Three Nights In Mannford

by Cynthia Conner Goyang

  Al and Misty’s eyes widened as they caught the scene, then looked at each other and back at the scene playing out in front of them. Several officers were carting in two bedraggled-looking women in handcuffs. The arresting officers held firmly to the prisoners’ upper arms as the women struggled and kept up a loud, steady stream of profanity-laced protestations of their innocence.

  “Man, I don’ told you,” shouted the older-looking one. “If I told you once, I told you a million times. Whadn’t us! You got the wrong gals. We was mindin’ our own business. Havin’ us just a couple of little dranks. Ain’t no way we stole that ole hag’s purse.”

  “Tell that to the judge,” the officer answered, pulling them both toward the holding cell, which Al could see through the glass windows at the back of the room. The heavy smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and moldy clothing followed them — making it difficult for Al to breathe. He coughed briefly, as the younger-looking one began her tirade.

  “What you lookin’ at?” she yelled angrily at anyone and everyone who happened to glance their way.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd,” Officer Holyard greeted them as he walked up and patted both gently on the shoulders. “When I saw you come in, I told Officer Littlefield that I’d like to be the one to help you. Come on over to my desk,” he said and pointed across the room.

  “Thank you, Officer Holyard,” Al and Misty said at the same time and stood to follow.

  “Sorry about the disturbance,” the officer said, looking back at them with a wry smile. “It’s par for the course around here. Have a seat. Sorry for the mess,” he said as he grinned and pushed a few papers aside. On top of a shelf above his desk sat a straggly plant that looked as though it hadn’t been watered in a month. Behind him were several pictures of him and a smiling lady.

  “Thank you, Officer Holyard. You were such a great help to us today,” Al said.

  “Please, just call me John,” he said. “It was the least I could do. I don’t know if you remember me, but eight months ago you helped my little sister, Lily.” He pointed at the pictures. “She was sick and didn’t have a church home. I appreciate you both coming to the hospital on such short notice. We’d Googled local pastors and found your name under Mannford Christian Fellowship. I appreciate you letting us hold Lily’s funeral at your church, too. I didn’t mention it at the apartment because . . . well . . . it didn’t seem the right timing.”

  “Oh yes, John,” Al said. “I didn’t recognize you in your uniform. Lily was very dear and wanted to make sure she had made things right with the Lord. Misty and I felt privileged to minister to her.”

  Misty reached forward and patted John’s hand. Al was proud of his wife. Even in the midst of her own pain, she could step outside herself to focus on ministering to others.

  John smiled. “I didn’t recognize you, Pastor, without your suit, but when I saw your driver’s license, I knew you were one and the same. I just wanted to thank both of you once again.”

  “We have prayed for you and your family, John,” Misty told him. “I know losing a loved one is never easy, especially at such a young age.”

  “Yeah, she was just thirty-five. I miss Lily every day. Thanks again, Pastor and Mrs. Shepherd.”

  “Please, friend, just Al and Misty,” Al said.

  “Sure thing.” John nodded. “Here’s the form. I’m going to do my darnedest to get this scum. We got a good set of prints, so probably it won’t be long.”

  After John assisted Misty in filling out the police report, he walked them to the door and hugged them both. “You two are some great folks. Take care of yourselves. You’ve got my card. Call and let me know if you need anything at all, you hear me now?”

  “We will, John,” Al said. “Come join us for services sometime and stay for lunch, too.”

  “I might just do that.”

  Al and Misty returned to the car. “You okay?” Al asked her once they were settled inside.

  She leaned over and kissed him gently. “I am. Thank you for loving me so much, Al Shepherd.”

  “I wish I could have saved you from this, sweetheart. I know this is Satan’s attempt to stop what the Lord wants to do through us.” Al told Misty about the trouble with his car and the weird call from Mr. Wickford. “But the most amazing part is what I saw when I was holding you in the apartment after I got home.” As he shared his vision, Misty stared wide-eyed.

