Not Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  Shocked, Malcolm's heart sank for Lisa. The business was her family's legacy. Their romantic relationship was over, but he wasn't callous. Parke had definitely ruined his good mood. He sighed. "I'd better head over there to see if I can comfort her."

  "Oh, you're a Jamieson man. You can provide comfort, but keep it at a three-mile distance. That woman has no place in our family."

  Agreeing, Malcolm let Parke have the last word as they disconnected. He had witnessed Lisa's aggressive behavior in the emergency room after her insensitive remarks about the baby. When she turned ghetto and attacked Hallison, Malcolm had had enough. After he really thought about it, he decided he and Lisa weren't a good fit. Malcolm groaned in agitation. He'd rather go home, shower, grab a beer, and call Hallison. He wouldn't make up an excuse for calling her. Even if she recited the entire Book of Psalms, he would listen.

  Malcolm didn't remember how long it took to drive to Mid-town St. Louis, but he could smell the acid and see the remnants of dark smoke in the air before he made it to the scene. Parking as close as he could, Malcolm got out. He locked his door and immediately joined the onlookers to find Lisa, It didn't take him long. She was slumped on a curb. Her hands covered her face, and her shoulders shook with grief. Malcolm stretched his long legs over the curb and sat next to her. "Lisa." He touched her elbow.

  She turned and presented a tear-stained face. Her normally meticulous look was disheveled. When she gripped him, Malcolm swallowed her up in his arms. "My life is over, Malcolm. That's all I had," she mumbled and stared across the street at the charred remains. "Generations gone."

  He rocked her petite body. So many times they neared the threshold of becoming lovers, but a force seemed to hold him back. Now he knew why. The woman who practiced Wicca wanted to possess him. Thank God Parke had been praying for him; probably Hallison, and many he probably didn't know about.

  Pulling her away, he scanned her face, refusing to look into her eyes, for fear of being pulled into her darkness. "I'm sorry, Lisa. What happened? Does anyone know how it started?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know. I was in the back room working. I don't know what happened. I almost didn't make it out alive."

  Malcolm squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry again, but you can start over, Lisa. People can always start over."

  She sniffed. "Does that include us?" She searched his face, but Malcolm refused prolonged eye contact. He shuddered, feeling as if she wanted to suck the life out of his soul.

  "No." Malcolm stood. He didn't like how she had flipped the conversation from her livelihood to another chance at a relationship. Lisa had insurance. She would be just fine. He walked away without feeling guilty about his actions.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Saturday morning, Malcolm waited for Hallison to arrive at the St. Louis County Library. As he chatted with the familiar faces of the library's genealogy staff, Hallison bounced up the stairs with her notebook, folder, and the magnifying glass he had bought her. His heart swelled. She was the only woman he wanted. Why had he let God come between them? Why had he been so bullheaded about at least trying Christ?

  He almost leaped from his seat. In a few strides he met her and relieved her load as if she were carrying a fifty-pound box. Hallison nodded her thanks, spoke to the staff, then chose a working area.

  "You smell good," he complimented, sniffing.

  "Mr. Jamieson, if you're going to flirt, then you can take a seat in the corner," she teased. "C'mon. Let's get started because I plan to get my money's worth out of you."

  "Did you forget how much money I have in my account? C'mon, baby, break my bank," Malcolm challenged.

  "I'm trying to establish some sort of rules for friendship here. I like the peace we used to share. The bickering is unproductive."

  "Hali, neither one of us can reduce our past love affair to a friendship."

  "Watch me." She slapped him in his chest and sat down near one of the microfilm machines. He leaned over her shoulder, perusing her notes and documents.

  Finally, scooting a chair closer, he sat down. Hallison was right about one thing: there was no longer turmoil between them. He enjoyed her company. Separating the census copies from the 1850 Arkansas Slave Schedule, Malcolm grabbed the magnifying glass and read a few pages line by line. "According to what you've uncovered, Minerva Palmer would have been two years old and most likely still with her mother, if she were lucky enough to be one of the many children who weren't separated from their mother until ages six or seven."

