Sins of the Father

by Angela Benson

  I decided that becoming a published author was a realistic goal in 1992 at a Romantic Times Magazine Readers and Writers Convention. I remember sitting in a workshop led by three published romance writers. As I listened to them talk about how they wrote their stories, the thought that filled my mind was, They don’t look any smarter than I am. If they can write a book, so can I.

  Of course, the actual experience of writing a book turned out to be more difficult than I thought it would be, but I persevered. After that convention, I went back home, joined the local chapter of Romance Writers of America (RWA), and began my first novel. That novel, which I started in early 1992, was completed in early 1993, sold to Arabesque in late 1993, and arrived in bookstores in late 1994.

  My advice to new writers is to keep writing. I accumulated a stack of rejection letters from publishing houses and agents. Every time I’d get a rejection, I’d send out another proposal or query letter. Remember, “The race doesn’t go to the swiftest, but to him who endures to the end.”

  What are some of your favorite books and writers? What titles would you recommend to a reader?

  Two books that touched me most deeply are Sharon Ewell Foster’s Passing by Samaria and Julie Garwood’s For the Roses. The stories, though very different, showed me how powerful fiction can be in helping us see ourselves, our hypocrisies, and our goodness. Passing by Samaria, which has racism as one of its themes, brought home for me how difficult forgiveness can be. For the Roses, a simple western romance, had me crying like a baby. I wasn’t crying because of the romance, though. I was crying because of the relationship between five orphans, one black, who made themselves into a family.

  An Excerpt from

  Delilah’s Daughters by Angela Benson

  Prologue

  On days like today, Rocklin “Rocky” Monroe hated being dead.

  He eased down on the bench next to his wife, Delilah, who sat at the piano near the back of the stage, beaming with pride as their three daughters—“Delilah’s Daughters,” as he’d named their singing trio—took their bows to a standing ovation at the annual Gospelfest in Birmingham, Alabama. The sassy and upbeat rendition of “Revive Us Again,” arranged by their youngest, Alisha, had brought the house to its feet. He put his arm around Delilah’s shoulders. You did good, sweetheart, he whispered, even though he knew neither she nor those around her could hear him.

  She shivered, rubbed her arms, and he knew she felt his presence. “These are our girls, Rocky,” she murmured softly. “I’m so proud of them, and I know you would be too.”

  I am proud of them! he wanted to shout, but knew it would do no good. He could see her, touch her, smell her, but she could only sense his presence. As he’d learned in the three years since a blood clot in his lung led to his untimely and totally unexpected demise, being dead was certainly a limiting experience.

  The applause grew amid chants of “Praise Him!” and “More, more!”The girls glanced back at their mother, whose fingers flowed across the keyboard as they launched into Alisha’s rendition of “Take My Life and Let It Be.”Their eldest, Roxanne, who had the best voice of the three, brought the lyrics alive. When she crooned, “Take my voice and let me sing,” he jumped to his feet along with the audience. Who could keep sitting when his baby poured out her heart and soul that way? It was as though her words became the words of the hearts of her listeners. It wasn’t her song anymore—it was everybody’s song.

  Alisha and Veronica backed Roxanne up in perfect harmony. Their choreographed movements, which he knew to be the work of Veronica, the born entertainer of the family, were every bit as powerful as the lyrics. The three of them were angels, singing and dancing with joy before their Lord.

  The song ended with the audience on its feet in another ovation and moment of praise. He rushed toward his girls, his heart more full of love now than it had ever been. He wondered how that could be possible, since he had loved them with all that was in him when he was alive. Maybe his heart had grown larger in death.

  He reached Alisha first. His baby girl was the shy one who had always been closer to her mother than to him. He brushed a kiss against her forehead and whispered, I love you, in her ear. When he pulled back, her eyes were full of tears. She missed him, he knew, but she also knew he loved her and that he was there with her.

