Mama B - a Time to Love Read online

  I hope she don’t wear that again.

  No sooner than I had the thought, the praise team leader, Queesha, invited everyone to come back and see them perform again at the Friends and Family service. Oh, Lord.

  Ophelia led the prayer for the sick and shut-in. In my mind, I added Eunice’s name to the list since I hadn’t had time to get her name to Angela for the bulletin. What I did have time for, though, was to write Ophelia a note about the dance team situation. As the choir sang its final song, I tore a sheet from my journal and scribbled: We need to talk to Queesha about the dance team clothes real quick.

  I folded the paper in half and gave it to Henrietta to my left as I whispered, “Pass this to Ophelia.”

  Henrietta’s nostrils flared indignantly. She squinted at me and looked down her nose like a mean usher from back in the old Baptist church about to pop your head for chewing gum in the sanctuary. “Is this church business?”

  “Since you asked, yes it is.”

  “Well, I’m a member of this church, too,” Henrietta huffed, “and I got every right to read this here paper.”

  Before I could put an end to her shenanigans, Henrietta unfolded the note and read what I had done intended for Ophelia’s eyes only. Not that I didn’t want Henrietta to know, but I didn’t want it spread all over the church, you see.

  “You got some nerve,” Henrietta breathed down on me. “Queesha is my grandbaby, and I won’t let you discourage her from the work of the Lord.” Henrietta tore up the note and stuffed the pieces deep down in her purse.

  “You don’t think that gal’s shirt was too short?” I accosted Henrietta.

  She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t see nothin’ but my granddaughter’s wonderful choreography. Queesha’s just as good as your granddaughter, you know?”

  I couldn’t do nothin’ but turn my face back toward the choir. I let Henrietta have that one for free. Couldn’t blame nobody but myself for forgetting she wasn’t quite all there.

  Pastor Phillips started his message off slow, thanking several of the brethren for helping him trim the church’s hedges. He preached from Romans chapter six about being dead to sin. He said a few things I didn’t agree with, but that’s normal, I think. You ain’t got to agree with every word come out of your pastor’s mouth any more than you agree with everything come out of your husband’s mouth or your supervisor’s mouth. Long as it don’t happen too often and they still got the right heart, just respect the position, pray for a better understanding for both of you, and go on.

  I figure since he had to preach again at the three o’clock service, Pastor didn’t get himself too revved up in the morning service. We let out half an hour early and I did manage to snag a second with Queesha on my way out the front door. Once Henrietta had done passed on outside, I locked elbows with Queesha and whispered, “I need to chat with you for just a second.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  We stood there together while the majority of the members passed by, waving their quick good-bye’s seeing as we was about to come right back in a few hours. Once I saw I could talk to her without an audience, I said truthfully, “Sweetheart, you are doing a lovely job with the dance team.”

  “Thank you, Mama B,” she beamed all thirty-two.

  Give me the words, Lord. “And honey, I know you want to do everything in excellence before the Lord, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said as her face crinkled a bit. “Is everything okay? Was the song okay?”

  “Oh yes, the song was fine.” I took a deep breath. Though I done corrected folks in love plenty of times before, it still ain’t easy. “But Queesha, one of the dancers need on something extra so her belly won’t show while she’s ministering before the congregation.”

  Queesha’s chest deflated and she leaned in to me. “I know, Mama B, but I don’t know how to tell her without her getting mad. And I don’t want her to feel like she has to dress differently when we’re all supposed to be uniform.”

  “She ain’t got to dress different,” I said. “She just got to dress in her real size or have some kind of safeguard so when her hands go up, we don’t all get a flashin’. Now, I know you don’t want to hurt her feelings, but if you plan on being a leader, you got to learn how to take correction and give it, too.”

  “Thank you so much for saying something to me,” Queesha said, her words laced with grace. “If no one had mentioned this, I probably would have dismissed the thought from my mind.”

