Sheba narrowed her eyes at George, thinking that he had more nerve than Goliath when he thought he was going to whip little David’s tail. She said, “Yeah, right, and the world was not created in seven days, Pastor. It took eight.”
Mr. Louis Loomis and Louise, who were watching those two fuss and dance down the Soul Train line, kept signaling each other to mark the progress of George and Sheba’s tiff. Leaning over to Louise, Mr. Louis Loomis whispered, “That boy don’t always make the best use of that connection he got with the Lord.”
Then he pulled back, grabbing the belt hoops on his tuxedo pants, and started dancing like Cab Calloway did when he sang “Minnie the Moocher.”
Katie Mae was stuck at one of the large banquet tables with Cleavon, Latham, and the rest of the Johnson clan, wishing she could yank that mink stole off Cleavon’s mother’s neck and choke the living daylights out of her. If that woman didn’t get on her nerves, she didn’t know who did. Besides, she wanted to get in the Soul Train line and dance with everybody else so bad that she could practically taste the music. And she would have gone over there and done just that, had Cleavon not picked that horrible fight with her before they left, threatening separation if she didn’t do his bidding at the wedding and reception.
When Cleavon saw George and Sheba dancing down the Soul Train, and Katie Mae looking like she was praying to get over there, he said in a disgusted voice, “And that’s who you want to install as the permanent pastor of this church?”
Then he pointed to Mr. Louis Loomis, dancing like Cab Calloway, and shook his head. “This church is going straight to the dogs.”
“Naw, Uncle Cleavon,” Latham replied. “From the looks of things, I’d say it was going to the goats—the old goats.”
Everyone at the table started laughing—everyone except Cleavon. Both the hundredth anniversary and the date that George’s interim pastorship expired were almost upon them. There was nothing funny about the adversaries Cleavon would have to face in the battle he was about to wage. That old Cab-Calloway-dancing goat over there was the kind who could pack dirt under his feet faster than the speed of light, and then walk right out of any hole you tried to throw him in. And Lord help you when he finally got out and snatched on that big Sears belt.
III
Mozelle sat in a white brocade chair in the bridal suite at the Chase Park Plaza Hotel, arranging her pale silver nightgown and not knowing quite what to do with herself. She was amazed at the fancy room, with its white and gold decor, huge crystal vase filled with long-stemmed white roses, and expensive champagne, chilling in an ornate sterling silver bucket. Years ago, when they were younger, the only room she and Joseaphus would have been welcome in at the Chase Park Plaza was the one where they stored the mops and brooms for the maids and janitors.
Her new husband had gone out to get some ice and, she suspected, to give her time to get ready for him. It was a strange feeling, being a bride again after all of these years. She got up and went to check herself out in the mirror. Her gown was very pretty—a gift from Sheba Cochran. It was made of the finest silver silk, with spaghetti straps and it clung too close for her comfort, even if it did look real good on her.
She sprayed on some more Estée Lauder perfume and went back to sit in the chair, wondering what she was supposed to do when Joseaphus came in. Oscar hadn’t been very romantic, and she was pretty dumb about men when she married him. And if the truth be told, she was still kind of dumb about men and the way they were with their natures. But she suspected this wedding night would be very different from her first one—or at least she hoped so.
Mozelle started to get up again and sip on some of the expensive champagne the members of the Mellow Slick Cougars Club, of all people, had given to her and Joseaphus as a wedding gift. She thought about how Old Daddy had come strutting up to them at the reception, with Warlene on his arm and a fancy bottle in his hand. Smiling, he’d said to Joseaphus, “Man, I never thought you needed an invitation to join the club because you were not the kind of man who would really take to being a Mellow Slick Cougar. But you were always one cool brother, Joseaphus. And to honor you and this day, and this lovely little lady here, the club brought this for you. It’s two hundred fifty dollars a bottle—top of the line.”
Joseaphus said, “Thank you, Old Daddy. And you right—I never was a Cougar type, so no harm done by me.”