  He moved next to Roxanne, favoring her with a kiss and the same I love you. Parents weren’t supposed to have favorites, but God help him, Roxanne had been his favorite. He guessed it was because she was most like him. While Alisha and Veronica enjoyed singing, Roxanne had to sing. The music gave her life and purpose. She sang when she was happy and when she was sad. He knew, too, that she sang when she missed him, sang until she felt him in every part of her being. In those times, he saw her heart in ways he hadn’t seen it when he’d been alive. Sometimes he ached for Roxanne because along with sharing his love for music, she also shared his willingness to do anything for it. Praying she would make better choices than he had, he pressed a second kiss against her forehead, then moved on to his middle daughter.

  Ah, Veronica, the child he least understood. She worried him more than the other two. He reached her as the trio moved down the stairs in front of the stage and toward the audience. He managed a whisper kiss against her cheek, so fleeting he was unsure she even felt it. His heart ached that Veronica was as elusive to him in his death as she had been when he was alive. Her thirst for the limelight scared him at times. While he was glad that she was so at ease with the spotlight, he didn’t want it to consume her. He’d hoped her marriage would provide her with some much-needed perspective, but her husband seemed to fuel that fire rather than help calm it.

  Shaking off his melancholy, Rocky stood back and watched with pride as his girls mingled with the audience, showing their appreciation with handshakes and hugs. Many of the audience members knew the girls—had known them since they were kids—which made the sharing now even more special. He glanced back and saw Delilah looking on them with pride as well.

  He turned to go back to his wife, but a tall, slender man reached her first. Who is that? he wondered.

  “Hey, Mrs. Monroe,” the man said, causing Delilah to look up at him.

  “Roy,” she said, getting up to give him a hug. “It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”

  Roy? Rocky thought. That’s Roy Stiles? Well, that boy sure has lost a lot of weight. How long has it been since I last saw him?

  Roy hugged Delilah back. “I missed Gospelfest the last couple of years because of American Star commitments, but I’m back now. I don’t plan to miss another one.”

  “We understand, Roy,” Delilah said. “We’re all so proud of you. You’re an example to all the young people. Us old ones too,” she added with a twinkle in her eye.

  “I can feel the love, Mrs. Monroe. Some people look at me and think I was an overnight success. I have to tell them that my overnight took fifteen years.”

  Delilah laughed. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  Rocky agreed. He’d watched Roy’s career, and he’d wanted what Roy had for his girls: to be given the opportunity to sing before a television audience of millions. Like Roy, his girls sang a blend of gospel and pop that he called “gospel for the world,” and as with Roy, he hoped a television audience would embrace them and their sound. You couldn’t pay for that kind of exposure.

  Roy pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his shirt pocket. “Delilah’s Daughters is special, Mrs. Monroe, really special. They’ve only gotten better over the years.”

  Delilah beamed. “That’s nice of you to say.”

  Roy shook his head. “I’m not being nice. I’m being honest. They need the kind of exposure that I got on AS.”

  “If only there were an American Star for groups,” she said.

  Rocky had been thinking the same thing.

  Roy chuckled. “Well, there is—or there will be.”He handed her the paper he had pulled out of his pocket. Rocky move
d over to stand behind Delilah so he could read it too. “It’s a spin-off of American Star that’s going to be filmed in Atlanta,” Roy said. “They take solo acts and groups. I think Delilah’s Daughters should try out.”

  I do too, Rocky said, forgetting that nobody could hear him. According to the flyer, the winners of the Sing for America competition would get a recording contract worth around $300,000.Right then, he began praying Delilah’s Daughters would win.

  “I can’t believe this,” Delilah said, still staring at the flyer. “This is perfect for the girls.”She looked up at Roy. “I don’t know if they’re ready, though. Since their father died, they haven’t had much of a rehearsal schedule. Getting ready for Gospelfest each year is a major effort.”

  What are you saying, Delilah? Rocky shouted at his wife. The girls are more than ready! If they could pull themselves together for a Gospelfest performance a few short months after I died, they can certainly get ready for this contest.

