Essie captured his hand between her own.
"You know something, baby," he said softly. "You've had me going since I first laid eyes on you. I think about you all the time. I can hardly write my sermons for wishing I could be with you instead of just hearing your voice over the phone. And, Essie, know this if you don't know anything else—you are, without a doubt, the first woman to ever hold my heart so completely in the palm of her hand."
Essie felt flooded with relief and joy.
Now Theophilus opened her hands, and, covering them with his large dark ones, lightly stroked her palms and wrists. "My heart is in the palm of your hand," he repeated. "You have to know that I want you, Essie."
She closed her eyes, overcome by his words and touch. "Baby, look at me."
She smiled into his eyes, and he raised her hands, kissing them both. "Essie, what we have is so good," he said. "So good, baby, that I never want to lose it. Lord knows, I want you so close to me that we won't be able to tell where one begins and the other one ends."
Chapter Ten
ESSIE PICKED UP A TINY RIB, DRIPPING WITH HOMEmade barbecue sauce, just as a group of ministers from the Annual Conference walked into the upstairs dining room. Theophilus practically missed the taste of the pot roast in his mouth when he saw Glodean Benson with them, hanging on the arm of Rev. Sonny Washington.
One of the ministers in that group excused himself to talk to someone in the room, and three others started arranging with a waiter for the group's tables. The remaining two, Marcel Brown and Sonny Washington, stayed where they were over near the top of the stairs, waiting for Glodean Benson to come out of the ladies' room.
"Will you look at that Negro?" Sonny said, looking down the hall to see if Glodean was coming. "Look at him, sitting over there with that fine woman. What is it about him that gets the women goin', like her and Glodean?"
Marcel shrugged. "Looks like you're the one Glodean is studying, walking in here with her hanging all over you. It's no secret that she is looking for a preacher to marry her."
Sonny looked at Marcel like he was crazy and said, "Marry her? No. But I do hear that she is supposed to have the best stuff in all of Memphis, Tennessee. Besides, I singled out Miss Benson for a few other reasons."
Marcel figured that Sonny was protesting too much. He was about to say so when Sonny added, "Man, I'm with her because I'm doing like ol' Bishop Caruthers said, about getting yourself an informant on your enemies. Ain't nobody like a woman who has been in their beds to get the truth on some of these do-right preachers."
Marcel knew what Sonny was talking about. Bishop Otis Caruthers had told him the exact same thing when he was in Detroit about a month ago. He'd said, "Young Rev. Brown, you need to get yourself a couple of Holy Ghost–filled, unfulfilled sisters in several different churches to keep you informed on the progress of your foes." He had then given him a long hard look, saying, "You're one of those smooth, good-looking, high-yellow Detroit boys. I know you know how to work that avenue, right?"
"There sure do seem to be a lot of them these days," Marcel said. "Simmons and Rev. Murcheson James and even Eddie Tate. High-and-mighties who think God called them just so that they could keep an eye on us. Getting all righteousminded—motioning and demanding that the churches in their districts file annual reports, showing their budgets, bank statements, receipts, cash, you name it, including the pastor's personal expenditures. They're making themselves the judge and jury on how pastors act, especially with the churchwomen. Like Simmons—who ought to cast out the beam in his own eye, before he goes looking for the speck in yours or mine."
"Uh-huh," said Sonny, looking at his watch, with a sour look on his face. "What is taking Glodean so long? Even a woman don't need that much time to pee. I know she's in there trying to look her best for that fool sitting over there."
Marcel was surprised at Sonny's bitter tone. "Man, I didn't even know she saw him—she walked off almost as soon as we got to the top of the stairs."
"She saw him all right," Sonny said. "Women see everything—especially a Negro they think they need."
Marcel shifted from one foot to the other a few times, checking the hall leading toward the women's rest room.
"I'm not standing here waiting on Glodean," he said. "I trust she will see us just as fast as she saw him." He headed off with Sonny in the direction of Theophilus's table, thinking he might lay some Detroit charm on this little Mississippi girl, just to spite Simmons. Something he planned on doing in the church lobby before service started and he was pulled away by Bishop Giles.