Old Daddy gave Joseaphus the “Black Power” sign, like he’d been watching all the young bloods do, and then held out his palm. Joseaphus slapped it and gave Old Daddy a firm handshake. Then Old Daddy leaned down and kissed Mozelle softly on the cheek. He said, “You be good. You hear me, babygirl? ’Cause I think you gone get a taste of a real man tonight.”
Mozelle was deeply embarrassed, but Joseaphus calmed her with a gentle pat on the hand. He knew how bashful and nervous Mozelle was about their wedding night.
The door opened, and Joseaphus strolled in with ice bucket in hand, which he set down on top of a towel on the dresser. He walked over to where she was sitting and bent over, hands on either arm of her chair. Then he lifted one of her hands to his lips.
“I would get down on my knees and kiss on you a bit, Mozie,” he said, “but I don’t think that is such a good idea at my age.”
Mozelle giggled and didn’t pull back when Joseaphus drew her up and took her in his arms, tracing soft circles on her bare shoulders. He leaned down and kissed one of those shoulders and let his fingers slip under one of the straps. Mozelle stood perfectly still, holding her breath.
Joseaphus knew he was getting to her, which was what he’d planned. He slid his fingers over her shoulder, up her neck, and on to her chin, lifting her lips to his for a deep, soulful kiss. When he felt her relax and let out a breath, he slid his hand to the back of her head, luxuriating in the silky softness of her hair. Still kissing her, he edged toward the bed, where he sat down and pulled her in close to him. She looked so shy, it made him laugh out loud.
“Baby, it’s okay,” he said, with his eyes soft and the corner of his mouth turned up in a slight grin. Then he frowned. “This is in the way,” he said as he slowly pulled her nightgown down to her feet.
Mozelle gasped and said, “Oh, Joseaphus, I . . . ”
“Look like heaven,” he said, holding her at arm’s length. Mozelle’s skin was satiny and radiant, with barely a stretch mark or an age spot. Her little tummy tooted out just enough to be cute. Joseaphus ran his hands over her hips, getting a little squeeze right at the dimpled part of the top of her thighs. He liked her thighs. They were full, round, and soft—a woman’s thighs.
Joseaphus stopped and gazed into Mozelle’s face. She was softening under his touch. He liked that. “Baby, let me get undressed,” he whispered.
Mozelle gave Joseaphus a shy smile and slipped under the covers as he stood up and started taking off his clothes. Beneath his wedding garb, he had on a white undershirt and a pair of white silk boxers with tiny blue moons and stars. Mozelle tried to peek through the slit in those white boxers to see the rest of her husband, which tickled Joseaphus no end. But he didn’t let on. He just calmly removed his socks and shoes, stood up and took off his undershirt, then walked over to the bed.
Mozelle loved the sight of Joseaphus. He had a handsome face, smooth, even skin, and strong, nicely shaped legs—not big and muscled but not all skinny and dry and scaly like Oscar’s, either. His butt was nice and “toochie,” not falling up under his legs like she saw on some men his age. And his chest was beautiful, not hard or superdeveloped but just comfortably firm, with fuzzy gray hair trailing down to his stomach.
When Joseaphus knew Mozelle had gotten herself an eyeful, he slipped out of his boxers and stood there, not in the least bashful. Mozelle’s eyes got so big and round, Joseaphus laughed and said, “Baby, don’t you worry none. Daddy got it all under control.”
Mozelle scooted deeper under the covers and pulled the quilt up to her nose like it was zero degrees in the room. Joseaphus loosened the bedclothes
and slipped in beside her, pulling her close so he could feel her warm skin next to his. He sighed softly and said, “Baby, I think you’re trembling. You have to know that I love you, Mozie.”
“I love you, Joe,” she whispered back in a husky and sexy voice that came as a surprise to her, let alone Joseaphus.
“And you know something, baby,” he whispered in her ear, “God is truly amazing to have created something this good and make it so that folks as old as us can still enjoy it.”
Mozie giggled and whispered back, “He truly is an amazing God. Because only the Lord could have given me you.”
“Ohhhh, thank you, baby,” Joseaphus breathed, as he held tight to his wife and the two of them became one flesh.