  “Believe me, Mrs. Monroe,” Roy said, “they’re ready. Of course, more rehearsal time will help, but to be honest, I don’t see how they can pass up an opportunity to try out. If they’re chosen to compete, it can be a life-changing experience.”

  Not only will they compete, Rocky said, touching Delilah’s arm and willing her his confidence, but our girls are gonna win this thing.

  “I’ll talk to the girls about it,” Delilah said, with a little bit more enthusiasm. “What could it hurt?”

  Roy smiled again. “That’s exactly what I thought when I tried out for American Star, and look what happened.”He hugged her again. “I need to head off to the green stage for my performance. I’ll look for you and the girls in the audience.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Delilah said. She stared at the flyer after Roy left. “If only Rocky were here,” she murmured.

  I am here, Rocky said, his frustration at being unheard growing. Though this was his third Gospelfest visitation, the boundaries between the living and the dead still grated on him. The girls have to try out. They’re going to win this thing. It’s their destiny. I feel it, Dee.

  He watched his wife as a light chuckle escaped her lips. She felt the girls’ destiny too. He knew she did. When she quickly sobered, he knew she was thinking about him and his dream for Delilah’s Daughters to one day become a chart-topping gospel group. It was a dream that had begun forming early in their marriage, after they’d survived a major challenge to their love and recommitted themselves to each other and their family. It was a dream that later had been put on hold so the girls could complete their education. The plan had been for them to resume their careers after they finished college, but he’d died soon enough after Alisha’s graduation that the dream had been lost in their grief over his death.

  “Maybe it’s time,” Delilah murmured to herself. “The girls have to do this for Rocky—I have to do this for Rocky.”

  Rocky smiled, his heart full. He never knew what to expect during his yearly visits with his family, but this year was proving especially gratifying as he got to be a part of the moment when his daughters restarted the music careers he had always known were destined to be theirs. He pressed a kiss against his wife’s forehead, thankful for her continued belief in their daughters’ gifts. By the time he returned next year, Delilah’s Daughters would be well on their way to bringing their brand of music to households all over the world.

  Chapter One

  Six months later

  Television commercials were a legal form of torture. Delilah Monroe was convinced of it as she sat in the front row of the studio audience of the hit show Sing for America.This had to be the tenth commercial they’d gone to since the show started forty-five minutes ago. The studio folks said the ad segments were a minute long, but when she checked her watch for what must have been the umpteenth time, she realized this last one had gone on for at least three minutes. She frowned, wondering where she should send her complaint. How could a live sixty-minute show have five hundred three-minute commercials? Okay, five hundred was an exaggeration, but still. . . .

  She drummed her fingers on the armrest of her seat in a cadence that matched the beat of her heart. She hoped she didn’t have a heart attack while she waited for the show to resume. No way did she want to miss the announcement of the three finalists.

  “They’re going to make the finals, Mom,” said her son-in-law, Dexter Timmons, putting his hand atop hers to stop the drumming. “They made it through the quarterfinals last month. They’re going to make it through the semifinals tonight. And then next month they’re going to win it all. I can feel it.”

  Delilah gave him a fake smile. She’d never liked him and doubted she ever would. What Veronica saw in him she’d never know. All three of her daughters said he looked like Boris Kodjoe, the six-foot cutie from the television show Soul Food, but to her he looked more like Boris Karloff, the man who played the monsters in old movies now only seen on American Movie Classics. The way Delilah saw it, Veronica had only gotten involved with Dexter to escape the pain of her father’s death. “I wish they’d get on with it,” she said. “These commercials are going to be the death of me.”

