Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  If what she thought she heard had really happened, Kami would’ve wakened. Wouldn’t she? Glancing at the wall clock, it chimed 10:30 again. Disoriented, she padded across the hall to her bedroom in search of her Bible. Flipping the pages, she had no idea what she was looking for. Going back and forth, Cheney kept returning to Jeremiah 1. Her fingers shook when she saw verse four. Then the word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Whoa, baby.” Malcolm’s eyes twinkled as he glanced at Hallison from head to toe. “I like the church look.”

  Right. It had taken Hallison more than an hour to dress. Her hat matched her suit. The long, narrow skirt was void of the thigh-high splits Malcolm enjoyed. She grabbed her old Bible, which she tried reading since running into Tavia, but nothing stayed in her head. She wondered if God gave the ministers advance warning that she was coming.

  Her fiancé looked shamefully handsome in his pin-striped suit. He winked when he caught her roaming eye. His long and curly lashes were his most appealing asset. His silky beard and mustache hinted of a recent shape-up and trim. Hallison inhaled his sweet musk-scented cologne. She felt a battle stirring within, a strange sensation she couldn’t shake. Will I return home the same person? Of course, He’s a free-will God.

  Closing the space between them, Hallison thrust her Bible in Malcolm’s hand. She reached up and massaged his beard before luring his lips in the most possessive kiss they had ever shared.

  Malcolm frowned, searching Hallison’s face. “That wasn’t a kiss of love, but sadness. Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. No pressure.”

  Hallison desperately wanted to surrender to the power of his brown eyes. They showed his determination to move her mountains. The only problem was God had the power, and Malcolm wouldn’t be able to move God’s mountains.

  On the drive to the church, he kept his voice low, sultry, and husky, describing what he had planned for their honeymoon. When he turned into the church’s parking lot, he spotted Parke’s SUV and parked next to it and got out.

  “What are Cheney and Parke trying to get out of his SUV?” Hallison asked as they watch them struggle with something in the back seat.

  Shrugging, Malcolm leaned in and kissed her head. “Just remember, I love you.” His eyes lingered on her lips before turning to Parke. “What’s wrong? You two need some help?”

  “Only if you’ve got a strait jacket,” Cheney solicited with a lifted brow.

  Hallison and Malcolm exchanged looks.

  Cheney positioned a fist on her hip, tapping her shoe on the concrete. “It’s my neighbor. She refuses to come out after she agreed to come to church.”

  “Not the fearless Grandma BB?” Hallison chuckled, improving her mood.

  “Yes.” Parke groaned. “She says it’s her prerogative to be fashionably late, but Cheney and I don’t want to miss anything, plus, I don’t want Kami to get restless. I can always throw her over my shoulder and make a grand entrance.” Parke winked, grinning.

  “Humph! This body is conditioned like Janet Jackson’s,” Mrs. Beacon defiantly shouted from the back seat.

  While everybody roared with laughter, in one smooth motion, Parke unbuckled and scooped up the woman so fast she didn’t know what had happened. He planted her feet on the ground.

  She pointed a manicured red fingernail at Malcolm and Hallison. “I’ll let you know when you can call me Grandma BB.”

  Adjusting her clothes, Mrs. Beacon looped her arm through Cheney’s.

  “C’mon, y’all, let’s shake this joint up.”

  Hallison snickered, “She’s worse than me.”

  Malcolm doubled over in laughter, and tried to compose himself by the time they made it to the front door. Hallison prepared herself to dislike the church, the people, the pastor, even the floor tile, but too much Holy Ghost power seemed to surround her.

  Inside the sanctuary, Mrs. Beacon gripped the bottom of her seat. The choir’s fast-paced song coerced her feet to tap, then her shoulder lifted to the beat before her hands met in one clap after another. The next thing Hallison knew, the woman was swaying in her seat. Focusing on the woman’s antics had actually allowed Hallison to unwind.

  After Parke and Cheney returned from taking Kami to the church nursery, people flocked—young and old—to greet Cheney and Parke with hearty handshakes and hugs like they had known them for years. Some encouraged the couple to keep walking with God. Malcolm stood to meet them. Hallison only offered a courteous smile.