When Theophilus saw Marcel Brown and Sonny Washington coming toward him, he stopped eating, thinking, "Now what do they want?"
"Good evening, Theophilus, miss," Marcel said slyly as he let his eyes linger on Essie. He enjoyed the discomfort he was obviously causing Theophilus.
"Evening, Simmons," Sonny said and patted Theophilus on the shoulder like they were old buddies. "Rev. Brown and I saw you sitting over here and thought we should come and introduce ourselves to your lovely dinner guest."
He turned toward Essie and said, "I am Rev. Sonny Washington, the pastor of Leewood Gospel United Church in Nashville. And you are?"
Essie didn't like Rev. Washington on sight. He looked like the kind of man who liked to squeeze past women in tight spaces so that he could slip and rub himself up against them. She said, "I am Essie Lane, Rev. Washington. I attend Mount Nebo in Charleston, Mississippi. Rev. Murcheson James is my pastor."
"Yes, I know Rev. James—good man," he said, letting his eyes roll around the contours of her breasts.
She crossed her arms across her chest to protect herself, thinking, "I wonder if Rev. James thinks the same about you, with your nasty self."
Sonny turned back to Theophilus. "And Simmons, I was impressed with the room-and-board program you organized. You'll have to tell me how you did it so that I can do the same when the Annual Conference is held in Nashville next year."
Sonny caught a whiff of freshly sprayed perfume and turned to find Glodean Benson coming behind him.
Theophilus smelled it, too, and looked up—right into Glodean's face. "Why Rev. Simmons, this is a lovely surprise," Glodean said, with a coy flutter of her eyelashes. Then she leaned toward Essie, extending a pink-lace-gloved hand, making sure to show off all the glittering diamonds on her fingers.
"I am Glodean Benson. I've been working in Atlanta, but Greater Hope is my home church. And Rev. Simmons here has touched me more deeply than any other pastor."
Essie felt like breaking those diamond-studded fingers one by one because Glodean dared say that mess to her. But she kept her cool, pretending to wipe barbecue sauce off her fingers so that Glodean wouldn't want to risk messing up those fancy pink gloves. She refused to shake hands with the woman who had tried to humiliate Theophilus with that scene in church, even if the only one she had shamed was herself.
"I am Essie Lane, Glodean Benson," she said evenly.
Glodean withdrew her hand in silence. Sonny Washington, who looked ready to slap Glodean when she said "touched me more deeply," fidgeted irritably. Theophilus could feel the sweat building up under his collar and hoped that a few wet beads hadn't popped up on his brow, revealing how upset he was. Marcel smirked at Theophilus, thinking, "Glodean really knocked that punk out of his orbit. He looks like he's trying not to mess in his pants."
Composing himself, Theophilus finally said, "I don't want to be rude but my food is getting cold, and I would like to enjoy my meal with Miss Lane before it gets too late. It's nice that you people stopped by to say hello, good to see you, and have a good evening."
"Miss Benson, Rev. Washington," Marcel said smoothly, "we did interrupt Rev. Simmons's meal with his very special guest from Mississippi. We should let him eat. Miss Benson, I'm sure you will have plenty of chances to catch up with your pastor once all these conference people go home."
Sonny Washington was furious, though he knew that Marcel was just trying to needle Theophilus.
He was tired of standing there, watching Glodean carry on over Simmons and scrutinize his lady friend. Snatching at Glodean's arm, he excused himself and pulled her away so fast that Marcel had to hurry off to catch up with them.
Theophilus stared at the back of Marcel's pale gray suit, thinking that the three of them hadn't bargained on Essie's cool capacity to put them in their place. For a brief moment it occurred to him that Essie definitely had what was needed in a first lady, especially the first lady of his church. But when he considered what was required for her to become his first lady—marriage—he blinked his eyes to drive away the terrifying thought.
"Now those are some trifling men, and I don't care if they are preachers," Essie was saying.
"Yeah, baby, they are certainly that. But you sure did give them a run for their money, especially Marcel Brown. He has probably never gotten as evil a look from a woman as the one you gave him over his last comment to Glodean Benson. He'll probably have nightmares over that one."
