“Finding a good man to pastor your church has been hard on you, huh?”
“Finding a good man to pastor this church is like trying to find a lot of money laying around in a greasy paper bag in an old parking lot.”
“That’s pretty bad,” George said, thinking about what Theophilus Simmons had told him about Gethsemane and its internal politics. Then he added, “Man, that’s a good church. But right now, it reminds me of a fine woman at a party full of thugs. Like that fine woman, Gethsemane needs a righteous brother to come in and let everybody know he looking after her.”
They sat quietly for a few seconds, until George said, “What’s your impression of me?”
“You seem like a decent man,” Sheba answered.
“Seem?”
“That’s what I said, seem. But to be fair to you, Rev. Wilson, I do get a good feeling from you. So I’m going to trust my feelings and give you some advice. You will not become the pastor of this church if you do not meet with the women this week. I know the men think they can hire a pastor without the women’s approval. But I can tell you that will not happen.”
“So how do I get a meeting with the women, Sheba?”
“Call Bert Green and he’ll work it out for you.”
“Sounds good to me,” he said. “Will you be at the meeting?”
“You can count on it, Reverend. I want to make sure that what you walking around dressed as is real and not sheep’s clothing tailored to camouflage a wolf.”
Sheba stood up and looked around for the waitress, who was so slow that the expression “slow as molasses” was way too fast for her.
“I was hoping you’d eat lunch with me,” George said. “Figured you might want to check me out a bit more.”
“I wish I could,” Sheba said. “But I’ll have to take my sandwich with me, because my lunch hour’s almost over.”
“Where do you work?” George asked.
“Down on Market Street at the Main Post Office. I work in the back, sorting out the mail. Not a fancy job, but I’m happy with it. The pay and benefits ain’t bad, either.”
“I hear you,” George replied. Good, steady jobs were hard to come by.
“I’ll see you at the meeting, Rev. Wilson,” Sheba said as she gave the waitress her money for the sandwich. She held out her hand and gave him the sweetest smile.
George held her hand a moment. “I’m looking forward to it,” he answered in a voice that was so sexy Sheba had whispered “Oh my” before she could shut her mouth. She pulled her hand out of his and hurried from the restaurant, hoping she hadn’t made a fool of herself.
Once George was certain that Sheba wouldn’t catch him checking her out, he watched her walk out of Pompey’s and on down the street. He thought she had a nice round behind sitting up on her little thin-shaped self. George smiled inside of himself, thinking it had been a long time since a woman inspired a sparkle like that inside of him.
Sheba attended every one of the meetings Rev. Wilson held with the women at the church. And the more she saw of him, and heard what he had to say, the more she found herself liking this man. First and foremost, George Wilson was just a plain old nice guy. But more important, he clearly had given his life over to Christ. He was, as Nettie’s mother, MamaLouise Williams, said, “not ashamed to let folks know that he had the Holy Ghost.” And that, all of the women agreed, was an essential credential for a preacher trying to become the pastor of your church.
Furthermore, the ladies were relieved that Rev. Wilson believed they deserved a more visible role in the running of the church, and that they even had a right to be ordained if they were called into the ministry. For the most part, they were ready to hire him, but Nettie, Viola, and Sylvia wanted to get Sheba’s final report on him first.
This time they were at Sheba’s house and gathered around her kitchen table, their mouths watering when she served a piping-hot peach cobbler that filled the whole room with the smell of peaches, cinnamon, and brown sugar. And there was vanilla ice cream to top it off.
“Is Katie Mae gone make this meeting, Nettie?” Sheba asked as she poured everybody some coffee and then put fresh cinnamon sticks in each cup.
Viola leaned forward and inhaled the aroma of her coffee. “Ummmm, this smells heavenly.”
Nettie got some peach cobbler and put a scoop of ice cream on top before answering, “She’s not coming because we’re meeting at your house.”
Sheba frowned. “I thought she and I had gotten past all of that.”
“It’s not Katie Mae this time,” Nettie said. “It’s Cleavon. He’s mad about the way things are going with hiring a pastor. And when that jackass is upset about something, he gives Katie Mae a hard time.”