  “Oh, honey,” Misty said, “the Lord is at work in our midst.”

  “Yes, He is,” Al agreed. “We have experienced so much opposition today, more than on any other day I can remember. It’s been a battle, but you know what? The Lord is going to get us through this and get the glory through all that has happened.”

  Misty nodded. “The Word says that we wrestle not against flesh and blood but against principalities, against powers, against rulers of this dark world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Since the minute we set ourselves to pray, Al, all hell has broken loose. But God! He said the battle is not ours but His.”

  As Al looked at his beautiful Misty, he felt his heart bursting with love for her. He took her hand and kissed it. “Maybe you should be doing the preaching, girl.” He smiled. “I’m supposed to be encouraging you, and instead here you are encouraging Pastor Al.” He quickly bowed his head. “Lord, we thank You that You have given us the victory. We continue forward, knowing that You are with us through the power and comfort of the Holy Spirit. Misty and I thank You for sending your mighty angels to fight for us and to protect us. Let us successfully complete what You have purposed for us. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Misty said. She flipped on the radio and sang to the Lord with Tasha Cobbs Leonard’s “I’m Getting Ready” as they made their way back to their apartment.

  Once there, Al was surprised to see people he knew standing in the apartment parking lot. The group seemed to be led by Deacon Nunnely. “What in the world? Is that Sondra Cantu, Larry Finley, and . . .” They were all church members — and all carrying signs that read: We Love You, Pastor Al & First Lady Misty! “What are they doing here?” Al asked Misty. “Do you think they know what happened?”

  “I have no idea, honey,” his wife answered.

  Al looked at her, perplexed, and pulled into their parking space. “Stay here for a minute while I explain your bruises and scrapes, just in case.” As soon as he exited the car, several of their members gathered around and hugged him.

  “Hi, everyone, what a surprise. What — what’s going on?” He forced a smile.

  “Pastor Al, where’s first lady Misty? We’ve got a surprise for you both,” Deacon Nunnely said. The congregation clapped in response.

  “A surprise?” Al scratched his head in hesitation, trying to think of what he should do. He decided just to let the congregation in on what he and Misty’s day had entailed. “Well, church, before you share your surprise,” he said, forcing another smile, “I have to tell you that today has been very trying for Misty and me. Does anyone here know what happened and where we have just come back from?”

  Among the crowd, heads were shaking no.

  “The church?” asked one of the kids.

  “No, Matthew. Good guess. I was there earlier, but that’s not where we were just a bit ago. Misty? Can you come out, honey?” Al called. Misty got out of the car and faced their church family. “Misty and I just returned from the police station. We had to fill out a police report.”

  A surge of gasps came from the crowd.

  “Misty, your face, honey, your arms — what happened?” one of the ladies asked.

  Misty grabbed Al’s hand and held on tight.

  “I want you all to know what happened today and the miracle that our Lord has performed in our midst,” Al said to the group. He looked around to find not only his church members listening but also others milling about who lived nearby. Some neighbors had even
peeked their heads out of their windows to hear what the pastor was saying.

  “Well, Church, what was intended to harm us, God turned around for our good. From all that we’ve been through today, we are even more convinced that God is going to get us through, what we are going through. We are determined to continue forward. No matter how deep our darkness may seem, the Lord will brighten your path as you go. Today the Lord enabled us to overcome many things that the devil tried throwing at us to divert our attention from the time of prayer God has called us to, the most serious affecting Misty.” Al closed his eyes to keep the tears away. He shook his head, sniffed, and tried hard to bring his emotions into check. “After I’d just had a powerful time of prayer this morning, I got a call from my sweet wife.” Al looked into Misty’s eyes. “The call was urgent. An emergency. She needed me to come home immediately. She had walked in on a burglar.”

  More gasps issued from the crowd.

