by Rod Davis
We left about noon for New Orleans and the birth certificate, the final piece of the puzzle. Driving south, it was as if something were missing. No one was following us, to kill us, to steal from us, to violate us from the past.
32
The St. Martin de Porres Spiritual Church of Jesus was in the Ninth Ward, downriver of the Quarter. The red brick building and its several annexes took up a half-block on a mostly residential street close to a busy intersection currently flanked by a fried chicken stand, a loan shark check-cashing office and a liquor store.
The drive had taken longer than expected, but we’d stopped for lunch. Still, the appointment was for five-thirty so we’d judged the time pretty closely. It was just after the hour when we pulled up on the gravel shoulder outside the sanctuary’s main entrance.
A playground had been added behind a high wire fence. In front of it a long breezeway connected the sanctuary to a small, free-standing structure of aluminum siding and concrete blocks. I figured it for the rectory office. A weather-worn marquee sign along the front of the complex listed the hours for services, weeknight prayer, and Bible study. The week’s motto: “Jesus Wants You for His Army of One.”
Lenora had set it up with the minister, the Reverend Learned Bathing. She had known him from when they’d been at college in Tennessee. Bathing had been born in Mississippi, part Choctaw, named after the famous federal jurist, Learned Hand. His father, a cop, moved the family to the Big Easy for better pay, and wound up getting shot and killed a year before retirement. By another cop.
Reverend Bathing had also known Pearl, Elle’s mother, from visits she and Lenora had made to New Orleans over the years after he was ordained. Although trained for a more mainstream denomination, he had found his calling in one of those powerful spiritual tributaries that flourished in the city: a little Catholic, a little Protestant, a little African voudou. Lenora and Pearl thought he was a brilliant preacher, even though Pearl was generally more straight-laced.
Lenora had filled us in with all this so we’d know a little about the man who had babysat the document that would make Elle a rich woman, if one wanted to look at it that way. To him, it was only a very old, probably forgotten favor to a long-ago romance.
Lenora said that you didn’t just drop in on the Reverend Bathing anymore. He had become a figure of influence and reputation. That was good for the church but not so good for the personal visits and confessions and even salvations for which he had been known since his earliest days in the pulpit. I guessed he had learned to juggle his appointment book. For special guests, he could open up his schedule.
Two pre-teen girls strolled by, talking loudly, laughing, and looking behind at several boys about the same age. The street in front of the chicken joint was filling up with after-work traffic. We weren’t all that far from my apartment in the Marigny. But in New Orleans, everything is a part of everything else, one neighborhood blends into another. If you ever forget the linkage, reminders will materialize.
“You ready?”
“It’s still a few minutes early.”
She sat up in the seat, stretched her legs and arms out as much as she could.
“Man, we’ve spent some time in this car. Can’t wait to turn it back in.”
“I’m pretty sick of it. I might just walk around for a week.”
“Yeah.”
She was looking into her bag for something, then closed it, sat with it on her lap. I fiddled with the steering wheel.
“Reminds me I haven’t been to church in a long time. Other than back in Oxford,” she said, making conversation.
“Other than that, I don’t know when.”
“That was a nice church for Young Henry.”
“They did a good job.”
“Yeah.”
“And then he had to show up.” Her mouth quivered but then she firmed it up.
I took one of her hands in mine. She squeezed my fingers.
“He did,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“But he’s not going to anymore.”
I could see her eyes moisten.
“Maybe this is too soon,” I said.
She pulled her hand away and shook her head. She adjusted her blouse. “We’ve talked this to death.” That made her laugh a little. “You know.”
“We’ll talk about it as much as it needs.”
She tilted the rearview to see herself in it. “I still look better than you. Let’s go.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure. I’m more than sure.”
She got out. I did the same and locked up, reconned the street.
We walked the cracked sidewalk leading to the breezeway. I made a short detour to get a look at the sanctuary through the window in the chapel door. A small balcony ringed the back, with a chorus pit and a dais for the preacher up front. At least twenty rows of varnished wooden pews on either side of the aisle.
“Bigger than I thought.”
Elle took my arm and turned me gently back. “You’re checking things out. You don’t need to.”
I opened the office door. Just as I did, a woman and her young daughter, both sniffling and teary-eyed, hurried past. The girl looked up. She was maybe ten or so and I didn’t know what had gone wrong in her life, but there was a bruise along her cheek.
The modest reception room was cramped with an old, cluttered wooden desk, a couple of metal folding chairs, and a file cabinet in the corner decorated with years’ worth of stickers and children’s drawings stuck on with magnets or tape.
We were alone, but could hear a man in the other room talking on the phone, making arrangements for a banquet. In a minute or two we heard the receiver click down then the Reverend Bathing came out to greet us.
