by Darrell Case
Chapter 11
"Well now, finally made it, did you?" he said with a Scottish accent. His heavy muttonchops moved as he spoke.
Adam struggled to answer. How could he tell this man that he had been following a girl through the streets of Chicago? Shane O'Malley owned one of the largest factories in Chicago and he definitely did not like to be kept waiting.
"I apologize, Brother O'Malley. I was unavoidably detained," Adam said.
"Yes, yes. Be that as it may, you're here now. I had hoped to show you around the church and parsonage but unfortunately, I must go now."
"Brother O'Malley, is this the parsonage?" Adam asked, indicating the mansion.
"Yes of course," O'Malley answered with a hint of mild irritation in his voice.
"It's so huge," Adam commented, raising his gaze to the roofline.
"James will see to it that you are settled for the night."
"James?" Adam asked, mentally running over the list of deacons.
"Your valet, Reverend Wakefield," he replied. "Market Street Church has the wealthiest congregation in Chicago. We have a reputation to maintain. Therefore, our minister must live in the same manner in which our members are accustomed." O'Malley paused for breath. "I have scheduled a meeting of the deacon board at ten in your office tomorrow morning." Then he added with emphasis, "Please be on time!"
"Great," Adam said. "I have some ideas how we as a church can serve the Lord better."
"Yes," O'Malley muttered under his breath, "I'm sure you do. Good night, Reverend Wakefield."
"Good night, Brother O'Malley."
O'Malley started to walk away then turned back to face Adam.
"Oh by the way, Reverend Wakefield. At Market Street, we do not address each other as 'Brother and Sister.' Nor we feel first names are appropriate. We find Mr., Mrs., and Miss to be sufficient. Good night."
What do I call the children? Adam asked himself. He felt a chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather. He was still staring after O'Malley when a tall black man about thirty-five opened the door to the house.
"Please come in, sir."
Climbing the steps, Adam entered the lavishly furnished foyer.
"May I take your coat and . . . hat, sir?" the valet asked, eyeing the strange leather piece on Adam's head.
"Yes thank you," he answered as gentle hands reached up, almost spiriting the hat off Adam's head.
Adam felt as though he were in an expensive hotel. A massive staircase curved to the second floor. The polished hardwood floors gleamed in the light of a large crystal chandelier. The furnishings nearly made him breathless. In one corner was a large overstuffed chair while in the center of the dining room stood a table with twelve chairs. The huge fireplace was ablaze and made the room feel so warm and inviting. The gaslights seemed unnaturally bright compared to the kerosene lamps back home.
The parlor was to the right. This room alone was bigger than the cabin back in Arkansas.
"Oh Lord, have I made a mistake?"
"What is that, sir?' the valet asked, leaning toward him.
Adam flushed. He was not aware he had spoken aloud.
"What? Oh I'm sorry, I was just thinking out loud."
"Very good, sir. I have a small dinner prepared if you would like."
"That would be great...James, is it?" Adam asked, holding out his hand.
The black man hesitated, then timidly grasped the minister's hand.
"Yes sir, James Colburn. If you will be seated in the dining room, I will serve you, sir."
The dining room was equal to the parlor. A fieldstone fireplace covered one wall and a built-in china cabinet graced another wall. Over the long gleaming oak table hung crystal chandelier, slightly smaller than the one in the foyer. Adam counted twelve chairs including the one in which he sat.
The china had blue flowers against a creamy white background. Without thinking, Adam lifted the plate before him and read the inscription on the bottom: Wedgwood Blue.
Each piece of silverware was slightly heavy to the touch, with a small engraved rose pattern. A look on the back of the fork read Rogers Fine Silver. A fine linen cloth covered the large table with matching napkins and on the table was a silver candelabra with three candles of different sizes, the flickering flames casting shadows on the white tablecloth. In the center of the table, a beautiful crystal vase held a bouquet of fresh flowers. 'Where do you get fresh flowers this time of the year?' Adam wondered.