“Yeah,” Viola added, “that man would die a thousand deaths if she came over to your house.”
“Well, I for one am glad the girl stayed home,” Sylvia said between bites. “Cleavon would just butter her up to get information he don’t need to have. And that man know how to put it on Katie Mae when he want something.”
Sheba secretly wondered how Cleavon Johnson managed to do all of that. He was too mean and selfish to “put it on” a woman good enough to turn her head.
“So,” Nettie said, watching her ice cream melt over the cobbler, “what y’all thinking on Rev. Wilson?”
“He the one,” Viola said. “We don’t need to interview anybody else. Rev. Wilson is the pastor we need. I know it in my heart.”
“I agree,” Sylvia said. “What about you, Sheba, since you’ve had the most contact with the man.”
Sheba smiled kind of dreamy-like and said, “I think Rev. Wilson is absolutely perfect.”
“Huh?” Nettie said.
“I mean, I think he’ll make a very good pastor—good enough to make me think about coming to church on Thanksgiving and Palm Sunday.”
“That good?” Viola stated. “Umph, he really have it going on, for you to add some extra days to your worship schedule.”
“Yeah, Rev. Wilson got a whole lot going on for him,” Sheba responded with a soft sigh.
“I’ll talk to Bert,” Nettie said. “He likes Rev. Wilson a lot and wants to hire him.”
As soon as the search committee sat down to discuss hiring Rev. Wilson, Cleavon jumped in with his objections.
“You all practically had heart attacks over hiring Rev. Clemson because he wasn’t trustworthy with a street woman. And now y’all just chompin’ at the bit to hire a man who ain’t even married. Now, if a married man couldn’t be trusted to behave, what do you think will happen with a man who ain’t got a wife warming his bed on a nightly basis?” Cleavon demanded, and then answered his own question, “I’ll tell you what’ll happen. The Negro will go runnin’ through the women in this church like he runnin’ through a puddle of water.”
“And Pastor Clydell Forbes, the biggest two-timing dog on two feet, was more trustworthy than Rev. Wilson, right?” asked Mr. Louis Loomis. “Next thing I know, you’ll be trying to tell me that those two women who climbed up in his coffin hollering and screaming ‘Please, Big Daddy, don’t leave me’ were his cousins.”
“What does the late Clydell Forbes have to do with all of this?” Cleavon said defensively.
“Everything,” Mr. Louis Loomis answered. “Because if that Negro would have left all those women alone, took better care of himself, and avoided that heart attack, we wouldn’t be sitting up in this room without a pastor before our anniversary. And there ain’t nothing wrong with Rev. Wilson, Cleavon, other than you can’t run over him and run this church through him.”
“He could be one of those men who don’t like women,” Cleavon countered. “What would you say about that?”
Turning away from Cleavon, Mr. Louis Loomis addressed Bert. “Hire George Wilson. He’s the right man for the job, and you and most everybody with some sense on this committee knows it.”
“Over my dead body,” Cleavon jumped up shouting.
“That can be arranged, you know,” Mel
vin Sr. said.
“Talk ’bout a blessing in disguise,” Wendell half-mumbled.
“Cleavon,” Bert said, “Rev. Wilson is my choice, plus the women want us to hire him.”
“That’s because that pansy promised he would do stupid, idiotic things like appointing a woman to our Finance Committee. He even had the audacity to say that he would ordain some woman who got a crazy notion that she been called to preach. Come on now . . .”
“Are you through?” Bert asked.
When Cleavon didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s go ahead and vote on hiring Rev. George Robert Wilson as our new pastor. All in favor?”
Four hands shot up, representing half of the committee.
“All opposed?” Bert went on. Cleavon and his cousin Rufus raised their hands.
“Any abstentions?”
Two members of the committee abstained.
“Why y’all tripping?” Bert demanded, tired of looking for a pastor.
“Well, for one thing,” Cleavon said, “we have one more candidate to interview before we decide on anything about anybody. Earl Hamilton knows the value of a dollar and has strong ties to the business community. Yet you-all are being pigheaded about even scheduling an interview week with him.”