  She warned her mind to ignore the bass guitar’s rhythm as Cheney and Parke got up and clapped in sync. Something deep down inside of her wanted to bust out, and Hallison didn’t know if she could stop it. Malcolm sat relaxed, swaying in his seat. Parke and Cheney glowed, not only with the Holy Ghost, but the love growing between them.

  A minister stepped to the podium, also swaying with the choir. His feet started moving faster than his body. Restraining himself, he introduced the pastor.

  “Praise the Lord, everybody,” Elder Scott shouted with as much enthusiasm as the entire choir before softening his voice to pre-sermon announcements. “I want to talk about choices for this morning’s sermon,” he stated as voices hushed around Hallison.

  Malcolm squeezed and massaged her fingers as she cringed inside, sighing.

  Mrs. Beacon, who was sandwiched between the two couples, leaned toward Hallison. “What kind of message is that? I know he ain’t talkin’ to me,” she stated matter-of-factly, wrinkling her nose.

  “Turn your Bibles with me to St. Luke 16:11. Jesus spoke in many parables so those listening would have an understanding. However the message in verse thirteen is clear: “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.’ Mammon means material wealth or gain.”

  Malcolm relaxed his arm around Hallison, squeezing her shoulders as he crossed his ankle over a knee while Mrs. Beacon nudged her in the side. “I ain’t giving up nothing for God. He’s already got my Henry, He might as well forget it. I could’ve taken Kami to the park instead of sitting here.”

  The pastor continued, “Many of you have a nice life and enjoy what you’ve accumulated, but don’t give God the credit, but one day your soul will be required of you. Hebrews 9:27: ‘And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment’.”

  After thirty minutes, Hallison tuned out the sermon and listened to Mrs. Beacon doze.

  Pastor Scott lifted one finger. “I’m warning you today. You don’t want to be lukewarm with God,” he admonished before rapidly turned pages in his Bible. “Revelation 3:3 says, ‘Because thou sayest, I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing and knowest not that thou art wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked.’ God help each and every one of us today not to fool ourselves.”

  “Yes, Lord!” a woman shouted loud behind Mrs. Beacon. Balling up a fist, Mrs. Beacon lifted an eyebrow and was slowly turning around.

  “It’s okay. You’ll get used to it,” Cheney whispered, patting her neighbor’s hand.

  “I doubt it,” Mrs. Beacon spat out before pinching her lips together and flaring her nostrils like a charging bull. “That man sure does talk too much.”

  Cheney hushed the woman. “He hasn’t preached an hour yet.”

  “That’s thirty minutes too long.”

  A while later the minister closed his Bible. “You’ve heard the voice of God today, harden not your hearts.”

  Hallison released an audible sigh. Even after so many years, she had the service memorized. This was the part where she had to stay strong and be overcome with guilt during the altar call. As the congregation was about to stand, the spirit of God started moving sporadically throughout the sanctuary. The hairs tingled on Hallison’s body as her heart slammed against her chest. She no l
onger felt steady on her feet.

  Like a child’s game, people popped up, shouting across the church as if lightning zapped them. The Spirit’s movement was slow and deliberate as it stirred closer to Hallison. She trembled as her arms flew in the air involuntarily. She barely escaped Mrs. Beacon’s cane when the woman bolted from her seat and spun around without provocation. She knew what was going on even if her eyes were closed. God was in the midst.

  With the haste of a dollar sale, worshippers rushed the aisle heading toward the altar. Before Hallison could blink she was one of them. Tears washed the make-up from her face. The hat she wore was missing and her neat clothes were twisted. Her spiritually-deprived soul took control. Playtime was over. When a minister laid hands on Hallison’s head to pray for her, the unclean spirits seemed to leap from her. Afterwards, two women led her to a room off the sanctuary, which she suspected was the tarry or prayer room solely to worship and praise God until He spoke through them in unknown tongues.

