Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  “Oops, sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’m so happy for both of you,” Hallison said tearfully.

  “I know this can’t be easy for you,” Cheney said, hugging her new friend.

  “No, it’s not. Every day I try to fall out of love with Malcolm. I’m praying that by walking away, God will send him back into my life a changed and spirit-filled man.”

  “Right now he’s not only a thorn in your side, but everybody else’s, too,” Cheney said. “He’s mentioned several times losing you is not his definition of being a Christian, and the world has gone crazy except for him.”

  While Imani styled Cheney’s hair, Cheney reflected on what had been altered in her life. Her relationship with her mother was on the road to recovery. They spoke every morning and prayed, lunched together, and set aside a church girls’ night out with Addison and Hallison. Charlotte Jamieson attended from time to time, and of course, Mrs. Beacon told tales about her mystery caller who was part of a children’s evangelistic ministry. Then, there was Parke. Her Parke. At first, he irritated her. Now he was like a touch of spice to a bland dish.

  “Imani, you promised to come to church with me when I return from my honeymoon,” Cheney reminded her.

  “Of course, you’ll be another person whose coat tails I can ride on for prayer.”

  “Sorry, you’re going to have to get it for yourself this time.”

  ***

  Parke stood regal, gazing at the emotions playing across Cheney’s face as she stepped toward him. This afternoon, the Jamieson clan, Cheney’s mother, Dre, and Sasha along with their paternal grandmother sat in attendance to witness the nuptials. “We’re finally getting a daughter-in-law,” had been his parents’ words.

  During the last months, Cheney smiled more with her eyes, enticing him with the lift of her brow. Their once charged combative encounters were replaced with quiet time, relaxing or studying scriptures. His heart did its thing again, fluttering at the sight of her. She was more than gorgeous. How could he have thought differently?

  His bride was beautiful. Cheney was magnificently dressed in a long-sleeve, pearl-white satin gown with a long, flowing train, sprinkled with white pearls and translucent beads. Her headdress was Chantilly lace mixed with pearls.

  “Who gives this woman away?” Pastor Scott asked.

  Expecting Cheney’s mother to respond, she was surprised to see Roland Reynolds walking into the garden, announcing his presence. “I do.”

  Cheney’s shocked expression would always be etched in his mind. Over the months, unbeknownst to Cheney, Roland was trying to get closer to God. The big shock was learning that Roland had distanced himself from Cheney not because of her abortion, but because of his guilt twenty years earlier.

  “Parke, I love my daughter, but I hate myself. I was the hit-and-run driver who killed Henry Beacon. When I found out that Cheney moved next door, I went crazy and used whatever method necessary not to visit, even if I hurt my baby girl in the process. I couldn’t face Mrs. Beacon knowing what I did.”

  Roland had been drinking. The following day when he read in the newspaper about the accident and learned there were no witnesses, “I kept quiet to keep my reputation intact and my secret buried. When Cheney moved back to Missouri, I couldn’t believe how fate would lead her next door to my past.”

  It wasn’t easy to withhold that information from Cheney, but Roland pleaded with him to wait until after the wedding to tell Cheney and Mrs. Beacon, who was sure to lynch him before he could turn himself in to the authorities. Parke had come to accept that being saved didn’t mean everything would fall in place, as Hallison was learning.

  Hearing Pastor Scott’s prompting, Parke recited his vows, understanding the importance his heritage and responsibility were to future generations, biologically or adopted.

  “Cheney, I stand before you knowing we belonged to each other long before we knew it. I promise my faithfulness, undying love, and friendship. Baby, I will cherish you above all riches. You are my treasure. I will keep you safe and securely close to my heart. I love you and will honor your position beside me, always lifting you up as my best part, not a counterpart, until death do us part.”

  Her misty eyes matched his, but a sniff behind him made Parke glance over his shoulder at Malcolm who was stone faced. Parke ached for him.

