This Do in Remembrance of Me
Three days later, Sister Morrisohn was rushed to Jackson Memorial Hospital.
Elwyn found out about it from Brother Al, who found out from Sister McGowan, whose lawn he was mowing—and she found out from Peachie McGowan (still in the hospital), who was walking to the cafeteria when they brought the president of the Missionary Society in.
“It was terrible,” Peachie said. “She was like clawing at her face. I tried to call you, but you were subbing. Mary didn’t know which school. I didn’t push it. I didn’t want to let on, you know? But I had to get hold of you somehow, so I called my ex-mother-in-law, who knows everybody’s whereabouts.”
Brother Al said, “Well I told Sister McGowan you been cutting grass in the same neighborhood all week by your old school. So I just waited for school time to be over, and I knew where you’d be at. I knew you was cutting the Lattimore house. Sister McGowan said that Peachie said she heard one of the doctors say that she ain’t never gonna make it out of the hospital again. It’s real sad. She ain’t even that old.”
Mary Parker screamed, “All this time! I should have known! You nastya**ed motherf—-ker! You pervert! You dog!”
She was a dangerous Mary when angry. She picked up heavy objects and launched them at velocities so high they disintegrated when they hit the walls.
“A woman older than your own momma!”
Elwyn ducked out of the way of his flying music trophies. Mary plucked his Buford Morrisohn Scholarship for the Outstanding College-Bound Christian plaque from the wall. The plaque had a glass and marble face, but it was oddly shaped and he misjudged its flight pattern, and it broke his ring finger before exploding into a million pieces on the floor. “Ouch. Ouch.”
Then she was on him. They fought like cornered cats. They were both bleeding in the end, but he got the worst of it.
Their son Benjamin, sitting in front of the TV, cried and cried. The nice police officer said, “Sir, I think it’s best you sleep somewhere else tonight. Do your parents or other relatives live in town? We could give you a ride there if you don’t have transportation.”
“I have a car.”
“Then you should leave now. We’ll wait to see that you go. It’s best when these things can be resolved. If they can’t be, then the law steps in,” said the nice police officer while removing the shackles from Elwyn’s wrists.
Chester Harbaugh and His Old-Time Fiddle Band
Chorus
I’m going away (going away)
Soon my love (soooon my love)
I’m going away (going away)
Where you can’t come
(yooou can’t come)
I’m going away (going away)
And that you know (thaaat you know)
My heart will stay (stay-yay-yay)
I love you so (I looove you so)
Verse 1 (Chet and Lester)
When we were young (we were young)
We played together (played together)
When we grew up (we grew up)
We fell in love (so in lo-o-o-vvvvve)
We had a home (home, home, home)
A life we shared (Oh yeahhh)
But now I go (Oh-oh)
And you can’t come
Serious fiddlin
Repeat chorus
Verse 2 (Just Lester with autoharp)
Each night I pray
To God above
That they will say
They’ve found a cure
(Chet Comes Back in; Chet, Lester, and autoharp take us home sweet)
For this thing inside (thing inside)
That’s taking me (taking me)
To that dark place (d-a-a-ark place)
Where you can’t come
(yooou can’t come)
Serious fiddlin
I’m going away (going away)
To that dark place (d-a-a-ark place)
My heart will stay (stay-yay-yay)
I love you so
(I looove you so)
Keep on fiddlin
Fade out
I’ll Meet You in the Morning
On November 4, Sister Morrisohn was released into the custody of her live-in lover.
She wanted to die at home.
Her brother Harrison came down. He was a tall man, skinny with sharp features, thinning hair, and skin so fair he could pass for white. He had a pained expression on his face when Elwyn and he met.
The lover.
And the brother, who knew not that he was a son.
The latter thought the former was “so young.”
The former thought the latter was “overtly homosexual,” which makes sense considering how vehemently she had claimed to despise them—she was quite clearly in denial.
Harrison nodded, smiling wanly, Elwyn put his hand on Harrison’s back, and they walked into the room where she lay sleeping. They sat in chairs placed round her bed. They talked in whispers about small things and large. Though they had never met as adults, they knew of each other. She had told Elwyn about Harrison, whom Elwyn had remembered as that light-skinned guy who used to sit with her when he was a kid. She had told Harrison about Elwyn, whom Harrison remembered as the boy who played the piano.