“Because he’s a dead fish,” Mr. Louis Loomis said. “Rev. Earl Hamilton is tight and boring, and he has far too many ‘strong ties’ for my comfort to not-so-nice white preachers, like Ray Lyles out in St. Charles.”
Cleavon was so mad that he could spit tacks. He leaped up out of his chair and walked up on Mr. Louis Loomis, who was sitting down. Mr. Louis Loomis barely blinked as he said, “Watch yourself, Cleavon,” in a deadly voice, with one hand placed firmly on his belt.
Cleavon threw up his hands but backed off and addressed the rest of the committee. “We are not discussing hiring George Wilson until this committee sees my next candidate, Rev. Earl Hamilton.”
Bert was out of patience. But if bringing in Earl Hamilton would help keep the peace in his church, then it was a worthwhile move.
“Call Rev. Hamilton, Cleavon,” he said, and then abruptly stood up. “Meeting adjourned.”
When Bert went home and told Nettie that they could not hire Rev. Wilson until after they interviewed Rev. Earl Hamilton, she lost all faith in those men. The very next day, she rounded up all the missionaries’ and women’s auxiliary groups for an emergency session. The moment the last woman walked into the Ladies’ Parlor, Nettie signaled for the doors to be locked. Only then did she cut loose.
“Y’all, we are in some serious trouble. The closer we get to our anniversary date, seems like the farther away we are from having a pastor. We need a pastor bad, but we need a good pastor. The church keeps suffering from all this foolishness that these men been putting us through, and I for one can’t stand another breath of it.”
“Amen,” Viola called out.
“Now we have found the perfect pastor, and the men are still not satisfied. Instead of offering the job to Rev. George Wilson, they rounding up Rev. Earl Hamilton, who don’t know what kind of church he wants to be up in, black or white.”
“That’s right,” Sylvia said. She had gone to high school with Earl Hamilton, and even back then, his philosophy was “White is right; black get back.”
“So—,” Nettie started in.
“Before you do any more rabble-rousing, Nettie Green,” Cleavon’s mother, Vernine Johnson, interrupted, “you need to think about Earl Hamilton’s credentials. No sense in being rash and foolish and hiring one man before we have a chance to examine another’s qualifications for the job.”
“Why in the world would we think that tired Uncle Tom, Earl Hamilton is a qualified candidate for our church?” Viola asked. She couldn’t stand Cleavon’s mother. Vernine was always posturing and acting like she was so much better than everybody else, when half the time she didn’t even know where Cleavon’s daddy was.
“Be-cause,” Vernine stated, straightening out her ranch mink stole, “Rev. Hamilton is a graduate of the Yale Divinity School, he holds several honorary doctoral degrees, and he comes from a long line of preachers, doctors, lawyers—”
“—and Indian chiefs,” MamaLouise, Nettie’s mother, said. “He’s all that and more, but he not a bit more saved than your son, Vernine. That is why we all up here arguing like cats stuck outside in a thunderstorm.”
“Let’s not bring our children into this, Louise Williams,” Vernine said haughtily, “because if we do, we have to discuss your children and why they are so fond of that hoochie mama/welfare queen over there.” She gestured toward Sheba, her diamond rings and bracelets sparkling with every movement of her hands.
“Heifer!” MamaLouise said loudly. She really wanted a piece of Vernine Johnson and hoped this dispute would goad her into a confrontation.
“Ignore her, Mama,” Viola grumbled.
Vernine snatched up her purse, strutted to the door, and flipped the end of her ranch mink back over her shoulder. “Ignoring me will be difficult. You see, this very room was remodeled and decorated by me.”
“So, what’s your point?” Sheba asked, thinking that Cleavon Johnson couldn’t help but be a jive-time poot-butt with a mama like that.
Vernine didn’t open her mouth, just stormed out the door and slammed it shut as hard as she could.
At that point, Katie Mae’s grandmother stood up and said, “The devil is so busy in church right now. Y’all get up out of those chairs, grab somebody’s hand, and bow your heads.”
