A Million Blessings

by Angela Benson

  “Don’t worry about me,” Dara said, “God’s got my back on this one.”

  She flashed over to Zeb’s call on the other line. “Dara, I’m on my way over.” He sounded as if he was running through his house. “Turn on the news.”

  Chapter 24

  Dara should’ve known better than to play with God. From a child, her father had told her that she should listen to her parents, because they were right more than they were wrong. Toying with the devil’s money was causing Dara’s pain. She didn’t know how much she could take. She tried to take slow, even breaths as she watched her dreams go up in smoke. Dara didn’t know if she could replace the three homes. She didn’t know if she wanted to.

  The news anchor turned toward the burned and smoldering frames. “Investigators returned tonight to new construction in a southwest Atlanta neighborhood where three houses were gutted by fire. Police investigated the same area less than three hours ago when a manager for the project reported that houses were being vandalized.

  “It’s too early to know how the fire started, but neighborhood residents suspect that it was an act of not-so-random violence. One woman refused to appear on camera for fear of retaliation from a gang. However, she said off camera that this area was starting to look a little brighter when they built these homes, and she hoped the cloud of despair didn’t return. Unfortunately the cloud did return, and it brought a billowing fire with it.”

  “If this wasn’t what you wanted me to do, God, why did you let me get this far?” Dara cried out. “Maybe I wasn’t listening. Maybe I was too busy trying to make a change instead of being changed.”

  Dara threw her hands in the air. “You want my attention? You got it.”

  Dara’s phone rang incessantly. She knew it was either Zebulon or India. However, she didn’t want to talk to anyone unless it was someone who could tell her how to dump this money, and her problems, out of her life.

  Chapter 25

  Dara stared at the charred rubble and gray ashes of what used to be Ms. Bettye’s place. Specks of ash floated around her face like an unexpected summer snow. The distinct scent of fire hung in her throat, and Dara was sure it had already attached itself to her hair, too.

  She’d cried a million tears—both joyous and painful—but none of them had been enough to prevent the flames that had destroyed this house…while she sat watching it on television.

  “How dare they?” Dara said, knocking a tear off her cheek as if it were the one that had betrayed her. “How dare they destroy my dream.”

  Dara walked around to the only property that hadn’t been touched by the fire, although it had visible smoke damage.

  Dara followed the thin stone path she’d had laid from the backyard to the front porch. The door was closed but not locked. Dara wasn’t surprised. Why would she expect a vandal to extend an act of courtesy and lock the door?

  Mahari, one of Ms. Bettye’s foster children, rode up to the house on a BMX dirt bike that was about three years too small for him. Most of Ms. Bettye’s foster children had ridden that same bike.

  “Hey, Ms. Dara. Were you here the other night when those houses were burning down?”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Dara said. “Were you?”

  Children always seemed to be the eyes of the neighborhood. And although they weren’t prone to being voluntary snitches, she’d found that a little coaxing could provide valuable information.

  “Yep. Me and Mama Bettye watched it. We were standing right over there until the fireman and police made us move down the street. My grandma said she bet it looked like hell on earth.”

  Dara had heard that before, long before the fire had taken the houses.

  “She’s probably right,” Dara said, looking over to the sound of the screeching school bus pulling against the curb. The children filed off the bus with reckless abandon. Most of the boys dropped their backpacks—and all thoughts of homework—on a concrete slab near the bus stop.

  “See you, Ms. Dara,” Mahari said. He kick-started his bike with one foot, then went racing down the sidewalk so fast that it looked like his stick-thin legs would slip off the pedals and get tangled in the wheel spokes.

  Dara kept the door open while she was inside the house. It had been two days since the fire, but the stench was still detectable, and it mingled with the slight smell of fresh paint. She thought it was from the eggshell colors she’d chosen for the rooms, but then she noticed the new graffiti markings on the hallway wall.