The lover.
And the son, who knew himself only as her brother.
When Elwyn complained how tough it was to find work these days, Harrison offered him a job as a technical writer at his company, but he would have to move to Boston. Elwyn was a Miami boy, palm trees and porno shops, plain and simple, so thanks for the offer, but he would have to turn it down. They continued to speak in whispers. She was just barely holding on.
Harrison said, “See, getting work nowadays is about attitude. Show them a little spine in the interview. Sell yourself.”
“Every job is a dead end. No one wants to hire you.”
“Show a little spine. She doesn’t know this, but I never finished grad school. And my undergraduate grades were piss poor. Yet I make six figures. You’ve got to be a fighter. Don’t take no for an answer. You have to learn to deal with rejection. The surest path to success is learning to overcome rejection.”
Sister Morrisohn made a small movement in the bed. She was awake, and she saw them together. Her men. Elwyn nudged Harrison, and Harrison kissed her on the forehead. She smiled as best she could under the circumstances.
The day nurse came into the room and said, “It’s time for her medicine.”
“Let me do it,” Elwyn said. He got up, filled the syringe, as they had taught him at the hospital, and cleared the air bubbles. He steadied her arm and injected her, then asked, “Better?”
Her words were slurred. “Better,” she said. “You should have been a nurse, that’s what you should have been. You could still be a nurse.” Then she closed her eyes again. These days she slept a lot.
“She’s right. You are good at that,” Harrison observed. Then he looked down at his mother, whom he believed to be his sister, but continued to speak to Elwyn. “A little spine. Show them a little spine and you’ll do all right.”
When Harrison finally went to bed, Elwyn remained at her side in his chair in her room. She was sleeping peacefully. He was overcome by sadness and began to weep, so he sang softly to stop the tears, which did not stop: I must tell Jesus all of my troubles I cannot bear these burdens alone in my distress He kindly will help me He ever loves and cares for His own I must tell Jesus I must tell Jesus I cannot bear these burdens alone I must tell Jesus I must tell Jesus, Jesus can help me Jesus alone.
She had been listening for some time. Her eyes were open. They were clear and alert, but the shadow of death was in them.
He said, “Don’t die, my love.”
She said, “I love you.”
He said, “Don’t die.”
She said, “Soon I will be done with the troubles of this world.”
“Don’t die,” he said.
“Will you meet me there?”
He was holding her h
and. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Will you meet me in the morning by the bright riverside?”
“When all sorrow has drifted away.”
“I’ll be standing by the portals.”
“With the gates open wide.”
“At the end of life’s long weary day.”
“I’ll meet you.”
“In the morning. In the morning.”
He was holding her weak and trembling hand. “With a how do you do.”
“And we’ll sit down. We’ll sit down.”
“By the river. By the river.”
“And with laughter old acquaintance renew.”
He was tightly holding her hand. They weren’t singing it. They were speaking it. They weren’t speaking it. They were meaning it. “You’ll know me in the morning. In the morning,” he said.
“By the smile that I’ll wear,” she answered, smiling as best she could so that he would recognize it in heaven when he saw her again.
“When I meet you. In the morning.”
“In the morning.”
“In the morning. In the city that’s built foursquare.”
“Built foursquare.”
He tenderly wiped the sweat from her brow. “I will meet you there,” he told her.
“Promise me.”
He crossed his heart. Then he told her: “Don’t die.”
She inhaled a deep breath. After exhaling, she said, “I wish he had lived.”
“Who?”
“Our baby.”
“What baby?”
“I gave up our baby.”
Her eyes had darkened again, and he could not tell whether she was speaking to him or to a dream.
“I gave up our baby because I loved you too much to use him against you. You remember him? His name was Elwyn. He had my eyes and your skin. He played the piano and I loved him and you would have loved him. He played the piano so well. You taught him to play. I will meet him. In the morning. By the river. I will know him by the smile. That he wears. You didn’t uncover my fountain, it was … abortion.”
“Elaine, please, you don’t have to tell me this.”
“Open confession … good for the soul.”
“You don’t have to.”