  Cheney stepped into Parke’s space. Her manicured nails touched his hand. She scanned his face as if memorizing his features. Closing her eyes, she inhaled his cologne, smiling. Cheney was branding him as hers.

  Bowing her head, he heard Cheney pray before reciting her vows. “Parke Kokumuo Jamieson VI, it’s so hard to find words to describe what I’m feeling today. I’ll be forever grateful that you walked out of my dreams and into my life. You’ve given me unwavering love, friendship, and humor.” They smiled, blinking back tears. “I want to give you abundant, overflowing, endless happiness, my love, and submission so that you will never regret asking me to be your wife. I promise to honor you and listen to you when you speak and when you don’t. I promise to be faithful to your needs and desires, and to love you until my last breath.”

  As Pastor Scott pronounced them man and wife, a gentle breeze stirred the trees, sprinkling autumn leaves for showers of blessings.

  Epilogue

  Parke climbed out of bed without disturbing his wife of six months, two weeks, and twelve hours. He couldn’t resist stroking her shiny curls. He whispered “I love you” close to her ear. She didn’t stir.

  The house was quiet, his house that had become theirs. Imani purchased Cheney’s because she was the only one Mrs. Beacon agreed not to harass. On the other hand, Imani felt her home would be safe when she was away because Mrs. Beacon was better than a guard dog.

  He looked out the bedroom’s French doors. This was Parke’s favorite time of the morning when random spears of light from the sky hinted of the day’s possibilities. Another day the Lord had made. What would God show him today?

  Folding his arms, he glanced back at his bed. White netting hung loosely over eight-foot bedposts, creating an exotic ambience fit for his queen. The image of Cheney snuggled under their satin comforter completed Parke’s mystic musing. Over the months, Parke watched as Cheney had transformed his bachelor bedroom into a cozy honeymoon suite where they played hide and seek, enjoyed sunsets, and indulged each other with breakfast in bed. Life couldn’t be better.

  An early riser, Parke used this time to pray, mediate, and thank God for the woman He sent into his life. He monitored Cheney’s even breathing. She was fast asleep. He thought about their small garden wedding, which Cheney said she had dreamed about. Everything was perfect except the tension between Malcolm and Hallison, which was thicker than their wedding cake, and the whereabouts of the boy who could be his son.

  His weekly ritual included calling Wilma and his private investigator for anything new. Surely, he didn’t just fall off the face of the earth.

  His parents embraced his new religion with skepticism, but were ecstatic about Cheney becoming his wife. Malcolm was growing more rebellious about the whole idea of God and church, but Parke knew that prayer does change things.

  Cheney moaned. He was at her bedside in seconds. Then she smiled in her sleep. Good, she wasn’t in pain like the previous nights. He returned to his spot at the window. Parke loved watching her. He had memorized her unique sounds, amusing expressions, and routine positions. “C’mon, baby, it’s about time you scoot to my side of the bed and rub that expanding stomach of yours,” he coaxed in a hushed voice.

  Within seconds, she did as Parke predicted. Grinning with satisfaction, he stretched, sat in a chair next to the window, and folded his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes, remembering the doctor’s diagnosis.

  “Mrs. Jamieson, I have your files in front of me. I’ve examined you myself. You’re infertile. The symptoms you’re experiencing are possibly associated with fatigue and the stress of a new marriage.”

  Parke didn’t car
e for Doctor Kufu’s attitude or advice. Parke reached for Cheney’s hand across the examining table. “Baby, we’ll see what God says.”

  Doctor Kufu smirked. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled as he left the room.

  That night, they prayed until God spoke, instructing them to find another doctor. A day later, they met a childlike physician, fresh out of residency who confirmed Cheney’s pregnancy, but warned there might be complications if she carried to full term. Doctor Cates had the nerve to suggest an abortion, saying the pregnancy would be too risky. Again, they prayed and God told them to believe.