IV
Sheba pulled up in front of her house, relieved that the couple that lived across the street wasn’t having a card game tonight. She was not in the mood to bang on their front door and make whoever had the nerve to park in her space get his sorry behind outside to move his car.
“Gerald, baby,” Sheba said to her oldest, “as soon as we get in the house, I want you and Lucille to help Carl Lee and La Sheba get ready for bed. l am so tired that I can hardly see straight.”
“Okay, Mama,” Gerald answered.
As soon as Sheba put the car in park, Gerald and Lucille grabbed hold of their sleeping brother and sister and helped them up to the house. Sheba followed and went straight to her room, kicked off her shoes, removed her hat—massaging her head to relieve some of the tension she was feeling—took off her clothes, put on her robe, picked up her favorite pajamas, then headed to the bathroom for a long hot soak.
As soon as the tub was full of bubbly water, Sheba eased down and let it embrace her tired body, as she closed her eyes. Miss Mozelle’s wedding was the most beautiful wedding she had ever attended. It was fun, sweet, loving, and full of the Holy Ghost. And it was exactly her own heart’s desire to get married to a man who loved her and who knew in his heart that the Lord had been their Supreme Matchmaker. Tears streamed down her face as Sheba thought about George and how much she loved him, much as she sometimes wished she didn’t. “Lord,” she whispered through her tears, “will You please let that be me one day? Bless me with a husband and make me a bride.”
Then a soothing thought eased its way into her soul: “This battle is not yours, Sheba. It’s the Lord’s.”
Ever since the reception had ended, George had been driving around feeling sad and torn up inside. He longed to have Sheba in his heart, in his arms, in his life. But he was stubborn to a fault and, to tell the truth, afraid what would happen if he gave his heart to Sheba—and just as scared of what would happen if he didn’t.
It was after eleven at night when he finally pulled up in front of Sheba’s house, parking and sitting in the car, wrestling with himself, listening to Ann Peebles sing, “I’m Gone Tear Your Playhouse Down.” Sheba might not have gone after his playhouse, but she sure was tearing down the fortress walls around his heart.
The house was completely dark, so when the song ended, with a mixture of relief and disappointment George restarted the car. But then the porch light snapped on, and when he saw the door open, he cut off the motor again. Sheba was standing in the doorway in white pajamas, trimmed with soft lavender ribbon, and a bright purple satin wrap on her head. She looked so adorable that, before he knew it, George was out of his car and standing on her front steps.
“Can I help you, Pastor?” Sheba asked in what he always called her you-don’t-know-who-you-messin’-with voice.
She was shocked to see George at her house—he’d never come by at night like this. But she would have rather snatched Mr. Louis Loomis’s brown leather belt out of his hand than let George know how stunned—and pleased—she was to see him.
“You could let me in,” he said, trying his best to stay in charge of the situation. Because he felt so out of control, about the only thing he could do was be bossy and not let Sheba get to him.
“Why?” Sheba demanded, a hand on her hip.
“We need to talk to each other.”
“Do we?”
George came closer. “Girl, let me in this house,” he said gruffly, trying to hide his anxiety. “You know we need to talk.”
Sheba stepped aside and waved him in, with a little attitude in her demeanor.
“Hurry up, I’m sleepy,” she snapped.
Ignoring her tone, George walked into the house like he felt he was welcome. He sat down on Sheba’s white couch, wondering how she kept it so clean with no plastic on it and all those kids.
Sheba claimed a position in the doorway leading to the living room.
“Come here, Sheba,” he ordered. “I can’t talk to you right with you all the way over there.”
She walked over to him real slow, dragging her feet and pouting, reminding George of the way her baby girl, La Sheba, acted. He patted the sofa and said, “You need to sit your surly self down. I always wondered where Miss La Sheba got her little ways from. Now I know—her mama.”
Sheba rolled her eyes at George as if to say, “Boy, you ain’t gone worry my soul.” She did sit down, but all the way on the other side of the couch.
If the situation wasn’t so serious, George would have laughed. “Baby—,” he began.
“I ain’t your baby.”
George slid over to Sheba and took her hand in his. Looking into her eyes, he said, “Girl, quit trying to shut me out. ’Cause you know that is not what you really want.”