  “Oh no, chile. If the Spirit put a check in your heart about something, you don’t overlook it, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Thank You, Lord, for helping her receive this in love.

  “But how do I tell her?” Queesha begged to know.

  Just then, Henrietta come barging up to us. She grabbed her granddaughter’s hand and pulled her out of my grasp. “Come on, Queesha. You ain’t got to listen to this foolishness.”

  “It’s okay, Grandmomma, Mama B was—”

  “Stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong,” Henrietta poked her own nose into my conversation with Queesha. “Let’s go.”

  Poor Queesha didn’t know whether to follow her grandmother or stay by my side. “He’ll give you the right thing to say,” I said as I released her arm, not wanting to put no division between her and family.

  I had to get my mind on finishing up my food contribution for the after-service fellowship anyway. I waltzed on out the sanctuary, saying good-bye to Pastor on my way.

  “See you in a few hours, B,” he prompted.

  “Oh, you know I’ll be here with bells on.”

  Just then, Henrietta called my name like I was somebody’s child outside after dark.

  I stopped and turned back toward the church, putting one hand over my brow to shield from the sunlight. “What?”

  Henrietta crossed her arms on her chest. “Who’s that lady smokin’ a cigarette on your back porch? And why she got all kind of toilet paper on her face?”

  Lord, she said it so loud everybody left in the parking strained to get a good look at Eunice sitting in my lawn chair, huffin’-and-a-puffin’ like a choo-choo train despite the bandages covering half her face.

  I lowered my voice, walking back toward Henrietta in hopes that Eunice wouldn’t be offended by all this. “That’s not toilet paper, it’s medical dressing. Her nose is broken. She’s a lady I met at the food pantry.”

  Henrietta looked past my shoulder, I guess checkin’ Eunice out. “She sure is fat. Don’t look like she need no free food and no more pets.”

  “Pets?”

  “You know what I’m saying. Don’t try and change the subject,” Henrietta growled.

  I was speechless.

  Henrietta carried on, “And for the record, don’t be tryin’ to tell my granddaughter what to do when you livin’ with cigarette-ment in your own house!”

  Pastor approached us, his right hand raised in a gesture of peace. “Sisters, is everything okay?”

  The last few stragglers went ahead and got in their cars, thank the Lord.

  “Yes, Pastor, everything is fine,” I stated as calmly as possible. I can’t let Henrietta get to me.

  “No, it ain’t.” Henrietta pointed toward my yard. “She got somebody over there smokin’ a cigarette.”

  Pastor’s eyes followed the finger to Eunice, who waved back at us between drags.

  “Pastor, she’s a homeless woman. She fell and hurt herself yesterday. I’m housing her until we can figure something out.”

  “And she’s smokin’ cigarettes!” Henrietta insisted he acknowledge.

  “Yes, I see. B, you keep up the good work,” Pastor commended me.

  “Good work? How she doin’ good work while she got the devil stayin’ with her? And tryin’ to tell my granddaughter what to do?”

  Pastor gently cupped Henrietta’s elbow. “Now, sister, who are we to judge?”

  Henrietta smiled and softened her voice. “I guess you’re right, Pastor.” Obvious
ly, she was pleased that she’d gotten the Pastor’s attention enough to warrant his touch.

  He turned and led Henrietta to her car, then he winked at me. I took this as my cue to escape.

  I knew Henrietta was sick. I knew she was delusional. When peoples are off their rocker, we all got to be patient with them.

  But that don’t always stop your feelings from gettin’ hurt.

  Chapter 10

  Eunice smashed the butt of her cigarette on my concrete and then nearly fell trying to bend over and pick it up so she could dispose of it properly. Maybe I should have felt sorry for her, but I ain’t never had no ashtrays around, and I didn’t plan on startin’.

  “How was church?” she asked as she followed me into the house with a limp.

  “Just fine,” I smarted off.

  “Well, pardon me for asking,” she said.