“ … I don’t want to go to hell.”
She felt herself drifting off to somewhere dark and sweet and restful and quiet, and it seemed so good and so easy to go, but she knew that he hated when she kept things from him, so she gathered what was left of her strength and put it in her breath and pushed her breath over her tongue so that she could tell him: “It was Beverly Morrisohn seduced me.”
“No, Elaine. You don’t have to tell me any of this.”
“And your father …”
“No, Elaine, you don’t have to tell me. Just be here with me. Just stay here. Don’t go away. Please don’t leave me.”
“Your father … I know you wanted to ask … I know you could not ask … Roscoe and I … never … ever … were just friends … just good friends …”
“I love you, my darling. You don’t have to tell me any of this.”
And truly she didn’t have to, because though he had come to learn it late, Elwyn, here by her side on her deathbed, was now aware that he loved her for everything that she was and meant to him and therefore he had to accept everything that had made her who she was. He had come to accept all the good that had happened to her as well as the bad, the known as well as the secret, for the end result was this good thing, this woman he loved, the only woman he loved. The only one he would ever love.
For her part, it felt so sweet to go, but she would not release her strength to the winds just yet, for there was one dominant thought in her heart: Elwyn must know. I will tell him now so that when he sees me by the river he will know me. He will know me by the smile that I wear. He will know me by the smile he put there.
Thus, she did tell him and he did listen. Her softly spoken, delicately accented words floated up to heaven to open the gates to where she would be going soon.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you.”
“I want you … to know that … I love you … my darling.”
Then she went to sleep again.
Elwyn observed that it was no normal sleep.
It was a troubled sleep.
They rushed her to the hospital again, but the angels had come to take her home. As Jacob wrestled with his angel, Sister Morrisohn wrestled with hers. She lasted until morning.
She left him in the morning.
At the funeral, Elwyn sat, despite the protest of all, as her next of kin. His mother, his father—they could not face his proud, defiant countenance. Harrison sat on one side of him. Benny, at Elwyn’s request, sat on the other. It was the biggest funeral in the history of the church. All of the gossips were in attendance. Beverly Morrisohn was not. Mary Parker and Benjamin were not.
After the ceremony, Elwyn and Harrison went back to the big house in Coral Gables to set things in order. She left most of it, the complicated things, insurance, real estate, investments, to Harrison, her brother. She left a nice chunk for the church. For Elwyn, she left a big check, which was a nice chunk too, but it did not dispel his grief. Elwyn went upstairs to the tryst room and stared out the window they used to look through while making love. He uttered a stream of swear words.
On December 21, four days before Christmas, his marriage to Mary was officially dissolved. She got three-quarters of the big check that Sister Morrisohn had left him, despite the efforts of his attorney.
All in all, 1991 was the worst year of Elwyn’s life.
The Years of Borning and Begats: The Faithful
1845–1875: Bessie, a Freedwoman (mother of Aunti and Momma).
1859–1949: Aunti (Glovine’s mother), a.k.a. Aunty Hames, sometimes Aunty Hanes (given name of Red Annie, slave girl): daughter of slaves Bessie and Uncle Red Rufus of the Colonel Hanes Culpeppar Plantation, Jenkins, Georgia.
1870–1935: Momma (Mamie’s mother; also Aunti’s half sister), a.k.a. “Big” Mamie Culpepper: daughter of Freedwoman Bessie and Freedman Mr. Lonnie Culpepper (or Mr. Lundi? Culpepper) formerly of the Colonel Hanes Culpeppar Plantation, Jenkins, Georgia.
1884–1942: Sarai Mayfield, a.k.a. Momma Mayfield (Orphelia Mayfield’s mother; also Elaine Morrisohn’s grandmother).
1896–1963: Glovine Morrisohn (née Hames): Hames, alternate spelling of “Hanes” from the Colonel Hanes Culpeppar Plantation, Jenkins, Georgia.
1901–1979: Buford Vansen Morrisohn.
1904–1952: Orphelia Franklin (née Mayfield) (Elaine Morrisohn’s mother).
1908–1993: Mamie Cooper (née Culpepper), a.k.a. “Little” Mamie Culpepper (Culpepper, a version of “Culpeppar” from the Colonel Hanes Culpeppar Plantation, Jenkins, Georgia).