  “The only problem was that my car would not start. Wouldn’t make a sound. You all would have thought me a madman if you had seen me in that church parking lot this morning when I couldn’t get that car working.” Al shook his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. “I got out of that car. I screamed at it in Jesus’ name. I hit it and kicked it in Jesus’ name and commanded it to start. And you know what? It did!”

  “Oh, honey,” Misty hugged her husband tight. “Family, I am hearing this with you for the first time,” Misty said. “We haven’t had time to discuss all of what happened today. I had just finished grocery shopping this morning and had carried the groceries up to our apartment. When I opened the door, as Al said, th-there was someone in there. I-I dropped the groceries and tried to run back out but . . .” she paused, swallowing hard. “I could see evil in his eyes. He grabbed my arms and pushed my face against the wall. I’m sure he would have hurt me more —”

  “Oh, honey,” Deacon Nunnely’ s wife, Evelyn, said as she eyed Misty’s bruised arms. Many others expressing concern as well.

  Al took his wife in his arms.

  “I’m not finished, Church,” Misty said. “I began to call loudly upon the name of Jesus, over and over. It just came up out of me. I didn’t have time to think of anything but to call on His name. All of a sudden that man let me go and began to back up. He kept looking above and behind me. His eyes were so filled with terror that he began to tremble. I looked behind me, too, but saw nothing. Before I could turn back around, he had run out the door.”

  “I praise the Lord,” Al said. “I’m sure that the Lord sent His angel to keep this evil person from harming my wife further.”

  “Amen,” many in the crowd said and rushed forward to embrace and comfort Al and Misty.

  Deacon Nunnely raised his hands to shush everyone. Even some of the little ones in the crowd quieted down. “Pastor Al, there is no god like our God. We knew nothing about any of these things until just now. But we all know that our God is a miracle-working God and that He hears our prayers before we pray them. He answers us before we call. We didn’t come because any of us knew of the trial you and Misty experienced today. We all decided to come today because, well, we would have waited until Sunday but several of the people standing here would have missed the surprise we have for you and Misty.”

  “A surprise?” Al and Misty asked.

  Some of the people in the crowd began weeping and raising their hands to the Lord. Some shouted out, “Praise You God; praise You, Jesus! You are a good God!”

  With tears in his eyes, Deacon Nunnely spoke up. “Pastor Al and First Lady Misty, we just want to let you know that the church body has finished construction on a brand-new parsonage for you. It is move-in ready. You know the construction we passed the other day on the way to lunch? You remarked about how nice looking it is.”

  Al nodded. “Yeah?”

  “That’s the one,” Deacon Nunnely answered.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Al asked, eyes wide.

  “Here are the keys,” Deacon Nunnely said, beaming and holding out a set of keys to Pastor Al and to Misty.

  Al looked around in sheer astonishment. “Really? Oh, my goodness! This is nothing but God, nothing but the Lord, church family!” Al said.

  “Thank you!” Misty cried, as though she could barely get her words out. “Thank you, thank you!”

  In shock, Al reached out to accept the keys.

  Everyone clapped, shouted their congratulations, and hugged Al and Misty heartily.

  Then, right there in the parking lot, Al knelt, as did the entire church body, and lifted a prayer of thanksgiving and praise to the Father above, the Holy One, the Giver of good and perfect gifts.

  Chapter

  20

  Mayor Truman Henderson jumped into the backseat and pulled the car door closed. “Whew,” he said, breathing out loudly, as he leaned his head back and peered out of the dark-tinted window. The charcoal colored sedan merged briskly into traffic and rolled past the towering skyscrapers that lined elegant downtown Mannford.

  “Look at it all, Johnny,” Truman said to his driver. “I made this city what it is today.”

  Jonathon’s nod was nearly imperceptible as he drove on in silence.

  “Yessir, I made Mannford what it is — and Mannford has made me what I am,” Truman added ruefully.