  “They’re drawing out the suspense,” Dexter said in that know-it-all tone he always used with her, Roxanne, and Alisha. Let some folks get an advanced degree and they got a big head. She respected the MFA as much as the next person, but she didn’t think it was a requirement to become a successful artist. She didn’t have one, neither did Roxanne or Alisha, and Dexter looked down on them for it. Only Veronica had chosen to pursue graduate study in the arts, so he considered her his intellectual and professional equal. Well, almost his equal. Dexter was a professor, while Veronica was still a student. The good news was that she wasn’t his student. Veronica was in the dance program, while he was on the creative writing faculty. At least, he had been until his recent tenure denial at the University of Alabama. She guessed a book every three years didn’t cut it. Anyway, he had the upcoming school year to find a new position. By then, Veronica would have her degree, and there was no telling where he’d drag her baby. That was another reason she didn’t like him. She liked her family close. Both Roxanne and Alisha still lived in Birmingham, though Roxanne did travel a lot in her job.

  “I don’t know if my heart will hold out until the announcement of the finalists,” she said.

  Dexter laughed. “I’m gonna tell you like you’re always telling me and Veronica: have faith.”

  Delilah hated to admit it, but he was right. She didn’t give him much credit for it, though, since even a stopped clock is right twice a day. “I have faith,” she said. “I still want them to hurry up and announce the finalists.”

  Dexter chuckled. “Delilah’s Daughters will make the finals. You saw them up there, Mom. Your three daughters tore it up. You were right to have them sing ’I Believe I Can Fly.’ They brought the house down.”

  Delilah smiled in agreement. Her daughters had brought the entire audience to its feet with their rendition of the old standard. They made her proud. Her only disappointment was that Rocky wasn’t here to share in this moment. He’d been the first to recognize their daughters’ talent. And he’d been their biggest supporter and promoter. She also wished Tommy could be here, but she understood and agreed with his reasons for staying away.

  The houselights came up then, and the crowd began a rousing applause, followed by chants of the names of the most popular acts. “Delilah’s Daughters” rang out in the midst of about five other names, and Delilah’s eyes grew damp with unshed tears of joy. Her daughters had developed a large fan base. Rocky would have loved it.

  The skinny emcee, Morris Williams, came out onto the stage. “Are y’all having a good time?” he asked the crowd.

  The yeahs and yays were so loud, Delilah almost covered her ears. Almost. She was one of the ones yelling.

  “Well, the time you’ve been waiting for is upon us.”

  Delilah’s heart raced as the crowd grew quiet.

 
“We’re going to select three finalists from tonight’s ten semifinalists,” Morris continued. “My only regret is that all ten acts won’t make it to the finals. So before we announce the final three, let’s show some love to all of our semifinalists.”

  The crowd roared in cheers and applause.

  As Morris introduced each semifinal act, they came on the stage, took a bow, and then went to their designated place on the dais. It seemed to take him forever to get to Delilah’s Daughters.

  “From the lovely city of Birmingham, Alabama, we have Delilah’s Daughters,” he finally said.

  An explosion of applause rang out as her three daughters—Veronica and Roxanne, all long and lean like their father, and Alisha, her baby girl who, like her, was not as long and a bit on the thick side—joined the other finalists onstage. Tears welled in Delilah’s eyes. She was so proud of them—beautiful, talented, and kind. That was the way she and Rocky had raised them. They had taught their girls that their beauty and talents were gifts from God and they should treat them accordingly. Egos were kept in check in the Monroe household. Rocky had seen to it. And after he died, she’d taken on the job.

  As the applause for the tenth and last semifinal act died down, Delilah’s anxiety rose.

  Morris held up an oversized envelope. “In this envelope,” he said, “I have the names of the three acts that have made it to the finals.”

  A hush came over the audience as he lowered the envelope and then opened it. He took a deep breath. “Our first finalist is Blue Heart.”

  The audience erupted into another round of applause as the country band from Nashville stepped forward, hugging and slapping each other on the back with joy. Delilah had to admit that they had been good and deserved to be finalists.

  She held her breath as Morris read the name of the second finalist.

  “Our second finalist is Annie Jones.”