A noise in the background startled him. James entered, carrying a large plate heaped with fried chicken, and placed it on the table. Making several trips to the kitchen, he returned with steaming bowls of mashed potatoes, vegetables, and freshly baked rolls. The different scents made Adam's mouth water; he realized just how hungry he was.
On the fifth trip back to the kitchen, Adam held up his hands.
"Whoa, James! How much more do you have in there?" he asked. "You have enough here to feed an army. Are we expecting company?"
James placed a plate full of breaded pork chops before him and stared at him a second, his bushy eyebrows raised in surprise.
"My instructions were to make sure you were taken care of, sir," James replied as he took Adam's plate and filled it to near overflowing.
"You're doing an excellent job."
"Thank you sir," James replied, then took his place standing behind Adam's chair, a towel draped over his left arm.
Bowing his head, Adam gave thanks for the meal, his safe trip, "And Lord, bless James for his faithful service". He could hear James shifting uncomfortably behind him.
None of the previous pastors had ever mentioned him in their prayers.
Diving in, Adam savored each delicious bite.
"This is delicious, James," he replied between mouthfuls.
"Thank you sir," he replied, almost embarrassed. James was not used to being complimented. He continued to stand erect behind Adam, a towel over his arm.
Taking a few more bites, Adam heard a low rumble. He looked behind him; James was visibly embarrassed.
"James, have you eaten yet?" Adam asked, laying down his fork and knife.
"No sir!" James said. "That would be improper. The servants never eat before their master."
"No, my friend, it would not be improper." Jumping up from his chair and nearly tipping it over, Adam began gathering china and silverware from the cabinet. He placed them on the table next to his seat.
"Please don't, sir," James cried out, wildly waving his arms. "Don't."
Adam filled a plate for James that was equal to the one filled for him.
"I take my meals in the kitchen, sir." James answered.
"Not tonight!"
"But sir!" James said. "I'm a Negro!"
"I've noticed that," Adam said with a bit of a chuckle as he pulled out a chair for the shaken valet. "And I'm your employer. Now sit!"
Obediently, James sat down, feeling like he did not belong.
Adam sat back down and began eating again. "Aren't you hungry, James?"
"Yes sir," the butler answered.
"Then eat!" Adam ordered.
Careful lest he spill something, James began spooning food into his mouth. He kept a watchful eye on this strange mi
nister. Reverend Peabody had always insisted he take his meals in the kitchen using the discarded silver and chipped china. One time when the pastor was gone, James had eaten in the dining room. Coming in unexpectedly, Peabody threatened to fire him. He pleaded for his position and promised to never do it again. Finally the minister relented and gave his faithful servant another chance.
When the meal was over, Adam surprised him again by helping to clear the table. The valet protested but it was of no avail.
James led Adam up the stairs to the third floor. At the end of the hallway, James opened a door. Adam stepped into a room that was half the size of his church back home. His gaze scanned the room. A large double bed dominated the center of the room and a nightstand sat next to it with a small lamp. There was an upholstered chair in the corner under the window and a braided rug was spread on the floor in front of the bed. The fireplace gave a warm glow to the room. Adam's thoughts turned to Apple Valley and the people he left behind. Well, if Chicago was where the Lord wanted him, he would stay there until God told him differently.
Wishing him a good night, James departed to tidy up the downstairs. Loneliness engulfed Adam. He missed his friends at the church. He missed the Ozarks, its forest and the rivers that seemed to run forever. He missed the day-to-day routine of making a living, the hardship that had made him into the man he was. Most of all, he missed his mother!
"You're twenty-four years old," he chided himself, "and it's about time you cut the apron strings." Deep in his heart though, he knew he would never stop missing her. With an effort, he pulled his thoughts from the hill country.
Lying in bed, he thought of Victoria. He was sure she was troubled about something. Perhaps some incident in her past had made her mistrust ministers. Why was he drawn to this woman? In the hills, mothers had often tried to pair him with their daughters. He had resisted, feeling they weren't right for him.
After the deacon's meeting he would call on her. He prayed that she would accept his apology. He had only wanted to help her but he only succeeded in scaring her more. A vision of her lovely face appeared before him as he drifted off to sleep.
RIVER OF FIRE