  "I think her last slave owner might've been Eliza Palmer, who hailed from North Carolina between 1850 and 1860 to take possession of slaves," Hallison said, explaining her thought process.

  "Not so fast, babe. Let's see. It looks like Eliza was thirty-one years old. She could've inherited the slaves when she was a child, or Eliza might have taken ownership after her husband died. The scenarios are endless." The hunt was on. Malcolm moved to the bank of computers. He typed in an advance search on ancestry.com while Hallison combed through slave books and copied Palmer slave schedules from 1840 to l860. Frustrated, Hallison turned to North Carolina, hoping to find Eliza as a teenager before she married a Palmer.

  After four hours, Malcolm suggested they break for lunch and come back. Packing up Hallison's notes and folders, they left the library. Walking to the corner, they waited at the stop light facing the ritzy Plaza Frontenac. "Feel up to some window shopping?" he asked, grabbing her hand as they jogged across Lindbergh Boulevard. If she wanted a hundred and twenty pairs of shoes from one of the upscale shops, he would buy them. He was already smiling at the possibility. When they were together, they would often go shopping and buy clothes that pleased each other: shoes, dresses, suits, and other accessories.

  As soon as Hallison's foot hit the sidewalk, she released his hand. "Nope. I want to eat and get back."

  Hallison chose the Brio Tuscan Grill although reservations were required up to a week in advance for the weekend. However, with the lunch crowd thinning, they were seated within fifteen minutes. Malcolm suggested the outdoor terrace. The waitress took their drink orders and returned for their main selections. Since Hallison wanted something light, they agreed to share a spinach-and- artichoke dip appetizer and homemade bruschetta. When the waitress left, Malcolm stared, making Hallison uncomfortable with his scrutiny. Obviously, it was pure enjoyment for him.

  "So, how's work?" She cleared her throat, forcing an interest Malcolm knew she didn't have.

  Tapping his finger on the table, he leaned back. "Hali, you know everything about me: My job, how much I make, my family's background, where I live—everything. Small talk between us is artificial. Don't worry about me. I can entertain myself by admiring your beauty." After their dishes were laid on the table, Malcolm reached for her hands to pray. "God, thank you. Amen." Malcolm didn't need a lot of words to give thanks for his food, health, and a moment with Hallison.

  What am I doing? Hallison scolded her heart. Why had she given up a good, God-fearing man? Paula was right; Hallison had lost her Holy Ghost mind. As soon as they finished eating, she would end her genealogy hunt for the day. She would check on Cheney, then go home.

  Lunch was uneventful. After his brief, curious prayer, Malcolm didn't touch her again with his hands, but his tell-all eyes whispered he still was very much in love with her. Silently praying was the only way she endured the temptation. Without a doubt, if she called Trey and asked him for more patience as she worked through her new unsettled feelings, his ring would be back on her finger, but Trey was no fool. They wouldn't walk down the aisle until she said three words: I'm over Malcolm.

  In the library's parking lot, Malcolm hugged her as they parted ways. He drove in one direction and Hallison in another. Somehow they wound up at Parke and Cheney's house five minutes apart. This was more than a coincidence.

  Malcolm had rang the doorbell when Hallison stepped onto the porch. He lifted his brow and stretched a grin across his face. "It seems like we keep meeting, but
I'm not complaining." He winked.

  Parke opened the door and grinned. "Well, it's nice to see my favorite people. C'mon in—"

  "Auntee. Uncle Malcolm." Kami's high-pitched scream raced toward them as Malcolm scooped her up and smacked a kiss on her cheek. Fighting back his affection, Kami reached for Hallison.

  "Auntee, I got a new stuffed animal and new shoes and new toys..."

  Hallison listened attentively, but her ear turned bionic, overhearing Parke mention to Malcolm that Lisa was suspected of arson. What was that all about? What had she set on fire? Hallison prayed no one was hurt. Nothing about Malcolm's former ex would surprise her. Kami squirmed her way to the floor, dragging Hallison toward the back of the house.

