Mr. Shermann extended a nearly translucent hand. “So nice of you to drop by for a visit, Congressman.”
“My pleasure,” Silverwood replied, hiding his distaste as he shook the dry, delicate hand. “Nice place you have here.”
“I am so glad you like it. Please, won’t you have a seat? How about some coffee?”
“No thanks. I really have to be moving on very shortly.”
“I do understand.” Mr. Shermann sat down, waited for the door to close, said, “Then perhaps you will permit me to get right down to business.”
“By all means.”
“I cannot tell you how honored I am that you would agree to accept my offer.”
“Just a minute,” Silverwood said. It suddenly occurred to him that the man might be recording the conversation. He felt a moment of real panic. What am I doing here?
“Yes, Congressman?” Mr. Shermann showed no reaction from behind his two-tone shades. He seemed prepared to wait in utter calm all day if necessary.
“There is no deal, there is no offer, and I haven’t accepted anything.”
“Ah.” Mr. Shermann nodded his head once, an almost imperceptible movement. “I quite understand. Of course there isn’t.”
“I am simply paying a courtesy visit to one of Washington’s most important lobbyists.” He felt a trickle of sweat slide down his spine.
“Of course you are, Congressman. And I cannot tell you how grateful I am for this honor.”
Silverwood’s mind raced forward, could find absolutely nothing more to say that would not incriminate him if brought to light. So he stood. “Well, it certainly has been a pleasure, Mr. Shermann. Sorry the visit has to be so short.”
“Not at all, Congressman, not at all.” Shermann lifted from his seat as though drawn on invisible pulleys. “The most important thing is that you stopped by.”
Silverwood nodded. “Just as I said I would.”
“Indeed, Congressman. It is certainly clear that I am dealing with a man of his word.”
“I hope you won’t take offense, but I really am very busy. I don’t see how it’s going to be possible for us to visit again in the foreseeable future.”
“There is no one in the city who has a greater respect for your time than I, Congressman.” Mr. Shermann walked him to the door on stick-like legs. “And of course I would never presume to impose myself upon you.”
Silverwood stopped in the doorway, said firmly, “Goodbye, Mr. Shermann.”
Mr. Shermann gave a slight bow of accord. “Thank you again for coming, Congressman.”
By the time Silverwood had arrived at street level, his nerves were back in order. All in all, he decided, it could have been a lot worse. He had agreed to nothing, he had said nothing. Had he been in other surroundings, he might not have thought about recordings until it was too late.
He smiled ruefully, and was amused to see an attractive young lady who was walking past him smile back. Yes, actually it had all worked out rather well. For an amateur, especially well. Silverwood gave a slight shiver at the thought of how close he had come. The man could have had him with a noose around his neck if Silverwood had thought of it five seconds later. He wondered if Shermann had noticed it, decided not. There was nothing in the conversation to suggest that Silverwood had not been in control from the very first moment. Any recording would indicate a totally innocuous discussion. Nothing incriminating. His mood lightened considerably, and he felt himself springing down the sidewalk. Yes, this really might all turn out for the best. And from the sounds of it, once he had eased up on his questioning of Atlas, he’d be rid of that Shermann for good.
****
When TJ arrived home that night, he wondered if maybe he had somehow walked into the wrong house.
There must have been two-dozen children in his living room, and more in the den. He stood for a moment, watched the screaming, laughing, racing little bodies.
TJ saw a young black woman with a shining, intelligent face seated at the edge of a circle of children. He vaguely recalled her from church, recalled she was named Anna and was the minister’s niece. Then it clicked; she was the one who had helped Jeremy get started with his work at the mission. The children gathered around her were laughing and playing a hand game.
She waved, smiled, said, “Hope you don’t mind. We decided it was a good day to play invasion.”
Catherine joined him, her eyes sparkling. She gave him a welcome-home kiss, said, “Their heat just up and died. Jeremy said it’d be late tonight before they could fix it.”
“Sure will give your neighbors something to talk about,” Anna said. “I believe there’re some Arabs over next door. You could pretend I’m your fifth wife and all these kids are yours.”
A little girl came running up, grasped the hem of Catherine’s dress, hid most of her face, and peeked shyly up at TJ. Catherine bent over and scooped the child up. “This is Mary Lee,” she said conversationally. “According to Anna, this girl’s had at last count four live-in daddies. Isn’t she a little angel?”
“I just got a new tooth,” the girl pronounced solemnly.
“Show him, sweetheart,” Catherine said, then, “Now, have you ever in your life seen a prettier tooth?”
“It’d win prizes,” TJ agreed. He looked at his wife, saw a woman who was truly happy. Tired, but happy. He told her, “It certainly is nice to see you smiling again.”
“Why don’t you go on upstairs and relax,” she said. “We’ll be bundling these little ones off shortly and it’ll be safe to come back down.”
“We’re just trying to instill in these kids a sense of their own self-worth,” she said from the bathroom as they were getting ready for bed that night. “Most of them don’t have a daddy, never had a man who stayed around for more than a few months at a time. Don’t have any real sense of home. Kids and teachers at school tell them and show them that they’re not expected to perform, so they don’t.”