  His eyes were fixed on the changing scene revealed through his car window as they left the architectural trappings of downtown and rolled through the Bisque Heights. During his reelection campaign, he had taken credit for this residential neighborhood’s successful regentrification. He’d won the election on the platform of “We Can Do Better” — words he’d borrowed from a speech given in 1960 by then-Senator John F. Kennedy — coupled with promises to “Clean Up Mannford.” This strategy had brought him the landslide victory he’d sought, but only after a full-out, mud-slinging, dirty campaign that he’d fought with sheer ferocity — destroying his opponent’s career and reputation in the process.

  Truman smoothed back his thick greying hair, laid his head against the headrest, and closed his eyes. Massaging his temples, he thought back on the messy campaign and also brooded over his present predicament.

  How’d I come to This? he agonized.

  On Cherry Street, they rolled to a stop in front of an off-color, nondescript, brick house in the middle of Green Ridge, a quiet lower-middle-class neighborhood.

  Jonathon opened his door and looked around cautiously. His close-crew-cut blond hair and steely blue eyes gave him a military look. “Let me go check everything out,” he said, looking intently at his boss. At Truman’s nod, Jonathon slid out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

  Truman watched Jonathon approach the house. At the front door, the man gave three slow knocks and five fast. After the door cracked open, Jonathon said a few words and then nodded toward the mayor.

  “Whew!” Truman exhaled, rubbing his hands together. He donned a baseball cap and dark glasses and stepped out of the car. He couldn’t help but glance around to make sure no one was nearby to recognize him and then hurried his step.

  “May-Or Henderson,” Deshaun said sardonically once Truman and Jonathan had stepped into the main room of the house. Deshaun was standing close by a handsome carved-cherrywood table laden with a couple sawed-off shotguns, an AK-47 assault rifle, and several pistols. With arms akimbo he stood. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Cut the crap, Deshaun. You and I have got problems we need to work out!”

  “You and I? Let’s rephrase that. You, May-Or, have problems you need to work out. Deshaun ain’t got nothing to do with yo’ little problems.”

  Truman felt his face go red. He advanced toward Deshaun. “We had an agreement. You said you would contain our little problem if I kept the heat off your butt. You didn’t hold up to your end of the bargain.”

  When he saw Deshaun smirk, Truman had to subdue a rage that was p
ushing him to reach over and choke the other man. “I like loyalty, Deshaun,” he shouted. “I like respect. I’ve had your back for years now. But you dropped the dang ball!”

  Truman nodded at Jonathon who positioned himself cautiously by the steel door, placing his hand near his weapon.

  Deshaun smirked at both men and moved his hand close to his own semi-automatic weapon. But just as quickly, he threw up the other hand in mock defense. “Hey, man, as you can see, I ain’t running no daycare around here. Deshaun a businessman and Deshaun do run his business well. You know Deshaun got the best stuff this side of the ocean. Ain’t heard you or homeboy over there, either one of you, complain once about my stash or my girls. Deshaun a businessman, not a dang nanny. But you and I got something good going on. Yeah, May-Or. You continue to pat my back; I continue to pat yours.”

  “Now!” Deshaun yelled into the air, then spoke in a whisper, “Let’s put this little thing behind us. You keep the heat off my butt, Deshaun keep you in the powder and the girls.” He pounded his chest with one hand. “Check this stuff out, and you all a’ be comin’ back fo’ mo’!”

  Deshaun smiled, showing off his gold teeth. With one hand, he grasped his gun firmly and with the other hand, he leaned over an ornately designed wooden table to grab two clear plastic bags bulging with white powdery cocaine. He tossed one to Truman and the other to Jonathon.

  At the sight of the substantial amount of coke, Truman could feel his anger evaporate. “All right, Deshaun, I . . . I guess there was not much you could do.” The two men tucked the bags into their breast pockets. “We have handled this situation. You still have my protection, but you need to protect me from the riff-raff.”

  Deshaun threw both hands up. “Hey, my word is my bond. From here on out, May-Or, Deshaun got your back. Now I think we finished talkin’, May-Or.”