for my Lord. And I promised him that I would serve him till I die. I am on the battlefield for my Lord.”
Hattie sat in her favorite chair in the kitchen window, looking out over the garden. The mint-green and white vinyl chairs had never been reupholstered, yet they were as bright and fresh as the day her late husband had brought them home. The glossy green cracked-ice Formica table with polished chrome legs and apron had dutifully served her family breakfast, lunch, and dinner for over sixty years.
As she reached for another handful of beans, she heard the doorbell ring. Hattie looked at the rooster clock that hung above the window over her sink. It was 3:27.
“Lord, now who could that be?” she said, placing the bowl on the table. Hattie opened the front door without hesitation to reveal a solid metal screen and security-bar door. She could see only the silhouette of a man standing on her porch.
“Good afternoon, ma’am,” came the greeting from the shadow. “My name is Gideon Truman. I’m looking for Mrs. Hattie Williams.”
“I’m Hattie Williams,” she replied cautiously. “How can I help you?”
> “It’s very nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Williams. I’ve been trying to find you for a week now. I’m a reporter with CNN, and I’m doing a story on the life of your pastor, Hezekiah Cleaveland. May I trouble you for a few minutes of your time?”
Hattie hesitated for a moment, but her Texas roots prevented her from not inviting the man into her home.
She unlatched the security-bar door and said, “I don’t know how I can help you, but come on in.” Hattie directed Gideon to the living room. “It’s hot out today. Can I offer you some lemonade or ice water?”
Gideon accepted graciously. “Yes, ma’am. That is very kind of you. Lemonade would be very nice, but only if it’s not too much trouble.”
While she was in the kitchen, Gideon looked around the small but comfortable room. I’ll bet she hasn’t moved any of this furniture in fifty years, he thought. Gideon felt oddly at ease in the home. Amazing how everyone’s home from her generation always feels and looks the same.
A wool, braided, oval rug lay in front of the couch. A carved wooden coffee table held sundry bric-a-bracs, each with its own sentimental significance. Photographs of the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren had been placed on the walls, tables, and shelves. Gideon felt like he was in his grandmother’s living room in Texarkana, Arkansas.
After a brief moment Hattie returned to the living room with a tall, clear glass with embossed flowers, which she placed on a coaster on the coffee table. She sat down and with a huff said, “Arthur is really acting up today.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Who’s Arthur?”
Hattie laughed. “You’re too young to know anything about Arthur. But keep living. You’ll meet him soon enough.” She could see the look of confusion on his face and said, “Arthritis, boy. I’m talking ’bout arthritis. My knee is aching badly today.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
“Nothing nobody can do. Just got to keep moving, or else you lay down and die, and I ain’t ready to die just yet.” Hattie rubbed her swollen knee and continued, “So you said you were writing a story about Pastor Cleaveland. What kind of story, exactly?”
When Sunday Comes Again Page 11