"He deserved it," Essie said, "coming over here trying to start some mess. And that Glodean Benson didn't even have sense enough to see—or care—that he was disrespecting her, too." And she thought to herself, "That crazy woman must have really laid something on Theophilus for him to want to spend more than a second with her."
Theophilus put a big piece of the pot roast in his mouth, closed his eyes, and savored it. "Been waiting for that for what seems like forever," he said.
Essie picked up a rib and pointed it at him, saying, "I just can't get over those men, having the nerve to call themselves preachers. That Rev. Sonny Washington is just nasty, nasty, nasty—and that Marcel, how can he get away with acting like he does?"
Theophilus washed down a forkful of the turnip greens with tea before he answered, "Well, as for Marcel, I think he gets away with so much because Rev. Ernest Brown is his daddy. Plus, he's smooth-talking, light-skinned, and from Detroit. You know how some of these churchwomen can carry on over a high-yellow preacher from a big city like Detroit.
"But Sonny Washington? Frankly, I don't know how he manages to get away with so much. Just about every church he's pastored loses money, while he keeps up his high living—Cadillacs, silk suits, money for trips to almost every district's Annual Conference, and then some."
"That's ridiculous, Theophilus. Church folk should have better sense than to let a preacher get away with so much mess."
He forked up some more pot roast. "I have those exact same thoughts."
On the drive back to Coral Thomas's house, Essie was so quiet that Theophilus wondered if she was brooding over all of that mess with Glodean. Hoping that some music would get them talking, he turned on the radio, fooling with the dial until he heard a Big Mama Thornton song. He said, "Know something? I love to hear that woman sing. Next to Big Johnnie Mae, Thornton is one of my favorite lady blues singers."
Essie listened to the song a few seconds. "I think I like her a little better than Big Johnnie Mae. Although I have to admit that the last time I heard Big Johnnie Mae at Pompey's, she just about tore that microphone to pieces."
"Yeah, Big Johnnie Mae was so hot that night, until she could have fried some chicken with that singing."
Essie laughed. "She sure could have. I wish Uncle Booker would have heard her that night. He loves Big Johnnie Mae but not as much as he does Howlin' Wolf. Uncle Booker will just about lose his mind over some Howlin' Wolf—has been all over Mississippi trying to be at every place that man is scheduled to sing."
Theophilus chuckled. "Uncle Booker looks like he's into some Howlin' Wolf."
He pulled up in front of Coral Thomas's house and turned off the motor and headlights, leaving the radio on. Big Mama Thornton was crooning, ". . . Ahhh, got a sweet lil' angel and I love the way he spreads his wings."
Theophilus patted the seat next to him. "Come on over here by me."
Essie moved just a little closer, so he grabbed her hand and gently coaxed her all the way over to his side of the car. She sat up next to him with her hands folded in her lap, as if she was sitting in church. He took one of her hands, surprised by how much comfort it gave him just to touch her. Intertwining his fingers with hers, he leaned over and kissed her on the lips.
Essie wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her. Now he enfolded her complete in his embrace, kissing her with so much passion that she could feel heat running through her chest, down to the pit of her stomach, to the center of her thighs, and even to the soles of her feet, making her wiggle her toes in her shoes.
Theophilus whispered, "Hmmmm, baby," in her ear.
Essie took her arms from around his neck and moved a couple of inches away from him. "Seems like when we're alone, we always manage to get all bothered and busy."
Theophilus smiled at her longingly, moving in for another kiss.
"I'd better go in the house, Theophilus," she said.
"Mmmm, hmmm," he said, leaning back against the headrest. He was disappointed but he knew that she was right. Finally he opened his door and walked around to help her out of the car. They walked up to the porch holding hands, moving apart when Coral Thomas answered the doorbell.
"Did y'all have a nice time?"
"Yes. Dinner was real good, Miss Coral."
"I told you Mabel's Kitchen was a real nice dinner place." She pushed open the screen door. "Theophilus, you want to come in for some coffee or iced tea?"
"No, ma'am. I'm going to say good night to Essie and go on home. This has been a long day and I'm beat."