  I shook my head, trying to erase all that foolishness with Henrietta out of my brain so I could keep good manners toward my houseguest. “I’m sorry, Eunice. That woman who was pointing over here at you…oh, never mind.”

  “Yeah. I could tell she wasn’t too happy about me being on your porch, for some reason,” she chuckled.

  Her laughter helped me to calm back down to myself. “Can you help me out in the kitchen?”

  “Surely. I was going to finish up the potato salad, but I know better than to mess around in another woman’s kitchen. That’s one sure way to lose a friendship.”

  Even though I didn’t agree all the way with her philosophy, I was a little glad to hear her call me friend. Considerin’ the fact that she didn’t really have nobody to call on in need, my guess was she didn’t have many friends. And after the way Henrietta had treated me, look like I was down to just two friends, myself—Libby and Ophelia. Not that me and Henrietta ever saw eye-to-eye, but I knew she would never leave me out on the streets.

  Despite Eunice’s arms being all bandaged up, she was a help in the kitchen. She got busy spooning the chocolate chip cookie dough on the metal cookie sheets while I finished the redskin potato salad.

  “You sure are cooking quite a bit, here. Are you expecting company?”

  “Oh, no. Well, yes. Company at the church, not here. We’ve got friends and family day at the church this afternoon,” I informed her, thankful for the chance to invite her to my other home.

  “That’s nice,” she said real quick-like.

  We were both working on the counter space on either side of the sink. She didn’t bother to look at me any more once I mentioned church.

  Help me, Holy Spirit. “I’d love for you to come to the service.”

  “Now, B, I already told you, I don’t do church.”

  “I see,” I said. Not missing a beat, I requested, “Retch me a fork out from the drawer.”

  Eunice took a step back so she could open my utensil drawer. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you. Mind if I ask why you don’t do church?”

  “I was raised in the church. My mother made us go every major holiday,” she bragged. “Every time we went, she gave us a dollar to put in the offering plate. Still, the people looked at us as though we were Martians who’d dropped out of the sky. Scary.”

  Me and Eunice musta had two different ideas about what it means to be raised in the church. Raised in the church, to me, mean goin’ to service at least three times a week—more than that before desegregation. Not to mention choir rehearsals and other business meetings.

  But she was right about one thing: Church folk sure do look visitors up and down when they come in the building. We ain’t never meant no harm by it. Don’t you look at people you ain’t never met? I, for one, ain’t never considered myself a stranger in any house of God. But I see how we could make somebody feel funny comin’ to church with all our starin’.

  “I’m sorry you felt that way,” I apologized on behalf of the all churches everywhere. “But if you get there early, like I do, people don’t get to look at you so hard. They might not even notice you.”

  “Another thing,” Eunice added, dumping the last spoonful of dough onto the second cookie sheet, “what’s with all the money stuff?”

  “Money stuff?”

  “You know.” She twirled her spoon in the air. “Give ten percent, give to the building fund, give offering? It’s no wonder church people are always the poorest ones in the bunch. I think if God wanted some of my money, He’d just give me less.”

  “Giving is always up to you,” I came back at her. “The Bible says give with a cheerful heart. If you don’t have a heart to give, you shouldn’t do it. But don’t let that be the reason you stay away from church. God would much rather have you in church than your money any day.”

  “Maybe God would, but I’m sure the pastor wouldn’t.”

  Hmph. I know a rebellious spirit when I hear it. I ought to – I used to have one. Didn’t want nobody tellin’ me what to do, least of all my husband, even though I knew he was only lookin’ out for the good of our family. But one day, I overheard myself telling my youngest child, Otha, “If you would just do what I tell you, things would work out so much better.” And no sooner than I said it, the Holy Spirit whispered in my heart: That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, B.

  From then on, He give me a check in my heart to let me know when I’m actin’ up. I don’t always listen, but at least I can’t say I didn’t know.

  I’m still prayin’ for Otha. Look like I was gonna have to pray for Eunice for this, too. “When you get to know Jesus, you do what He asks you to do because He lives in you. You love bein’ who you are in Him. He’s better than the old you.”