  In the distance, Hallison recognized the rapid speech of unfamiliar tongues. Fluttering her eyes open, she was shocked to see Mrs. Beacon with her arms lifted in the air and her mouth moving nonstop for more than twenty minutes. When Hallison was able to return to some semblance of control, she couldn’t believe the two most unlikely individuals, the church militants were in the prayer room and filled with the Holy Ghost. Where was Malcolm?

  Sometime later, she and Mrs. Beacon returned to the sanctuary that was nearly empty after the benediction. The woman gripped her arm.

  “That was exhilarating and unbelievable. It’s real. The Holy Ghost is real, chile. It got a hold of me. I never heard myself speak in another language. Well, I guess I might have to come back. God and I will have to do some negotiations about revealing my husband’s killer,” Mrs. Beacon said, fanning her face with a Kleenex. “I told God I was sorry, but I’m sure God and I will work out our differences.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  After three weeks, Parke could honestly say his outlook on life was changing. Both he and Cheney had a noticeable peace. He knew why folks liked to be at church every time the doors opened, Parke couldn’t get enough of learning about the Holy Ghost. He could add Bible history to his interests although each class generated more questions than he had answers.

  Humming, he slid across his kitchen floor, preparing dinner for Cheney. His mother had given him a recipe for stuffed Cornish hens. He added roasted vegetables, brown rice and Ambrosia salad to the menu.

  After shoving a dozen rolls into the oven, he hurried upstairs to shower and dress. When Parke was ready, he phoned Cheney for the third time. “Hi, baby, just reminding you dinner will be served in twenty minutes. Grandma BB is watching Kami, right?”

  “If you’d stop calling me, maybe I could get ready. Yes, Grandma is watching her. Who else would the little terror let keep her?”

  Parke agreed and disconnected. Since receiving the Holy Ghost, he struggled at times with temptation, but God’s Word said He was able to deliver him. He bridled his tongue only to have pride escape in some situations. He requested strength for sanctification when he wanted to rip Cheney’s clothes off and make love to her. The pastor continually instructed that the road wasn’t smooth, but to stay the course and pack for the journey with prayer and fasting.

  Family services still hadn’t located the boy named Parke, but he had faith in God the child would be found. For some unexplainable reason, he knew that was his child still he needed proof. Thank God for administrative bureaucracy that gave him and Cheney a little more time with Kami.

  Ben Tankard’s saxophone filled the house as his doorbell rang a half hour later. A single red rose tickled his nose as he opened the door. Accepting the flower, he reached for Cheney’s hand, and tugged her inside. “Praise the Lord. Thank you,” he whispered.

  Parke perused Cheney’s appearance, a dainty lilac-colored dress that flowed when she walked. “I like it when you dress up for me.” His voice filled with emotion. They indulged themselves in a strong embrace and a weak brush of their lips. “And I can’t do a thing about it. This modesty is killing me.” Throwing caution to the wind, Parke pulled Cheney back into his arms and enjoyed a passionate kiss. “Ah, that’s better.”

  She lovingly stroked his cheek. “I don’t know. I kinda like holding back. At least I know you’re not after my body.”

  “Who says?” Parke wasn’t teasing.

  “Stop it.” Cheney sucked in her breath when he guided her to his dining room where candles burned in brass wall sconces. The table was set for two with china, silverware, and sparkling crystal stemware. He cracked his French doors to enjoy a cool night breeze. “This is so beautiful, everything.”

  He led her to the chair. “I hope you say the same thing about dinner.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s the thought that counts.”

  “Thanks, but it matters to my growling stomach.” Parke headed for the kitchen, and began his presentation of entrées one at a time to the table. He played a game of placing soft kisses on Cheney’s lips before going back for another dish.

  Once he took his seat, they joined hands and he prayed, “Lord, I have so much to be thankful for, besides not burning dinner. I didn’t deserve Your salvation or this wonderful woman, but You found her for me. Now, I ask that You sanctify and bless our food and help us to grow stronger in You in Jesus’ Holy name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Cheney repeated before laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Parke asked, forking off a piece of meat.