He was of average size, gray mustache and close-cropped hair, and although he had to be in his sixties, he looked ten years younger. He wore the uniform of preachers: dark blue suit pants, white shirt, blue tie. He looked tired after what may have been a long day.
He took Elle’s hand, introduced himself, remarked how he was glad to finally meet Lenora’s niece. Then he turned to me, though with more formality. He held out his arm in the direction of his inner office, and showed us to a pair of wooden captain’s chairs with worn red padding on the arms. He walked around to the other side of a cypress-knee coffee table to settle onto a navy blue sofa. His own desk, almost as cluttered as the receptionist’s, was backed against a window looking out to the playground.
He asked about the drive down and the weather and then said he was sorry about Terrell. Elle told him about the services in Oxford, putting the ashes in the river. He thought that was the right thing. But time was precious and he got directly to the point. It was a thoroughly professional move, so polished in the segue you had to admire it even while thinking of yourself as just one more number in a long line of customers.
“I have to admit it took me a little looking to remember exactly where I put that old letter—”
I could see Elle’s eyebrows arch slightly.
“—but never fear, I’m not that dottering just yet.” He laughed and we did, too. “Actually we have a bank we use for things like this.” He sat back, made an open-palm gesture. “You’d be surprised how often our congregation needs things put away, saved, kept for a better day, and so on.”
He stopped speaking and looked past us. I turned to see a man of about forty, in work overalls, standing at the doorway. “Oh, didn’t know you were still here, Reverend.”
Bathing rose. “Hey, Marcus. Just running a little late tonight. Can you work over in the church for a little while and come back?”
The man looked at both of us, nodded. “No problem.”
The reverend sat back down. “Marcus works here part-time, janitor kinds of things. He also teaches over at Addams but, you know, times are hard and he needs two jo
bs these days.”
“Well I don’t want to keep you long, Reverend,” Elle said.
He put up one hand to say it was okay, “We’re fine. We’re fine. Now where was I? Oh, right, the box.”
“You were saying about the congregation.”
“That’s right. That’s right. We have lots of need for people wanting things saved for them. Sometimes it’s money. They don’t trust the banks—even though that’s where it winds up, basically. Or maybe it’s some kind of religious or family thing. A lot of my folks, you know, they have to live in places that get robbed. Anyway it kind of grew up that we could take care of that sort of thing. And you know”—he smiled—“it’s not so bad for business. We get a lot of lifelong members that way.”
His gaze wandered over to his desk, maybe at the papers, maybe at the clock. “But like I was saying, I was trying to remember exactly where I’d filed the letter she gave me back when. But it wasn’t so hard. Excuse me a second.”
He went to the desk and picked up a brown folder, the kind with a flap and tie string. He came back and put it on the table in front of Elle.
“I want to tell you about this before I give it to you, just a little.”
We looked at the folder.
“You know what this is? What’s in that letter?” she asked.
He smiled. “That I do. I just never knew exactly what would come of it. Something good, I always hoped.”
She glanced at me quickly. “I hope so, too.”
“Pearl, your mother, she was a good woman. So was Abe. I think maybe so was . . . that other man.”
“It’s okay. I know about all that now.”
They took the measure of each other, let that settle in.
“Junior Barnett.”
“My father.”
“Abe was your father.”
“I don’t mean it that way.”
“I’m just saying it.”
“Okay.”
Both their eyes fell on the folder.
He put his arms on his knees to lean in closer. “When that happened, after you were born, I think your mama was scared. You can imagine. Junior got the birth certificate away from the official records—I’m just telling you all this so you’ll know—but he wanted it kept somewhere safe. Even then, I think, he wanted to protect you. Lenora said he was so sad about everything, that he could never even let on about you to anyone.”
“I understand.”
“Lenora came to me, because I was far away from all that and because I guess she knew she could trust me. We were good friends back in college, you see. I was a little older.”
“She sort of hinted at that. I know she thinks a lot of you.”
He smiled. “That’s good to know. People say she does black magic and voudou and all that sort of thing and I know she does but I don’t think she does bad work. She keeps the African ways. I admire that. A lot of people do, even the ones who say they don’t, and then show up on her door.” He smiled, thinking about something or someone.
“But like I was saying. Where was I? Oh, about that certificate. Lenora brought it down here, told me what had happened, that your mama loved your daddy and was sorry for what happened, that Junior was a good man in his own bad marriage. I prayed with her and for your mama and daddy. Lord knows I see the weakness of the flesh day in and day out. You saw that young girl and her mama when you came in? The father’s back in jail for assault. It goes on and on . . .” He drifted off in thought again. “So I took this letter, she told me what it was, and we looked at it to be sure it was the real thing, and we had it sealed up by a notary public and it’s been here all that time. I guess you must be getting to thirty by now—”
“—Thirty-five—”
“That’s right. That would be about right. Anyway, I was sorry to see him go like that. I guess his wife died, too. Like your parents both, so sudden and young like that. So many gone like that I once knew.” He shook his head, pressed his lips together. “Still, I hope they’re all at peace now with the Lord.”