“I’m glad you had a nice day,” he said.
She came out of the bathroom, switched off the light, said, “I hope you didn’t mind the noise.”
He put down the book he was pretending to read, said, “Well, it was a hard day, and it would have been nice to have come home to some peace and quiet. But it was nicer to see that smile on your face this evening. I don’t remember when I’ve seen you so happy.”
“It sure is nice to be needed,” she agreed.
“And I really like that look you’re giving me right now,” he added.
She came over, turned back the covers on her side of the bed, slid in between the sheets and moved over to lay her head on his chest. “These old bones are tired tonight,” she sighed.
He stroked her cheek, said, “Who you talking ‘bout old to, woman? You’re nothing but a spry young thing.”
She chuckled tiredly, said, “You lie, you lie like a dog.”
“Not me.”
She gave him a gentle hug and snuggled closer. “I guess it’s just one of those lessons you’ve got to relearn every day. Is for me anyway, ‘cause I sure can’t seem to remember it.”
“What’s that, honey?”
“There’s no joy like the joy you get from giving in the Lord’s name, is there?”
“None that I’ve found.”
“I guess that’s why we’re here, though, isn’t it?”
TJ reached over to set his book on the bedside table, muttered, “I’m not so sure exactly why I’m here right now, if you want to know the truth.”
She raised up and gave him a sharp look, said, “You know. That ain’t nothing but tired talking. You know.”
He settled back, said, “Yes, I guess I do. It’s just hard to remember sometimes. You want to remind me again?”
“You’re here to serve your Lord,” she said, still looking him in the eye. “What better reason could there be? You’re here to serve your Maker. He’ll take you where He wants you to go, and tell you what He decides you need to know. And that’s it. Everything else
is second-rate and not worth worrying over.”
He kissed her, said, “I sure am glad you’re here, honey.”
“Now, where on earth do you suppose I’d be besides here?”
He turned off the lamp, searched for her hand, said, “Oh, back in your own home near your own family, instead of up here in a strange bed in a strange house in a city that’s just about as strange as a city can get.”
“Now you’re just talking foolishness,” she said huffily. “Maybe I oughtta shake you up real good, knock some sense into that stubborn old head. There’s no place I’m supposed to be but right here, and don’t you forget it.”
“I need you,” he said softly, his eyes staring into the darkness, his arms holding her close.
“Difficult as it is,” she went on, “this is about the nicest thing that could’ve happened to me, you know that? There I was, surrounded by a house full of silence and memories of kids that’ve grown up and left their momma alone. And what happens but my man gets this vision and runs off to Washington.” She gave a deep-throated chuckle, drawled, “Yessir, Washington, D.C. Our nation’s capital. The Lord’s done told my man to work in the White House. Sometimes I can hardly believe it’s all real.”
“Oh, it’s real all right,” TJ said, the worries returning.
She rolled over and kissed him softly. “Now don’t you worry none, you’re just exactly where you’re supposed to be, doing just exactly what He wants. I know you need me, honey, and you know what? It’s a gift, knowing I’m needed. Just like those kids need me. Just like those folks need you up there in that prayer service every morning. We all need each other. And that need is what binds us together, just like it’s our need that binds us to our Lord. All we got to do is learn how to give to that need in love, in His name.”
Chapter Fifteen
TJ fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, guardedly watched Catherine from across the room. She remained silent and reserved, as she had been all that morning. He did not need to ask why. TJ and Jeremy liked the church, but it was even more important that Catherine feel at home there.
She made a final dab at her face, muttered, “Like trying to take the wrinkles out of the Rockies.”
TJ knew better than to offer a compliment when she was suffering from a case of nerves. “Now if you don’t like this place, we can always change and go somewhere else.”
“That’s the fifth time this morning you’ve told me,” she said. “Come over here and zip me up.”
He knotted his tie and moved into the bedroom. When the little clasp at the top of her zipper was fastened, she lifted her face, said, “Kiss me before I put my lips on.”
He kissed her, watched her expression in the mirror as she ran the lipstick over her mouth, said, “I’m really glad you’re up here, honey.”
She gave herself one more critical glance. “Don’t be so worried. I’ve been going to the same church since I was old enough to walk. This is just something new to me, and it’s going to take some time to get used to it.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
She rummaged through her purse, said quietly, “I’ll be happy when all this is over and we can go home.” Catherine raised her head, her eyes hard, her chin set and determined. “Ready to go?”
****
“Gonna talk about the fifteenth chapter of Luke today. Can I have me an Amen?”
The congregation called out their response. It was already warm, the air close and sweet with hair oil and perfume. Fans sporting various advertisements were waving from the hands of older members.
The reverend was a sinewy man, there was no other word for it. He moved with strength. When he shot his hand up in the air and the robe fell back, the exposed arm was taut and wiry. When he gripped the podium’s dark wood, the hands clenched and tightened and seemed ready to tear chunks out of the sides.