  Now, Cheney was beginning her second trimester with a Jamieson growing inside. They would keep their faith in God despite Cheney’s spotting last week. Tears filled Parke’s eyes. Would they have a boy or a girl? Who would the tiny creature look like?

  “Daddy,” a shrieking voice echoed throughout the house.

  He stood and tiptoed out of their room, racing down the hall. Like clockwork, Kami woke at the same time every morning, even on the weekends. The child terror went ballistic with her new foster parents, tearing up their house, wetting the bed, and staying up all night. The parents admitted defeat after two weeks. That was the third set of foster parents since leaving Cheney’s.

  Without any hesitation, Cheney and Parke took her back. Soon, Kami Fields would become a Jamieson, before her baby brother or sister was born. Dre and Sasha were excited about the baby and had come to visit a few times. They were adjusting well with their grandmother.

  Parke returned to his room just as Cheney’s lids fluttered.

  “Good morning,” Cheney greeted in a dreamlike state.

  Parke kneeled on the floor, facing his wife. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “You watching me sleep again?” Cheney turned on her side, finger-combing Parke’s thick, wavy hair.

  “A man’s got a right to watch over his greatest possession.”

  Cheney reached for Parke’s large hand and placed it on her pouch of a stomach, closing her eyes as Parke prayed, “Lord, in the name of Jesus, I thank You for my life, my wife, and my soon-to-be tribe.”

  READERS GUIDE

  1. What is the one thing in your past that you never got over?

  2. Hallison knew what God expected of her, yet she tried to ignore everything she learned for a feel good moment? Are you guilty of this?

  3. What is the most extreme thing you will do for love?

  4. Do you think church can instantly change someone?

  5. Paula Silas gave up her man because he wasn't saved. Later, Hallison did the same thing. Could you turn a man away you are truly in love with because of God?

  6. How do you feel about men who judge women who can't bare them natural children?

  7. The Reynolds judged Cheney without confronting her. If a family member or friend did something you didn't agree with, would you embrace them or shun them?

  8. Was Parke too excessive with his family history? How important is that to you? How flexible would you be?

  9. How often have you let a man, woman or situation stop you from moving forward?

  10. What was the turning point in Cheney’s life when she stopped fighting Parke?

  11. When God saved you, did you have Annette’s zeal to save your friends, too?

  12. Do you think Paula Silas and Annette Barber symbolize people God has put in your presence to help you with your salvation walk?

  To my readers

  I would like to introduce my great-great-grandmother who I brought back to life in one of my characters:

  Charlott (e) Jamison (considered a mulatto) was born in 1842 in South Carolina.

  By 1850, she was believed to be in the household of slaveholder, Robert Jamison in Mississippi.

  On the 1860 census in Chickasaw, Mississippi, there was White John Wilkinson living in the household of Robert Jamison. John is listed as a “teacher in Academy.” He was 23 years old, born in Alabama. Most likely he is my great-great-grandfather. Charlott was 18 years old.

  In 1865, two years after the Emancipation Proclamation, my great-grandfather, William Wilkinson (Wilkerson) was born.

  In 1867, the birth of Sam was recorded.

  By 1880, Charlott Wilkinson was a widow.

  Her son William died in his 80s.

  Both sons were considered near-White. Family rumor has Sam Wilkinson going up north to pass. To date, no one knows his or his descendants’ whereabouts.

  John Wilkinson died young.

  In 1880, Charlott Wilkinson was living with another widow, Martha Leopard.

  The world of family genealogy is fascinating and in every Guilty series novel, I bring one of my ancestors to life. I hope you enjoyed Book I: Guilty of Love. Please don’t forget to post a review and follow the Jamiesons in Book II: Not Guilty of Love and Book III: Still Guilty; The Guilty Parties Book I: The Acquittal; and The Jamieson Legacy: Guilty by Association, The Guilt Trip, and Free from Guilt.

  Until next time, happy reading!