  Dara unclipped her cell phone from her pocket and dialed her painter. She refused to let them win. She’d called the contractors so many times that she knew most of the numbers by heart.

  “Hey, Ed. This is Dara.”

  As always, he answered, “What you know good, baby girl?”

  “I’ve got a job for you,” Dara said. “Hopefully that’s good for you.”

  “You know you always an answer to my prayer,” Ed said. He unloosed a round of phlegmatic coughs. Ed looked to be in peak physical condition for his age, except for his complaints about his throat. Ed attributed it to allergies and popped over-the-counter allergy meds like candy, but Dara thought it was from years of inhaling paint dust.

  “You heard about the fires, didn’t you?”

  “Yep. That’s too bad. Them gangs don’t want nothing coming to their neighborhood.”

  “Well, there’s one house that’s still standing,” Dara said. “And if there’s not too much smoke damage I believe it can be saved.”

  “I can get out there tomorrow first thing in the morning,” Ed said.

  “Thanks, Ed. I’ll have Zebulon meet you, all right?”

  Dara never heard Ed answer. She didn’t have time to fight back against the arm that wrapped itself around her neck. She tried to break the grasp, but whoever it was that had snuck up behind her acted like he had no plans of letting her take another breath.

  She gripped her nails into his dark, sweaty arm and gasped for air. He loosened his grip enough for her to swallow but not enough for her to wiggle out of his grasp. She did a donkey kick with her left leg, hoping it would paralyze him with a blow to the groin, but evidently she missed. And his grip on her neck tightened.

  “You do that again and I’ll snap your neck in two.” He growled through his whisper.

  Dara tried to slide her hand between his arm and her neck…let off the pressure. But when she tried to do that, another hand came from the back and covered her eyes. Dara feared the worse. She’d gotten too comfortable in the neighborhood. This wasn’t her world.

  The children’s screams from outside sounded like they were coming closer to the door. She prayed they’d stay away and not let their childhood curiosity bring them to inspect what she was doing inside. This wasn’t their fate, either.

  “Leave her alone and let’s go,” a voice pleaded. Dara hadn’t known there were two.

  “So you want to punk out now?”

  “She ain’t done nothing.”

  “Maybe not now, but she’s been too busy around here.” He breathed a musty breath on her ear. “Yeah, I know you,” one of them said to Dara. “I seen you riding through here with you and the other holy rollers trying to save the world. Then you cruise over here in your Benz and try to show us we ain’t nothing. Like we can’t do nothing for ourselves.”

  “No,” Dara managed to say. The tears stung her eyes, and they fell down her cheeks and salted her lips. Her nose was beginning to run, too. But there was no moisture in her mouth. The grip he had on her neck was causing her to pant.

  “Stop all that damn crying. You probably ain’t never seen nothing in your life to make you cry.”

  Dara did her best to stop her tears. Every move she made was for her own survival.

  “Man, leave her alone. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Why don’t you shut up before I leave you and Holy Roller in here together so the police can come draw a chalk line around your bodies.”

  Oh God, Dara said, pleading silently. The last words
of the Lord’s prayer was the only thing running through her mind, so she kept repeating it to herself.

  Deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory. For ever and ever. Amen…Deliver us from evil…Deliver us from evil…

  Dara felt her body slump to the floor before her world started to go black. But she’d seen it. She saw a hand holding hers. And it had a cross tattooed on it.

  Chapter 26

  It was a strain for Dara to open her eyes at first. The light pierced the slit in her eyelids, but she could still see the faint, blurry outline of people in the hospital room.

  A hand touched her shoulder, then rubbed the side of her face. It was soft and smelled like bananas.

  “As soon as you get out of here I’ma fix you the biggest pan of banana bread that you want. It’ll take you all year to eat it.”

  Now Dara was sure it was Ms. Bettye. Sweet, smelling-like-bananas Ms. Bettye.