  “No disrespect to Jesus, but I like me and I don’t want to change. I’d like to end this particular discussion, if it’s all right with you. I don’t like to talk politics, religion, or child-rearing. It’s a no-win conversation because everybody already thinks they’re right.” She dunked the empty bowl into the hot, soapy water in the sink.

  Normally, I would have had a come-back for Eunice. I would have tried to convince her that I understood church ain’t all perfect, but it also ain’t all bad. But inside me, I heard a familiar phrase: Be quiet. Of all the stuff the Holy Spirit tell me, this usually be the hardest one to obey.

  I put the final touches on the potato salad, then hung my apron on the nail right beside my refrigerator. “I’m gonna lay down for a spell before the afternoon service. Can you take the cookies out in ten minutes?”

  “Sure thing. And don’t mind me,” Eunice said. “I’ll be taking another pain pill in a bit. That’ll put me out for quite some time.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “You hurtin’ a lot?”

  “With a broken nose and thirty-seven stitches, anyone would be.”

  The bruises beneath her eyes were certainly the kind that looked worse before they got better. I happened to look down at her legs and noticed that the bad one appeared to be swollen and a little darker color than the good one. “Your leg okay?”

  “Aaaah,” she scoffed, “it gives me a little more trouble every once in a while.”

  I figured she knew her own body, so I left it alone. Sure enough, by the time I got up again for church, Eunice was fast asleep.

  Chapter 11

  I changed into a black maxi dress with a silver belt and a flower print jacket. These young folk tickle me thinking they really doin’ something new with the flower print fabric we wore in the 60s and the 80s. Sometime, I put on something older than them and they say I’m in style.

  Frank showed up at two forty-five dressed in a gray Miami Vice lookin’ linen suit with a green shirt and a multi-color paisley tie. I know it don’t sound like a fashionable outfit, but Frank pulled it off well. Probably too well. Even though I looked good for my age (if I do say so myself) him wearin’ that suit made it seem like we had more than seven years difference between us.

  “B, beautiful as usual,” he said, barely crossing the threshold into my house. He stood with both hands behind his back.
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  “Come on in,” I waved for him to follow me. “I need your help getting some things over to the church.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Frank and I packaged up all the food and headed out the back door. Lord knows, I really hadn’t thought that one all the way through because the very first person my eyes met after I locked the screen behind me was Henrietta. She took a step out of her car and got an eyeful of me and Frank coming out of my house.

  Even from a far distance, I could see the shocked expression on her face. I sped up to get in front of him and run interference. Every one of Frank’s steps made two steps for me, so I had to do double-time to get ahead, but I had no choice. No telling what Henrietta might say to him if I didn’t threaten her with the shut-up eye first.

  Me and Frank walked past her without incident, thanks to her picking up on my body language. Really, though, Henrietta was not the first one who didn’t know how to take Frank. “Oh, Mama B, I didn’t know you had a friend,” and “Where you been hidin’ him?” and “You been’ holdin’ out on us, Mama B,” they remarked between winks.

  I suppose they all found me and Frank quite comical, but I didn’t, this being the very church my deceased husband built and I was coming into my second home with another man. And then I wondered where Frank was gonna sit. He wasn’t on the Mother’s Board. And he couldn’t sit with the deacons, like Albert used to. Why didn’t I think of this earlier?

  All those nervous feelings attacked my stomach, just the same as they did when I first went out with Frank. Lord, help me.

  Me and Frank made it through all the little observations of my church family and took the side door into the sanctuary. Thank God, the seat behind where I normally sit was open. At least I’d be in the same area, and we wouldn’t be shoulder-to-shoulder with Henrietta.

  I’d never been so happy for Clive to start playing than I was that day. Finally, all eyes switched from me and Frank to the choir as they marched through the main doors. Maybe they weren’t all watching us, but it sure felt like it. I had some empathy for Eunice now.