“I hope so.”
“This young man here, your aunt tells me he is helping you. But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”
Our looking at each other proved his point.
“I trust Jack.”
He looked at me longer than I liked. “You had some kind of trouble?
“Fender-bender. I got a little banged up.”
He nodded. “Well, you got to watch that traffic.”
“Absolutely.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, slowly, looking at Elle, then letting it go. He reached for the folder and passed it to her. “This is yours now.”
She unfastened it at once. I’m not sure what either of us expected to find inside. It was a thick white envelope with a blood-red wax seal.
“They say you have to wait to break that seal at the lawyers. I think they’re in Jackson.”
“They are.”
She held the envelope up to the light from the window. “Reverend, you’re sure it’s all in here?”
“I’m sure. I’m very sure. You can open it if you want, I guess. I’m not much of a lawyer. That’s just what they said way back then.”
She examined it some more, passed it to me.
“He’s right. You should open this in front of your lawyer.”
“Sure enough what I’d do,” he said.
I passed the envelope back to her. She put it back in the folder, tied it up. “I wasn’t doubting your word.”
“I don’t take it that way.”
She tipped her chin up in agreement.
“So I guess we’ll be going, then.”
He rose, and so did we.
Elle walked to the door and I took her elbow, almost formally. But we’d only taken a few steps when she stopped and looked back. The reverend had paused next to his desk. He flipped at the pages of a frayed book, maybe a Bible commentary, and seemed to be running something through his head.
“Just a minute, if you don’t mind. I was praying over this and I want to tell you something. Something you should know. I think. Now that all this is open.” He let the pages go. He seemed to have trouble framing whatever it was he wanted to say.
She glanced sidelong at me. “What is it, Reverend?”
We went back toward him.
“Have a seat, please.”
She looked at me again. We sat. The chairs were still warm.
He returned to his place on the sofa. He looked at her steadily, as if trying one last time to make up his mind.
“All along, your daddy, he knew.”
Her head tilted at a defensive angle. It took a long time for a word to come from her mouth: “What?”
He looked across the room, at me, then back at her. In a way, the conversation was already over. Just the blanks needed filling in.
“Lenora told me, said I could do with it as I wanted. Like I said, I asked the Lord for guidance.” He breathed out hard, his face still bearing that inner glow, but shaded now, for what he was saying brandished a thousand hidden thorns if rendered the wrong way. “I think you should know.”
Elle attended to the folder perched on her lap, making very sure the string was knotted tightly. All very orderly. “That’s what I should know?”
“It’s okay, child. It’s okay.” He got up and pulled over another captain’s chair from the corner of the room near a lamp, set it next to Elle.
“You’re saying he knew about Junior? And Mama?”
I looked at him hard, but his return gaze was calming.
He took her hands away from the folder and held them in his.
“Not right away. It came up when you started school and they needed your birth certificate for something. There wasn’t one and they had to do the research to get a new one. Turns out the doctor said something to him, not kn
owing, and he took it back to Pearl. She told him the story.”
Elle was rocking, slightly. The file dropped to the floor. I reached down and picked it up.
“I guess for a year or more, Lenora told me, they didn’t get along well. You might not ever have known. But Abe got over it, had to admit he had been the one almost broke the marriage up, that let Junior and Pearl even get close. I see that all the time here. But they stayed together and he always took you as his own.”
“He . . . .never . . . said . . . .anything.”
“Never would. I met him once when I was up visiting Oxford for a church conference at the university. He was a good, honest man. Talked about his kids, his wife, his job, about being a good deacon.”
“But he worked for Junior.”
“That’s the miracle, if you want to look at it that way. Each of them knew the truth, but never spoke of it. How could they? You see that all the time down here, too, don’t you? But they needed to work together and they did that and I think they even liked each other. Junior, he always treated your family right?”
“Yeah . . .”
She was drifting off. In less than two weeks, her whole life’s history had been turned inside out. It wasn’t a lie, not a bright shining lie. It was a fiction.
“I know this is hurtful for you, child, but mostly I see it as a good thing about your daddy and mama. Overcoming all that. That’s why the Lord wanted me to tell you. It’s something you should know, now, a grown-up woman, all those people passed on anyway, nobody of them to hurt anymore.”
She looked at him but didn’t speak.
He kept both her hands tightly in his. He closed his eyes. “Pray with me.”
She closed her eyes. I closed mine, too, but only for a second.
“Jesus, love this child of Yours. Keep her always to Your side. Protect her now and let Your love fill her soul. She has suffered, Lord, but is a good woman. Jesus, love her, O Lord, bind her to Your side. Hear her now, Jesus.”
They prayed silently. After a minute or so they opened their eyes.