  Dara turned her head slowly to the left to see Cassius and Zebulon standing by her bedside. Both of them looked as if they wanted to sweep her up in their arms and carry her away. They were the last people she wanted to think about. Truth be told, she had a thing for both of them, which was why she’d pushed both of them away. And if they were still attracted to her after seeing her in the worst condition she’d ever experienced, then there was something to be said of both their characters.

  Dara reached to feel the knot on the back of her head. It was covered by bandages, but she faintly remembered India telling her something earlier about getting stitches. That was before she’d pressed the button to administer herself another shot of pain medication. She didn’t remember much after that…like how all of these people had wound up in her room…but she did remember how she’d gotten here. The slight concussion the doctor said she had didn’t take away the vision ingrained in her mind of the houses that were burned to the ground. It didn’t erase the glimpse she’d caught of the hand…and the cross tattoo.

  “Pink Knight.”

  Isaac, Mario, and three of the other knights walked up to her bed. Isaac didn’t look as intimidating as he usually did, Dara thought, but that could’ve been because the medicine was giving her a warped sense of reality.

  “I must say, you’re a real ride-or-die chick,” Isaac said. “But I’m telling you now, as your big brother, not to let this happen again. And that’s an order.”

  Dara held up a thumbs-up sign, then she heard India’s voice.

  “And just in case you’re wondering, Isaac’s the reason we’re all in the room. You’re only supposed to have three visitors at a time, but have you ever heard anyone tell him no?”

  Everyone in the room chuckled softly. Dara gripped the side of the bedrail and tried to pull her body up.

  “Not so fast,” India said, using the controls on the side of the bed. Once she was sitting more upright, she noticed Ed in the room. He stood up and walked to the side of the bed. He was wringing his cap between his hands, which were stained with paint. “I heard it all through your cell phone. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I told one of my partners to call 911 and tell them to get out to the properties.”

  “Thank you, Ed,” Dara said. Dara didn’t know why she expected her throat to be sore, but it wasn’t. Maybe she’d assumed it would be painful like every other part of her head.

  Everyone looked toward the door as it swung open. Dara’s parents rushed inside, and the nurse asked for everyone to clear the room.

  “India,” Dara said. “Stay in here with me. It’s time.”

  Thelma ran by her daughter’s bedside and gripped Dara’s forearm. “It’s time? What do you mean it’s time? Lord, Jesus.”

  “Mama.” Dara stopped her mother before she started calling down fire from heaven and petitioning healing angels to Dara’s bedside. All of Atlanta and Augusta would be holding a prayer vigil outside on the hospital sidewalk if her mother got started.

  “Calm down, Ma. It’s not what you think.”

  India sat down in the chair by the bed. “Really not what you think,” she said.

  Dara leaned her head back and closed her eyes while she told her parents the story. She couldn’t bear to look at their faces.

  “Actually, I bought the ticket,” India said. “So, technically if you’re mad at anybody, it should be at me.”

  Hunter, Sr. clenched his lips in a tight line. Dara wished he’d say something. Anything. Thelma was still holding onto her daughter’s forearm as if she was waiting to hear her husband’s comments before deciding how to react.

  After a few long moments, he spoke. “I ain’t never told my children to be scared of the devil’s tactics. There are a lot of people who are scared to stand up for anything. Most people wouldn’t have this many people come out to see them at a hospital unless they were already dead. But you must’ve touched their lives or they wouldn’t be here.”

  Dara paused before pushing the button for more medication. She wanted to make sure it was really the Reverend Hunter J. Knight talking and not the medicine.

  He shook his head. “I’m still not for folks playing the lottery. What I’m saying doesn’t change that. But if you’re investing your money in the people who are ignored, I can’t see how God wouldn’t honor your heart.”

  “So you’re not mad?” Dara asked.

  “Oh, I’m mad. But I’ll get over it. As long as you move back to Augusta.”