  “You, me, us…Grandma BB, Hallison.” She paused. “It’s like God is cleaning up the neighborhood.”

  Parke nodded. “The biggest difference is praying. Don’t get me wrong. I like the quick, quiet prayers, but hearing me—or rather, God— speaking through me in tongues is confirmation that there is a God and He’s having this private dialogue with me.”

  Cheney frowned. “I can’t find it, but I remember reading, ‘He that speaketh in an unknown tongue edifieth himself, but he that prophesieth edifieth the church’.”

  Parke piled a hungry-man portion of roasted vegetables onto his plate. “First Corinthians. That’s all I know.”

  She bit into her Cornish hen. “You’ve been holding out on me. If I had known you could throw down like this, the children and I would’ve been sitting on your steps every day, waiting for dinner.”

  “I’ve been holding out for you.”

  “You knew how to cook when you enrolled in that cooking class with me, and when you pleaded for my help in preparing dishes for your family night. You crook.”

  “I’m guilty, baby. Guilty of love,” he confessed, reaching for her hand.

  “You’re amazing, Parke Kokumuo Jamieson VI, just amazing.”

  Christian instrumental melodies serenaded them as they ate and engaged in loving smiles and harmless flirts. After enjoying his mother’s marble cheesecake, Parke cleared his throat. “Our plates are empty, the music has stopped, and the sunset is waiting for us.”

  Pulling a black velvet box from his pants pocket, Parke got on one knee and brought Cheney’s hand to his lips. “Cheney Denise Reynolds, you’re the profile I’ve been searching for, and I didn’t know it. Only you can fill my life with happiness.”

  Her eyes watered as her lips slightly trembled.

  “I didn’t realize my journey began the day you moved onto Benton Street. You’ll never know how you rescued me from settling for less. The women I wasted—and I do mean wasted— my time with you made me realize that my soul was restless, searching for you and God, and maybe this little boy with my name.”

  She reached out and touched Parke’s cheek with her free hand, mouthing I love you. “Have you figured out who the mother of little Parke could’ve been?”

  “No, and I don’t want to talk about another woman right now. This is all about you. Will you take me for all I have and don’t have to be my wife?” Parke opened the box, displaying a cluster of shining diamonds.


  Cheney gasped as tears spilled. “I haven’t seen the rich and famous wear that many diamonds on one ring.”

  “Yeah, I know I went a little overboard.” He dabbed at her tears, grinning sheepishly. “When Elaine gave Paki a son, it was recorded he carved a three-dimensional face from wood, blending his face and hers into the face of their child as a gift.”

  She bowed her head. “You kno—”

  “Shh, baby, you talk too much. The answer is a three letter word.” He brushed a finger against her lips. “The diamonds represent the stars dangling in the sky. But the jeweler warned me if I add one more diamond, they wouldn’t insure the ring. Will you marry me?”

  “I can’t bear your seed.”

  “There’s things you can do for me—love me,” Parke paused. “Marry me?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Cheney!”

  “Yes, I’d be honored to be your wife.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him so tight so as to cut off Parke’s air supply.

  “Whew! You made me beg for that.” He exhaled and slid the ring on her finger.

  ***

  The time had come. I’m losing another baby, Cheney thought. No excuses, no sickness, or family crisis would detain Kami another day. Cheney sniffed as she folded and packed Kami’s clothes and stuffed them into three large suitcases and a kiddie-size one that she could handle with her tiny fingers.

  Despite her melancholy, peace was finally seeping into Cheney’s mind, knowing her own baby was safe with Jesus. “What about Kami? Will she be safe, Lord?”

  The night before, Kami had a ball at her little going-away party. All the Jamiesons were in attendance as well Hallison. They were making so much fuss over the child that Cheney barely heard someone knocking. When she opened the door, she blinked, stunned, and on guard. Cheney was almost happy to see her mother. She had contacted her family after she turned her life over to God, but they all offered her pity. Rainey and her dad seemed to have the same schedule when she called—unavailable—so she stopped calling weeks ago. Janae was always too busy with her own children to talk. So Cheney prayed and asked God what to do.