  Kami's playroom favored the fictional Santa's workshop. In the midst of chaos, Cheney sat on the floor, completing a triple-level castle. In the background on the shelf, there were five collectable porcelain dolls, including the one Hallison purchased at the doll exhibition. Octavia came to mind, so Hallison said a quick prayer for her and made a mental note to call Octavia again since she hadn't returned any of Hallison's last few calls.

  "Hey, stranger." Cheney stood to give Hallison a hug.

  "How are you doing?" Hallison whispered into her ear then held on to Cheney longer than normal.

  Cheney disengaged from Hallison and squinted, trying to read Hallison's mood. When Hallison gave nothing away, Cheney continued to stare as she returned to the floor with Kami.

  She pointed to Hallison's attire. "Short dress or not, you might as well get on the floor and help build this monstrosity of a dollhouse."

  Scouring through miniature pieces of pink doll furniture, Hallison started decorating the toy-size living room. "I can't shake Malcolm," she confided, "not physically, emotionally, or perhaps spiritually."

  "I agree," Malcolm's booming voice confirmed from behind Hallison.

  Hallison's heart pounded rapidly as she slowly glanced over her shoulder and tilted her head. Malcolm's imposing body was within feet of her. His biceps rippled as he folded his arms. From her quick assessment, she found no challenge in his eyes, but Hallison couldn't read his expression either.

  Facing Cheney, Hallison sighed. "See what I mean?" Somehow Hallison had misplaced the handout of the rules on what God was trying to tell her.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Malcolm had made up his mind. Since salvation was free, he was going to take a sample of the Holy Ghost hoopla. He purposely and fashionably arrived late at Faith Miracle Church on Sunday. He was surprised to see Hallison sitting with Cheney and Parke. According to Parke, Hallison had started to attend services at Trey's church. A few times, she had fellowshipped with Paula. He would've loved to have known what went down between Hallison and Trey. He grinned, hoping he had something to do with it.

  The trio, plus Kami, had no idea that he was present. If Malcolm was going to do this conversion thing right, he didn't want any distractions. He settled in a space on the back pew. Unfortunately, he was the middleman for a group of teenage girls to his left and boys nearing manhood on his right.

  If God spoke to him today as He had done in the past, Malcolm was walking down that aisle. The praise team was good, the choir was better, but Malcolm eagerly awaited the sermon. His newly purchased Parallel Bible, which included four versions, was ready to open.

  Pastor Scott didn't allow the congregation a respite after worship. He quickly dived right into the sermon. "Slavery is over, but servitude still exists, not color or class. I'm talking about flesh worshipping, obeying, and cherishing different spirits. Turn with me to Luke 16:13: No servant can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. This is not Burger King. No, you cannot have it your way. Who are you going to serve today? I can't choose for you. God won't choose the way for you. This is a free-will world. You can't have a wife and girlfriend, or husband and boyfriend, or be both male and female. You must decide."

  When the appeal for discipleship began, Malcolm had already made his choice and started repenting. He wasn't naive enough not to know of his sins, but he was sure God's list was much longer.

  "The Lord Jesus is waiting on the throne. God is faster than a speeding bullet. You want to be forgiven of your deeds? Okay. Check. You want the grit of your sins washed off your spirit? He's got that, too. Check. You want a reservation on the next flight out of this world? Check. You don't need an appointment for all those things. Come, repenting. Make your way to one of our ministers and have him pray for you. We have a change of clothes for you to be buried in the water in the name of Jesus. Then the icing on the cake is the Holy Ghost. Talk one on one with God with the evidence of speaking in other tongues," Pastor Scott continued his appeal.

  Malcolm stood and climbed over the male teenagers. He straightened his silk tie and unbuttoned his Armani navy suit jacket. He began the trek to the front; the distance seemed a mile away. As the pastor beckoned for him and others to continue coming, a voice reminded him he had time to turn back. Don't be hasty. You've been fine without God up until this point. Just turn around. Now!

  The excuses slowed him down, but his feet propelled him faster as the singing and praising pulled him closer. Malcolm walked past his brother's pew. Kami called his name, but he was on track and couldn't stop. Once Malcolm stood before a minister, he raised his arms as instructed.