“You got some nerve, Rev. George Robert Wilson. It’s you, not me, who all up in the open-shut-case business.”
“Yeah, baby. I do have some nerve,” he whispered, and scooted closer to her. “But if I didn’t have some nerve, I would not be sitting here, trying to get next to you. Look, I know how I have hurt you. At first, I was put off knowing you once dated my worst adversary, Cleavon Johnson. Maybe that was wrong—”
Sheba had started softening at his words, but then bristled when she heard him say “maybe.” She started to jump up, but George grabbed her wrist.
“You sit right down.”
Sheba was scared, glad that he was there, and mad all at the same time. Just the sheer frustration of the situation filled her eyes with tears. And when one crept down her cheek, George wiped it away with his fingertip.
“Sheba, baby, I also think I pushed you away because I have been so scared at the thought of falling in love with you.”
“George,” Sheba said with some impatience in her voice. “You are already in love, just too stupid to accept it. Why else would you need to run from something, unless it already existed?”
George chose to ignore her and continued, “Baby, last time I fell in love, it happened too fast and it was a disaster. I was devastated by Glodean.”
“Look, George Wilson,” Sheba said with exasperation. ”We all make mistakes like that. But unlike you, most of us don’t waste our time being scared and second-guessing ourselves when love finds us again. We thank the Lord for a second chance.
“Now,” she said, starting to get up, “I want to go to sleep, so you gone have to go.”
But George snatched Sheba back down and drew her close to him. As she tried to pull away, he held on tight.
“Sheba,” he said, “don’t leave. You know, it’s been rough settling into this church, dealing with Cleavon and everything else. Falling in love on top of that just seemed like too much pressure. It’s been hard for me to stay away from you, but it has also been hard on me to cope with what I feel for you.”
Sheba sniffled and then said, “George, if you think it makes sense to run from love, then I think you ain’t never truly had it hard enough.”
He pulled back and looked at her, surprised. He opened his mouth to reply, but she held up her hand and kept talking. “Oh, for sure you have had heartache, disappointment, and struggle. But anybody who has really had a hard time of it—and especially a hard time they couldn’t easily overcome—doesn’t stare a blessing in the face
. Even if it comes in an unusual package, like me with all of these babies and baby daddies, they just grab at it and be thankful the Lord thought enough of them to send it in the first place. Don’t matter what that blessing looks like. A person who has had it hard knows that if the Lord sees fit to send a blessing their way, then He will just see fit to make it all work out alright.”
George kept silent, his heart convicted by her words, but waiting to hear the rest.
“And you know something, George? I don’t think that you have good sense. All those excuses you are using to keep me at bay are nothing but smoke screens from the devil. He doesn’t want you to see past your fears and your heartaches long enough to recognize the blessings God has placed right in your lap. And you letting the devil keep you blind.”
“Are you through?” he snapped at her.
“As a matter of fact I am,” she answered him calmly.
“Now you’re the one with the open-shut case. You won’t even try to understand. I try to apologize and you throw it back in my face. You know, a man has his pride, Sheba—”
“All I need to know is one thing,” Sheba broke in. “Are you gone stay blind, George?”
George jumped up with fury in his eyes and his mouth all tight. He glared at Sheba, threw his shoulders back, and then, with long deliberate steps, started for the door.
On any other day, Sheba would have fallen apart if George tried to walk out on her. But tonight, the Lord held her hand and wouldn’t let her succumb to being upset over his mess. Staring holes in his back, she said, “George, it ain’t my fault that the good Lord saw fit to make me the woman for you, even if you are too stupid to accept it. So I rebuke you in the name of Jesus. God ought to reach down and slap you clear across this room.”
George was about to storm out and slam the door on Sheba for good. But when he turned around and saw her standing there, all prissy in white pajamas with that fancy purple rag on her head, with her hands on her hips and trying to be “Big Mama,” his heart just melted. She was right—the Lord did make her just for him. Who else but Sheba Loretta Cochran could have stood up to him like that, working his nerves to the bone, if nerves had bones. The girl had guts, not to mention faith like Job.
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