Plenty Good Room

by Cheri Paris Edwards

  “Preach, Pastor!” said one of the elder deacons.

  “Verse eleven:”

  When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. And now faith, hope and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.

  Minister Walker closed his Bible, and his eyes swept over the small congregation. “Church, I’m telling you tonight, now is the time for us to grow up. Many of us have been Christians for a long time, yet we still have not put our youthful, immature ways behind us. Now is the time to give up these childish, selfish ways and begin to Love in earnest. Love, for real! Church, is it too much to ask of us, to love like Jesus loved us? I don’t think so; after all, every day we benefit from Jesus’ sacrifice for us.”

  Tamara gazed at the minister questioningly while he explained.

  “Whether we know it or not, every, every day, each one of us can choose to walk in the light and experience God’s love, and that is only because Jesus died so that we might live. Why? Because it was only after He sacrificed His life for us that God gave each of us His Holy Spirit inside, and whenever we choose, now, we can call on that Spirit and It will awaken within us.”

  The minister began to preach now, “Church, once that Spirit truly awakens, then God becomes the master of our lives, and just like Jesus, no longer will we be able to live how we want to and do what we want to do; instead we will find ourselves doing things, good things, without even understanding why.”

  “Preach, Pastor,” said the elder again, now on his feet, listening to the minister.

  “Oh, church, hear me now. It is time for us to begin to walk in love, every day, just like Jesus did for us. I like to call it love walkin’ . . . whew! Love walkin’! It makes you feel good when you walk in love, and it makes you walk tall when you walk in love, and though some people think you’re weak when you’re in love, it really makes you strong when you can walk in love . . . love walkin’! Love walkin’!”

  “All right, now . . . I’m walkin’ with you, Pastor,” said Denise Jackson as she stood up and began to rock from side to side with her Bible under her arm.

  The Reverend Walker was preaching in earnest now. “Church, your fears can’t stop you when you walkin’ in love, and your sadness can’t keep you cryin’ when you walkin’ in love, and your problems can’t make you lose your joy when you walkin’ in love . . . When you leave here tonight, let’s do some love walkin’, church, just like Jesus . . . love walkin’!”

  Tamara stood up then along with the rest of the congregation.

  Pastor Walker’s voice lowered as he looked at them all. “Know that God’s love for us is ever-flowing, never-ceasing, all encompassing, church. In First Timothy chapter one, verse fourteen, Paul writes ‘And the grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Jesus Christ.’” Pastor Walker added, “And in John, fourteen-one Jesus himself says to his disciples as the hour of his death drew near: ‘In my Father’s house are many mansions, or rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.’

  “The Lord’s love is unconditional, and so, church, we never have to worry about being left on the outside when it comes to our Father. Unlike Mary and Joseph when she was getting ready to birth Jesus Christ and could not find a place to lay her head, there’s always a room in the inn for us! And what’s more, God has promised us that we never have to sit in the back or settle for a place in the ‘cheap seats’! There’s good room always available with Our Father God!

  “His heart is open to us, and there is always plenty room for us there—plenty good room—and whether we know it or not, just like our Father, once we learn to trust Him and to walk in His love, we discover that we, too, have plenty good room in our own hearts—plenty good room to love others, just as we are loved by Him!”

  All of a sudden, Minister Walker opened his mouth and, in his rich, deep baritone, began to sing:

  “There’s plenty good room,

  plenty good room in ma Father’s Kingdom,

  plenty good room, plenty good room

  —just choose your seat and sit down.”

  “C’mon, church,” he said, “You know the words to this old song. This is what our ancestors used to sing back when we were still in bondage. They knew that God’s love made them free, even in slavery, to love and be loved in return.”

  Tamara closed her eyes and held her Bible close as she found her feelings again going awry in the sanctuary. The lyrics to the old Negro spiritual touched her heart, and her throat was so tight she could not swallow. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Isaiah Perry’s close proximity was forgotten as Tamara listened to them singing and wrapped her arms around her body, wiping the reappearing tears away with one finger.

  Tamara’s feelings were intensifying each time she attended a church service, and this escalating emotion represented a loss of control that was almost overwhelming to her. Tonight it was proving especially difficult for her to maintain control. Standing there, struggling to regain her equilibrium, all Tamara could do was hug herself as she gently rocked back and forth, listening to the voices’ singing that seemed to fill her insides.

  31.

  Night Flight

  The girl slept fitfully, tossing and turning to and fro as she moaned and shook her head violently—obviously frightened of an unknown presence that only she was aware of.

  Suddenly, her eyes popped open wide. Sitting upright quickly, she began to look from side to side and all around the room, as if she truly expected to see, hiding in the shadow, some unknown person or entity that would jump from under the bed or spring malevolently out of a closet.

  “It was only a dream,” she said aloud. “The same old dream.”

  It had been so long ago, yet it seemed like only yesterday that it happened, and still she couldn’t get it out of her head. Now, as she sat fully awake, that day again came to her mind. She’d been playing in her new bedroom. Though not exactly like the ones she read about in her storybooks, she loved the room because it was bright and colorful, and most important, it was all hers, and that made it perfect.