1913–1972: Frank Lester Franklin (Elaine Morrisohn’s father).
1922–1943: Jefferson Thomas Cooper.
1935—: Beverly Morrisohn: daughter of Glovine and Buford Morrisohn.
1937–1991: Elaine Morrisohn (née Franklin).
1941—: Roscoe Parker (Elwyn’s father).
1942—: Isadore Parker (née Cooper) (Elwyn’s mother): daughter of Mamie Cooper and Buford Morrisohn.
1950—: Harrison Franklin (Sister Morrisohn’s brother/son).
1958—: Barry Sebastian-Bach McGowan.
1959—: E.C. Philip.
1963—: Benny Willett (Roscoe’s son).
1963—: Elwyn Parker.
1963—: Peachie McGowan (née Gregory).
1964—: Marie Willett (née Pierre) (Benny’s wife).
1968—: Mary Parker (née Peters) (Elwyn’s ex-wife).
1986—: Benjamin James Parker: son of Elwyn Parker.
The Years of Borning and Begats: Founders of the Faith
177?—1840: Cuthbert Rogers (founding member of the Faith).
1780–1831: Elwyn James the Younger (founding member of the Faith).
1809–1901: Curtis Rogers
(Patriarch of the Faith).
1819–1866: Sanders Q. Dunbar (Patriarch of the Holy Rollers): a good man, like Adam, led astray by his wife, the apostate and reveler Dorothea Lovell.
1835–1912: Dorothea Dunbar (née Lovell): the apostate and false Prophet (so-called Prophetess of the Holy Rollers).
1838–1901: Josiah “Josh” Johnson, Freedman (Black Elder of the Faith) (Elder brother of Mosiah and Kinew).
1838–1909: Sixto Smith, runaway (Black Elder of the Faith).
1840–1912: Hiram Kirkaby Rogers (Bishop of the Faith).
1840–1920: Mosiah Johnson, Freedman (Black Elder of the Faith) (also first Black Bishop of the Faith/Bishop of Black congregations only).
1841–1879: Kinew Johnson, Freedman (Black Elder of the Faith).
1870–1933: Elwyn James Rogers (Bishop of the Faith).
1902–1981: Paul Silas Rogers (Bishop of the Faith).
1935—: Kirkaby Cuthbert Rogers (Bishop of the Faith).
Favorite Hymns & Performances
Glovine Morrisohn. Hymns: “There Is a Fountain”; “When They Ring Those Golden Bells”; “How I Got Over.” Professional Performance: The Five Blind Boys of Alabama—“I’m a Rolling.” Local Performance: Sister McGowan on piano and vocals—“He Could Have Called Ten Thousand Angels.”
Buford Vansen Morrisohn. Hymns: “Someday the Silver Cord Will Break”; “Come Ye Disconsolate”; “Remind Me, Dear Lord.” Professional Performance: The Davis Sisters—“Remind Me, Dear Lord.” Local Performance: Elwyn Parker—“Jesus Loves the Little Children,” piano solo.
Mamie Cooper. Hymns: “In the Garden”; “When They Ring Those Golden Bells”; “Real, Real, Real, Jesus Is Real to Me.” Professional Performance: Clara Ward—“How I Got Over.” Local Performance: Elwyn Parker—“I Must Tell Jesus,” piano and congregation.
Jefferson Thomas Cooper. Hymns: “Amazing Grace”; “I Surrender All”; “Highway to Heaven.” Professional Performance: Paul Robeson—“I’m a Soldier.” Local Performance: Mamie Culpepper—“Blessed Assurance,” piano and voice.
Elaine Morrisohn. Hymns: “Amazing Grace”; “My Surrender”; “I’ll Meet You in the Morning”; “Precious Memories.” Professional Performance: Chester Harbaugh—“Whispering Hope”; Jim Reeves—“Whispering Hope”; Tennessee Ernie Ford—“Whispering Hope”; Blackwood Brothers, JD Sumner solo version—“He Bought My Soul at Calvary.” Local Performance: Elwyn Parker—“I Must Tell Jesus”/“I Need Thee Every Hour,” piano and congregation.
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