“Jesus gave us three parables, stories about the lost ones in this life. Let me hear an Amen. Yes. Weren’t no verses and chapters when these stories were told. Nowadays we let these things get in the way. Yes. The Lord told these three parables together, and that’s the way we’re gonna look at them today.”
At a nod from the reverend, a deacon rose from the front row, walked to the microphone by the altar, read from his Bible:
“What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.”
When the deacon was finished and seated once again, Reverend Wilkins went on, “We get all silly when people talk to us about being sheep. Yes. Think that’s some kind of compliment. Folks, let me tell you, there ain’t no animal in this whole wide world that’s dumber than a sheep. Can I have me an Amen. Yeah. The Lord wasn’t complimentin’ us, He was tellin’ it like it is.”
The church’s first row was filled with men, mostly heavyset and somber—deacons ready to get down in the pit and struggle and sweat and fight as the devil was brought out and banished. The second row was filled with the deaconesses, mostly wives of deacons plus a few others of special merit and years of service, attired in white and full of the Spirit. They led in song, led the responses to the reverend, ministered to the weeping women who brought their troubled selves forward.
“Some of us get lost just like sheep. Blind, dumb, helpless, and too weak to get out of trouble once we’ve gotten in. Most of ’em don’t mean to get lost, nossir. They just wander off, nibblin’ at this piece of grass, seein’ something else they like, wanderin’ over a little farther. Just movin’ from one pleasure to another, nibblin’, nibblin’. He ain’t doin’ no wrong, no, Lord. He just ain’t payin’ attention.
“Then before he knows it, he looks up, yes, you listening out there? He looks up and sees it’s gettin’ dark. He don’t know where he’s at. He’s lost, Lord, lost and lonely and the flock ain’t anywhere to be found.”
TJ started to feel Catherine tremble beside him. He shot a quick glance over her way, saw that her eyes were alight and her lips parted, totally immersed in the message.
The reverend leaned far over the podium, waited until the congregation had quietened, growled, “And then, you know what happens? Yes. All us sinners know, don’t we? He hears a wolf howl out there in the darkness. And suddenly the poor little sheep is scared right outta his wool.”
The congregation rewarded him with laughter and clapping and calls. The reverend was having none of it. He stood and glowered them into silence, then nodded for the deacon to come forward once more.
From the front row the heavyset man with his wreath of graying hair and three-piece suit and gold watch-chain rose and came forward and read in a sonorous voice:
“Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbors together, saying, Rejoice with me; for I have found the piece which I had lost.”
The congregation was caught up now, filled with the thrill of the Word. Yet the more vocal they became, the more sternly Reverend Wilkins spoke to them. He was their anchor, their hold on the Truth. I don’t want you to just fly up and forget, his arched brow and frowning demeanor seemed to say. I want you to learn. To remember. To act.
“Coin gets lost from someone else’s carelessness,” he said, having to raise his voice to make the words clear above the congregation’s groaning chant. “Somebody else is responsible here. Somebody else had to make sure it was safe. You folks listenin’ to me? When our Lord walked this earth, Roman coins carried the imprint of Caesar. Y’all know that. Yessir. Just like you know how your child’s gonna carry your imprint.” He leaned far over, growled, “All his life.”
A voice rose above the general clamor
, crying, “Tell it, Jesus, yes, tell it.”
“I’m tellin’ it, I just wonder if anybody’s listenin’,” Reverend Wilkins retorted. “You folks out for a good time, out for a little Sunday high ‘fore you go back to your week of sinnin’, you better wake up and pay attention.”
He reached into his pocket, brought out a sheet of paper, said, “Got a letter here I want to read you. Found it on my desk last Sunday after the service was over. Y’all better be listening. Yes, Lord, all you parents out there, want you to listen like it was your little girl who wrote this.
Dear Reverend, You know me, but I’m not going to tell you who I am. I come to Sunday school and church here all the time. I’ve been listening to you preach, and I know I ought to make a profession of faith. But I sit toward the back with my friends, and in order to come forward I would have to walk past my father.
I know that people here think he is a great man, but you don’t know him like I do. He comes home drunk, and my mother sends me next door to hide so he won’t beat me. He beats my mother and uses terrible language. I cannot walk by him because he is in my way. Please pray for me.
Reverend Wilkins raised his head, his look truly terrible. “It’s signed, ‘A Teenager.’
“Wish I could have five minutes with that father,” he said, ignoring the plaintive moans rising from the congregation. He searched the people with his eyes, hunting, hunting. “Lord in His wisdom keeps that man hidden, ‘cause He knows I’d endanger my very soul if I found him. All I can do is pray for that poor fool, yessir. Pray he comes to his senses and realizes where he’s headed. Y’all better be listenin’. Ain’t just him I’m talkin’ to. Every one of you better be sure you don’t stand in nobody’s way.
“Child don’t learn the meaning of love from a parent. Christian fails to witness to a person in need. Somebody out there don’t set a proper Christian example. Teacher don’t teach a class what Christ taught. Man afraid for his job don’t stand up for Jesus. Now just how many people you think this describes? How many people you figure here have failed our Lord at one time or another?”
The Presence Page 25