  The first night the girl moved into her new home, she was very frightened. But then, that was mostly because all of it had happened so quickly. One minute she was living with Wilma, and the next she was not.

  Wilma’s house was the fifth place she lived, and what she remembered most about Wilma was that she had a big, soft chest and she smelled powdery whenever she hugged her close. She liked how Wilma called her “baby,” and the woman was mostly nice to her. The only bad part about living with Wilma, though, was that she was home by herself lots of the time.

  Wilma’s boy, Victor, was sixteen, and he didn’t come home till late at night lots of the time. She didn’t like him that much anyway, so it was okay with her that he wasn’t there. But Wilma was gone a lot of the time, too, and when she’d come home from school that early-winter day, the woman was gone again, and for some reason it was dark in the house.

  For a long time she sat there quietly in the dark, waiting for Wilma to come back, but after a while she grew tired of just sitting there waiting, and so she made a plan. Using all her strength, she pulled the big kitchen chair over to the wall. Carefully she stood on it, struggling to balance herself so that the wobbly metal legs would not bend or twist, sending her plummeting hard to the floor. With some maneuvering she was finally able to turn on the light switch, but nothing happened. Uncomprehending, she flipped the switch over and over, on and off, and still nothing happened. The lights in the house just weren’t working for some reason.

  Cautiously she got down from the chair and, after pulling it back to its place, ran and jumped into Wilma’s bed and pulled the covers over her head. It was cold in the house now, and she felt lots warmer lying there u
nder the blankets in the spot that Wilma slept in. She’d fallen asleep just like that, too, curled up in a tight ball lying on Wilma’s side of the bed.

  Her memory grew fuzzy then; she was drifting in and out of sleep after that and was unsure how much of her memory was real and how much was just a dream. She did remember clearly that a tall man picked her right up out of the bed, and even through the blurriness that she felt in her head, she heard him say, “Her little legs are freezing . . . There’s no telling how long this child has been here alone.”

  The next time she awakened, she was here at this house, and a pretty brown-skinned woman was looking at her with concern in her eyes. In this house she was the only child they had, and they’d given her a brand-new doll, bought her new clothes, and given her a nice room to live in.

  “Where’s Wilma?” she’d asked over and over, but no one had told her one thing. One night when they thought she was long asleep, the girl overheard the woman and her husband talking in the front room, and she knew now that Wilma was gone to jail.

  “She ain’t nothin’ but a crack addict, no way—they’ll sell their mama for a hit,” she heard the husband say then. The girl wasn’t exactly sure what “crack” was, but she did understand that she would not be seeing Wilma anytime soon.

  Soon afterward the lady told her, “I’m your new mama,” with a big smile on her face. And even though she smiled mutely and ducked her head low, inside she wondered, how could that be so, since she already had a “real” mama somewhere, and she couldn’t really have two, could she?

  For a while everything was going really well for her in her new home. The house was always clean, and there was lots of food to eat. Her new mama took her shopping, and she even got her hair done at a beauty shop and everything. They went to church on Sunday, and she liked the music, and the people there acted happy, and that made her feel good, too.

  The lady’s husband was William, and he was a deacon at the church. Whenever the minister was preaching his sermon, she noticed it was almost always William who was the first one to say, “Amen,” or “Preach it, Reverend.” “He just loves the Lord,” his wife said all the time, and the girl believed it, too, ’cause he went to church even when they didn’t go, and that was almost every day, it seemed.

  Nonetheless, there was still something about him that made her uncomfortable. For one thing, even though he always seemed extra happy when he talked to her, especially when her new mama was around, too, his smile looked scary to her. Sometimes she’d catch him staring at her, and when he noticed her looking at him, too, he grinned even more widely than usual. Quickly she’d turn her head with that feeling in the pit of her stomach that she used to get whenever she’d come home from school and discover that Wilma was gone again and she was alone.

  Still, she liked it there, and she just tried her best to avoid William and his evil smile. One night she was sitting in the tub, slippery and wet with warm, fragrant bubbles, and he just walked right into the bathroom without knocking. He stood there at the door, watching her for a long moment, wearing that smile she hated, and then he turned around without saying a word and left, closing the door behind him.

  With her heart thumping almost painfully in her small chest, the girl jumped out of the tub without even washing herself; she dressed, hurried to her room, and curled into a tight ball underneath her own covers. As days and weeks passed, finally the bathtub incident seemed to fade so far away into her memory that she no longer knew if it had really happened or whether it was something she just imagined.

  Slowly she began to relax again, and she even let herself begin to think of them as her real family. The woman seemed truly happy to be her mother, and she was glad to be the daughter of someone who wanted to be a mother—at least until that last day.

  She’d been playing with her doll, just like always, with her back turned to the doorway.

  “You like that doll,” William said from behind her, and now, since she was quite comfortable with him, she didn’t even turn to look at him when she answered, “Yes.”