Coral Thomas bid him good night and went back into the house. When they were alone, Theophilus took Essie's hand and kissed the center of her palm. She tried to pull away, but Theophilus held it firmly, enjoying her physical response to his kiss. "Such passion," he thought. With his tongue, he swirled tiny, delicate circles onto her open palm, then drew his lips up the side of her wrist, where he could taste her perfume and feel her pulse pounding. "Ummm, baby," he whispered. "One day we're gonna have to finish this. And when I'm through with you, girl, you'll wonder why it took you so long to get 'busy' with me."
Essie pulled her hand from his and reached up to touch his cheek with her still-moist palm. "Theophilus, I've always given as good as I get in every single thing I do," she said. "And I believe"—her voice lowering and deepening—"that it'll be you, not me, in wonder if there ever comes a time when we get all busy with each other."
Her boldness caught Theophilus by surprise. Flustered, he tried to think of something to say that was as thrillingly seductive and loving as her words. But all he could do was stand there in the softness of the yellow porch light, held captive by those golden brown eyes.
Chapter Eleven
THEOPHILUS SAT IN HIS OVERSIZED, NAVY VELVET pastor's chair, trying hard not to squirm while he listened to Sister Willie Clayton talk at length about the church's anniversary. Her job was to read the Sunday announcements and welcome visitors, both of which she had yet to do. Instead she had taken the liberty of testifying about Cleotis's, her sorry son's, return to church, before she even got around to mentioning that today's service would be a special celebration for Greater Hope.
For months, Sister Clayton had been using the welcome and announcement time to deliver her own little sermons and testimonies—which was his own fault, Theophilus knew. He should have fired Sister Clayton when he first arrived and was reassigning church jobs to better-qualified folks. But he hesitated to fire Sister Clayton partly because she was a financial pillar of the church, owner of a chain of prominent funeral homes, and partly because she was Glodean Benson's aunt. He knew Willie Clayton would be furious with him and then openly blame her dismissal as a petty reprisal on his part concerning Glodean's threats. But this morning he didn't care what anyone thought—he wasn't sitting through another Sunday of this.
To make matters worse, Glodean had chosen today to put in a Sunday morning appearance at Greater Hope for the first time since Theophilus had become pastor. She kept shouting "Amen" whenever Sist
er Clayton paused for breath, egging her on. Theophilus had heard that Sonny Washington had been censured by the Board of Bishops for poor financial management and transferred back to his home state of North Carolina. He wondered whether that had something to do with Glodean's resurfacing today. Rumor had it that Sonny Washington's conference fling with Glodean was still on, and that she wanted Sonny to "put that uppity Rev. Theophilus Simmons in his place."
He drew strength from looking out at Essie, sitting next to Coral and D.S. Thomas. Though three months had passed since the Annual Conference, this was the first visit they had been able to schedule that didn't include Essie's entire family. It wasn't that Theophilus didn't like her family—he did, a lot—but he longed for the chance to see her alone. She had arrived in Memphis so late last night that, after picking her up at the train station, all he had time to do was give her a chaste peck on the cheek before Coral Thomas whisked her into the house. Back home, he had shared his frustration with Eddie, who was a night owl, on the telephone, only to be told, in no uncertain terms, that marriage would solve all of that. Theophilus had choked on those words, coughing so hard it made tears come into his eyes.
But Eddie had just waited patiently for him to stop coughing and then said, "You know doggone well you want to marry this woman. Just scared to death, that's all. Think of it this way. If Essie Lane were Mrs. Essie Simmons, you could have whisked her off to your house and nobody could say a thing about it."
No wonder he was tired this morning, Theophilus thought. He didn't feel much like preaching. But his congregation, especially the older, tithing members, expected to hear their pastor preach on the church's anniversary. Sister Clayton just kept going on and on, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the entire congregation was growing restless and bored. He bent down, hoping no one could see him shaking his head in disgust. When he sat back up, Essie was looking at him with a big grin on her face, barely able to contain her laughter over this mess. He got control of the answering smile tugging at the corner of his own mouth and shot her a stern look, as if to say, "Girl, you know you ought to be a-shamed of your-self for laughing in church."
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