  "What do you want today, brother?" a tall woman dressed in black with a white clergy collar asked.

  Closing his eyes, Malcolm spoke without shame, "I want God to save me." He didn't add anything else on his long list of requests. Salvation was his top priority.

  Nodding, the minister motioned for a man to come and lead Malcolm to a back room for the baptismal. After changing into a white T-shirt, white pants, white socks and a long hospital-length gown, Malcolm walked to the platform and stepped down into the water.

  A short man was in the pool, waiting for him. Malcolm doubted the man had the strength to dip him. "Cross your arms," the minister instructed. Malcolm complied. The man asked Malcolm his name before continuing. "Brother Malcolm, you have confessed your sins. In Philippians 2, God exalted the name of Jesus to the highest place above every name and at the name of Jesus every knee shall bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth so it is in Jesus’ name I baptize you for the remission of your sins. God will give you the evidence of the Holy Ghost through speaking in other tongues, according to the Book of Acts. Amen."

  Malcolm's submersion was so swift, it caught him off guard. Once he broke though the threshold of the water, shouts of praise burst from his mouth. Malcolm was in awe. He never thought he would shout that loud for anything, other than a football game. The minister directed him out of the pool. It took Malcolm a few minutes, because some spiritual power got a hold of Malcolm, and Malcolm didn't want to let the feeling go.

  Finally back in the changing room, Malcolm dried off and redressed, then he was ushered into a small chapel. When Parke, Hallison, and Cheney, with Kami in tow, entered the chapel, Malcolm was stretched across the carpet, trying to compose himself and utter a word in English. Instead of helping Malcolm up, the group knelt beside him, praying and praising God. Malcolm's cheeks were numb from nonstop speaking in unknown tongues. When the Lord got through with him, Malcolm was panting and out of breath. He didn't realize his face was wet until Hallison dabbed at his tears.

  Hallison couldn't control her weeping, neither could she stand. On the floor, they hugged each other until there were no more tears. Quietness greeted them as everyone had vacated the room. "Malcolm, I'm so glad you know Jesus for yourself."

  She straightened his suit as he stood and pulled her up. She wrapped her arms around him. Within minutes the others re-entered the chapel and joined them in a group hug. When they separated, Malcolm pulled Hallison back into his arms and whispered in her hair, "I was wrong about Jesus and you were right, Hali." She squeezed him tighter. "But
don't expect me to become a minister."

  Through misty eyes, she shook her head, smiling. "I won't."

  Slapping Malcolm on his back, Parke announced a feast at his house. One minister, who prayed with Malcolm, took his information for the church records. Malcolm shook all their hands and thanked them.

  Less than an hour later, Hallison helped Cheney set the table while Malcolm recapped his experience at church to Parke. Gathered around the dining room table, Malcolm volunteered to say grace. Linking hands, they bowed their heads and waited.

  "Lord Jesus, this is my first prayer coming to you as a changed man. God, thank you for your mercy and patience with me. Bless our food in Jesus' name. Amen."

  * * *

  Monday evening, Parke was still riding high from the weekend's events. One family member saved, three more to go for salvation—his dad, mother, and youngest brother, Cameron. Walking through his front door after work, Parke grabbed the phone on the second ring as he laid down his keys.

  Minutes later, he slammed it down, disconnecting the call. His mission wouldn't be accomplished until Cheney's mother was double-dipped in water in Jesus' name. He wouldn't allow Mrs. Reynolds to spoil a good day and stress Cheney by blaming her for warrants being served on Roland earlier that day. Roland was responsible for his own actions. It wasn't Cheney's fault his sins were uncovered.

  Shaking off the anger, he walked to the kitchen and kissed his wife. Parke held his breath when his cell phone played the Mickey Mouse ringtone Kami had chosen. Cheney smiled every time she heard it.

  Clearing his throat, Parke answered, hoping Mrs. Reynolds wasn't now harassing him on his cell. He listened to the caller. "Are you sure?"