  Then she heard her twin-size bed creak under his weight as he sat down behind her. From under her eyelashes she glanced apprehensively to the side and saw his brown wing-tip shoes pointing forward from where he now sat on her bed.

  “Come here and sit with me,” he said as he patted the bed by him.

  Pushing away her rising discomfort with his presence, slowly the girl had gotten up and leaned on the bed by him, but before she knew what was happening he’d swooped her up into his lap. Although she was eight years old, she was still scared. Physically she was very small, and she sat suspended in his large lap with her small legs swinging high up off the floor.

  Within seconds William moved his hand into her underpants, and she felt his finger touch her private parts. It happened so very quickly that the girl did not have time to comprehend exactly what he was doing until he’d already done it.

  “You like that, don’t you?” he whispered, with a strange look on his face.

  Without waiting for an answer, he laid her on the bed, and she instantly closed her eyes, too scared now to see what was going to happen next. Suddenly she felt something burning hot inside her, but before she could scream in pain, he’d placed his large hand tightly over her mouth.

  “Shhh! We don’t want nobody to hear us, gal,” he grunted, breathing heavily.

  The girl felt the burning, jabbing pain a few more times, and then, after a last loud grunt, he got up.

  “You might want to go to the bathroom,” he said to her over his shoulder.

  Then he walked from the room as if nothing had happened and left her lying there alone on the bed. Limping into the bathroom, the girl cleaned herself off as she cried, wincing from the searing pain that came alive anew with each touch.

  Back in the room she’d loved only moments earlier, she lay across the bed, numb and frightened. Resignedly, she understood clearly now that this was not her home, and they were not her mother and father. Later, when the woman came home from work, she’d feigned sleep when she heard the woman call her name softly again and again.

  She knew there was nothing she could say to her about what had happened earlier that night. After all, he was her husband, and she was not her daughter.

  The girl waited until the house was quiet, and although still hurting, she clothed herself. Then, gathering a few things and putting them into a small plastic grocery bag, she tiptoed through the living room and right out the front door.

  Once outside, she closed the door behind her and, forgetting all about the pain, with the wind in her face, ran just as fast as her small legs would carry her.

  32.

  Alone, Interrupted

  Careful not to dampen the carpet, Tamara slid her wet shoes off one by one before she stepped through the door. Then she shook off her drenched trench coat and, with her wet things in one hand, tipped on uncomfortably moist toes through the hallway till she reached her bedroom. Once in her room, she put the soaked coat on a hanger and carried it along with the shoes back into the small storage area to let them dry.

  Then she retrieved a fluffy white towel from the closet and began to dry her wet hair. Of course it is just my luck it would rain today, and my umbrella is in my office, sitting in the corner of my cubby by my desk, she thought irritably. Tamara went back into her room and pulled on a soft old pair of jogging pants and a cotton T-shirt, along with some thick white socks that felt wonderfully warm on her damp feet.

  She sighed appreciatively, thinking, At least I’m home . . . maybe I can warm up now. Tamara had been out of the office doing fieldwork most of this gray and damp day, and now she was absolutely chilled to the bone.

  Even though she’d been used to solitude, the town house seemed eerily empty now without Sienna. In fact, each time the girl was gone, Tamara realized how accustomed she’d gotten to Sienna’s presence in her home, and without her the house was just too quiet and almost bereft of life and movement.

  �
�I really should enjoy this little time I have to myself,” she said aloud with a slight smile, but even as she spoke, she could not help but notice the solitary echo of her voice in the quiet house.With a loud sigh, Tamara wrapped the towel around her head, turban-style, and went into the kitchen to make a salad for dinner.

  Sienna was at choir rehearsal, and actually, Tamara could have met her there and attended Bible study herself. But, she had opted out tonight. The minister’s lessons were trying enough for her when she was at her best, and as tired and vulnerable as she felt, Tamara was just not certain she could handle more talk about love from Pastor Walker tonight. Each time she attended the church, she became certain that one day she would not be able to hold down the strange quickening she felt in the pit of her stomach, and the thought of losing control like that made her nervous and uncomfortable.

  Anyway, her own day had been really busy. She’d been booked back-to-back with home visits and appointments, and then she facilitated an evening training session for a new group of foster parents. While Sienna would miss her being there, the teen truly enjoyed being a part of the choir, and the members were happy to have her involved in the ensemble, especially since it quickly became quite clear to them that Sienna could actually sing. Each time Tamara heard the girl sing, she was newly impressed. Sienna’s talent was genuine and quite extraordinary; with no training at all, she possessed a powerful voice with a full range of tone and depth.

  Bushed from the day, Tamara decided to skip the salad and instead made herself a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich, grabbed a napkin and a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and flopped down lazily on the couch in the living room. Catlike, she curled her legs up under her and, with remote in hand, snuggled back cozily in the corner of the sofa to watch the news while she waited for Sienna. Denise Jackson had agreed to bring the girl home when the rehearsal was over, and she was free to relax until then.