When everybody was up and holding hands, she started praying, “Father, as You can see, we got something on our hands. Now You have sent a blessing our way in the form of Rev. George Robert Wilson. Father, let that blessing become manifest in our midst by making a way out of no-way for him to become our pastor. Guide us, dear Lord; show us what to do and how to do it. In Jesus’ name we pray and claim the victory. Amen.”
They all stood with heads bowed, hands held, and hearts united in complete silence for a long moment, letting the Holy Spirit wash over them, getting rid of all of the devilment that had plagued the meeting moments before. Finally, Katie Mae’s grandmother said, “Y’all, I know what we can do. We gone follow Queen Esther’s example. You ladies with husbands who have a say-so in who is hired to pastor our church, please ask the Lord to guide you on how to petition your man and let him know what time it is.”
VI
The first woman to make a Queen Esther move on her man was Sylvia, who fixed Melvin Sr. some chitlins, spaghetti, collard greens, coleslaw, corn bread, and fresh-squeezed lemonade on a Wednesday night. She took off work that day to get it all done by the time Melvin Sr. got home. When he sat down to the delicious-looking meal, he took several mouthfuls and said over and over again, “Baby, this a real treat. Chitlins in the middle of the week—a meal fit for a king!”
“And fixed by the queen who’s about to get you straight,” Sylvia thought as she watched Melvin Sr. smack his lips and pile some more chitlins and greens on his plate.
Viola believed that a Queen Esther move required something your man always wanted but secretly felt he didn’t get nearly enough of. When she read over the Book of Esther in the Old Testament, what struck her most was that Esther was kind of sexy-like and knew how to make the king feel like he was “the man.” So she decided that the most effective thing she could do would be to get all perfumed and fixed up at 3:30 A.M., then awaken Wendell for a “fast romp,” one of his favorite things to do in the wee hours of the morning.
As Viola later told Nettie, she turned that man every which way but loose, talking some good love talk, and in earnest telling her husband, “You know you my daddy, boy.” When Nettie got up off the floor from laughing at her crazy sister, she asked what Wendell thought of all of this. Viola said, “Girl, all that boy could do was grin, talkin’ ’bout, ‘Baby, baby, baby, you put the exclamation point on the end of the word good!’ right before his wore-out tail fell off to sleep.
“Then, when we finally wok
e up later that morning,” Viola continued, “girl, I was so tired, I almost forgot why I was doing all that fast-tailed mess. Had to drink a sixteen-ounce RC Cola to wake up and straighten Wendell out on hiring Rev. Wilson. But, Nettie, girl, it show was good. I pray that I have some more work to do for the church real soon. ’Cause you know, the Lord’s working in this kind of mysterious way is right up my alley.”
Katie Mae, who had not been at the meeting with the other women, had gotten an earful about the “ghetto heifers trying to run her church” from her mother-in-law. The entire Johnson clan, including Cleavon’s cousin Rufus, who was on the search committee, was very upset over this Rev. Wilson–versus–Rev. Hamilton thing. She knew she would have to tread carefully with Cleavon because he was bound and determined to hire Earl Hamilton.
So she decided to try a “tough-love” approach. Saturday morning she got up real early, dressed, and then nudged Cleavon, who was very sleepy, and told him, “I have to go and see about my grandmother. She’s been complaining about her arthritis and needs some help today. You will have to watch the kids until I get back.”
“Huhhh,” said Cleavon, barely awake.
“The kids shouldn’t be any trouble,” Katie Mae lied, knowing full well that she and Cleavon had the baddestacting children in church. Then she ran out of the house, hopped in her car, and drove off, not in the least bit worried that Cleavon would try to track her down—he hated talking to her grandmother.
Katie Mae did go over to her grandmother’s house, but not to help, since her grandmother was in perfect health. Instead she went over there to eat, hang out with her cousins, watch TV, and sit around the table talking about how much Cleavon’s family got on everybody’s nerves. When she came home, it was late and the kids were acting crazy—fighting, shrieking, and running wild in the house. She got them settled down, then went looking for Cleavon and found him stretched out on their bed with a damp towel draped across his forehead.
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