  Dara moaned, and her father bent down and gently kissed her head. “I’m just teasing you, Cookie. You know you’re still sweet as you can be.”

  India sniffled in the corner, and Hunter, Sr. turned his attention to her. “What are you over there crying for? I oughta whip you right now for buying the ticket,” he said, pulling his niece into his chest and giving her a bear hug.

  Zebulon pushed the hospital room door open and asked if he could come in. “Excuse me. I didn’t want to interrupt your family time, but I thought you’d like to know this.”

  What else does he know? Dara thought. She didn’t have any more secrets for Zebulon to dig up.

  “Two guys were arrested for the vandalism and fires. Ms. Bettye said you’d know them by Magnum and Cross, but their real names are…” Zebulon unfolded a paper he was holding. “Quinton Barrow and Christian Taft. Christian ‘Cross’ Taft actually turned himself in to the police and led the authorities to the guy, Magnum. It was Magnum’s third strike so he’ll be locked up for a while. Believe it or not, it was Cross’s first offense so they might not be as harsh on him. It looks like Cross was more along for the ride.”

  “God killed the snake by crushing the head,” Dara said. “That’s incredible. Absolutely incredible.”

  That was Dara’s sign. After taking some time off she’d start back where they’d left off. There was still one house standing. And she was still standing.

  “Thanks, Zebulon,” Dara said as he left the room. “Ma, can you help me get to the restroom?” she asked. Her mother held the bottom of Dara’s hospital gown together while she and India eased her out of the bed.

  Dara felt her mother’s fingernail scratch an area on her shoulder blade. Christian Taft wasn’t the only “cross” that had been revealed.

  “Dara, what’s that on your back?”

  The newest member of Pastor George Landris’s

  church stirs up more troubles than blessings

  when he decides to rededicate his life to God in…

  THE TRUTH IS THE LIGHT

  by Vanessa Davis Griggs

  Coming in June 2010 from Dafina Books

  Here’s an excerpt from The Truth Is the Light….

  Chapter 1

  The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.

  —Psalms 118:22

  “Crown me!” said the ninety-nine-year-old dark-chocolate-skinned man who didn’t look a day over seventy. He sat back against the flowery-cushioned chair and folded his arms, all while displaying a playful grin.

  “Crown
you?” a match in tone, thirty-five-year-old who resembled a slimmed-down teddy bear said. Shaking his head, he mirrored the old man’s grin. “Crown you?”

  “That’s what I said. So quit stalling and get to crowning me.”

  The younger man first started to chuckle before it turned into a refrained laugh. “Gramps, I’ve told you twice already: we’re playing chess, not checkers. The rules are different. There’s no crowning a piece when it reaches the other side, not in chess.”

  “You say that there is my queen, right?” Gramps touched the game piece that represented his queen.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, if there’s a queen, then there’s got to be a king with some real power a lot closer and, frankly, better than this joker here.” He touched his king. “So quit bumping your gums and crown me so I can get some real help in protecting my queen.” Gramps nodded as he grinned at his favorite grandson, proudly displaying his new set of dentures.

  Clarence Walker couldn’t do anything but smile and shake his head in both amusement and adoration. “I’ve told you. Because there’s already a king on the board”—he pointed to the king—“we don’t crown in chess. Just admit it. You don’t really want to learn how to play chess, do you? That’s why you’re acting this way.”

  “I tried to tell you from the git-go that I’m a checkers man and strictly a checkers man. When you get my age, it’s hard for an old dog to learn new tricks. I know how to fetch. I know how to roll over and even play dead. But all this fancy stuff like walking on your hind legs and twirling around…Well, you can take that to some young pup eager to learn. Teach the young pups this stuff. With checkers: I move, I jump, and I get crowned when I reach the other side. Just like Heaven.” He pointed his index finger and circled it around the board. “I get enough kings, I set you up, trap you, wipe the board with you, and like normal—game over.” Gramps stroked his white, trimmed beard.