How Sweet the Sound

by Vanessa Miller

  Shar’s shoulders slumped with the knowledge of just how poor and perplexed she was. She had nothing and no way to make anything better. She had dreams bigger than the stampede of Negroes who left the South for friendlier northern lands. Her daddy had promised that things would be better up north. But here they were on the South Side of Chicago, living in the Black Belt, where things didn’t seem no better.

  Oh, they weren’t getting lynched like so many of her family members had in the South, but the white folks in Chicago acted like colored folks was trying to steal something from ’em. They put restrictions on everything, just like them Jim Crow southerners. The Restrictive Covenants in the North meant that her family was going to be living in the same old dilapidated shack that they thought they had left behind. Her daddy couldn’t even find work half the time, while she and her mama took in rich white ladies’ washing to help put food on the table.

  If only she could have won that hundred dollars of gold from that Miss Bronze America pageant. But the judges weren’t too thrilled with the song she’d picked. The winner had been a girl who sang “Amazing Grace,” a song that twenty-five other contestants had chosen to sing. Shar had been down in the dumps after that contest. But Pastor Landon had come up to her after the competition and told her that she sounded like an angel singing praises to the Lord.

  Pastor Landon had even said that she was the prettiest girl in the pageant and had walked her home. On the way home, Shar’s mama had nudged her and whispered, “Smile, girl, show the man those deep dimples.” As if that was going to cause him to ask for her hand in marriage right then and there. But nevertheless, Shar smiled like her mama told her. And she’d been smiling ever since. Because a year after they met, Landon had come to the house and asked her father if he could court her. Now she and Pastor Landon kept company at least one day a week. She loved when Landon walked her home or when he talked to her about his dreams of helping the people in their community. Her mama kept telling her that Landon would be asking for her hand soon and very soon. But then Landon would get so tied up with his work that Shar began wondering if she and her mama was just wishing in the wind.

  As far as Shar was concerned, she was stuck where she was, with no change in sight. At nineteen, Shar Gracey had had her fill of living in poor and restrictive conditions. She wanted to be free. Josephine Baker was free. That woman was living the high life in France . . . with nobody telling her that she couldn’t go here or step foot there. Josephine Baker was singing and dancing where she pleased . . . and getting paid a good wage for it, too. Not that Shar wanted to be like Josephine Baker. The way she heard tell of it, Josephine Baker wore hardly any clothes at all when she performed. That was way too risqué for her taste. The good Lord didn’t give her the singing voice she had to prance all over Europe like a stripper. Shar wanted to use her voice to sing praises to the Lord.

  After crossing over State Street, Shar ran down an alley and across another street. Along the way she passed more dilapidated houses and down-on-their-luck brothers than her eyes cared to see. Lord, when will times get better for us?

  “Hey, sister, won’t you let me have a taste of that pie?” a grungy-looking man asked as he approached her at the end of the alley.

  “Can’t . . . sorry.” The church was across the street, so Shar picked up the pace, hoping that the man wouldn’t follow her. Actually, she would have loved to give him the whole pie, but her mother would kill her if Pastor Landon didn’t get his sweet potato pie. As if Landon was going to take one bite, then get down on his knee and pull out an engagement ring. Shar had done a whole bunch of daydreaming about marrying Pastor Landon. After all she’d been courting the man for a year now. But not one of her dreams ever had him on bended knee because of the taste of a sweet potato pie.

  “Slow down, Sister Shar, you’re on time,” Pastor Landon said. He was standing outside, greeting parishioners as they made their way through the church doors.

  Shar stopped in front of him. He was wearing his snowy white preacher’s robe, which looked so good up against his chocolate skin. Landon was always cleanly shaven and smelling like Old Spice. Most men she knew smelled like earth and sweat. She took a step toward him as she breathed in his clean, cologne scent, then jumped back and shoved the pie in his direction, all the while reminding herself that Landon was a preacher and they were standing in front of a church, so she needed to get her mind on the things of the Lord. She had no business drooling over a preacherman on a Sunday morning. “Mama sent you another pie for your anniversary dinner.”

  Smiling, he took the pie out of Shar’s hand. “Sister Shar, you are going to spoil me rotten.”

  He always called her Sister Shar when they were at the church, and she called him pastor. But when he was walking her home or they were sitting on her porch, she simply called him Landon. “Not me, Pastor. I can’t cook a lick,” Shar said. “Ma just likes fattening you up with her sweet potato pies.”

  “Well, tell Mrs. Marlene that I appreciate her kindness, even if it is adding extra pounds to me.”

  “I’ll do that as soon as I get back home.” Shar gave him a deep dimpled smile.

  “Your smile just lights up the day, Sister Shar.”

  When he said things like that, the wedding march played in Shar’s head. She prayed that the next thing out of his mouth would be something like, “Shar Gracey, I sure would like to marry you.” But he never said it, so Shar had started to wonder if maybe Landon was waiting on something better to come along.

  Landon put his hand on Shar’s arm and leaned a bit closer. “I have a surprise for you,” he told her and then bent down and picked something off the ground.

  When he straigtened back up, Shar saw that he was still holding the pie in one hand, but now his other hand held a bright colorful flower. He handed the flower to her.

  “I was walking through this field yesterday that had so many beautiful flowers as far as the eye could see. I told myself, ‘Shar needs flowers as beautiful as these.’ So, I picked a bundle of them.”

  Giddy over the flower in her hand and Landon’s words, Shar’s eyes sparkled as she said, “Thank you so much. I’ve never seen a flower as wonderful as this one.”

  “I’m glad you like it. I’ll bring the rest of them to your house this evening when I come to see you.”

  “So are you walking me home today?”

  Landon shook his head. “Not today. I have to head out right after the anniversary dinner. So, I won’t be able to walk you home, but your dad is allowing me to keep company with you today. So, I’ll see you at your house later.”

  “Oh, Landon, I wondered if you would be coming by today. Mama hinted at it, but she wouldn’t come right out and fess up.” She smelled her flower, eyes still sparkling. “Thanks again for my flower.”

  “Like I said, there’s plenty more where that one came from.” Landon was grinning at her as if he had something else to say but was holding it in.

  “What?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  “When am I going to find out?”

  “When I come visiting this evening,” he said, then ushered her into the church before she could ask anymore questions. “Now Sister Shar, you go on and get yourself prepared to sing to God’s glory today.”

  Shar scuttled into the sanctuary, greeting friends as she passed by them. But in her heart she wondered if today would be the day that Landon would finally ask for her hand in marriage.

  3

  The United Worship Center had five hundred members on the roll books, but about three hundred attended faithfully every Sunday. Before they started the choir only about a hundred attended on the regular. These men, women, and children had become Shar’s surrogate family, since her mother hadn’t been attending much lately because she was always feeling ill but never had a chance to sit down and rest. Her father just flat out refused to step foot inside the church. They had come to Chicago by way of Louisiana, where the rest of Shar’s family
still lived, so it was nice to have sisters and brothers in Christ that she could talk to from time to time.

  “Hey, Shar, I heard that you’ve got the solo today. I can’t wait to hear you,” Sister Barbara Tucker said as she passed by, carrying an armload of Bibles. Sister Tucker was the head usher, and it was her job to make sure that things ran smoothly in the sanctuary during service.

  “Let me help you with those, Sister Tucker,” Shar said, as she took four Bibles from the stack Sister Tucker was carrying.

  She put the flower Pastor Landon had given her in her mouth as she passed out the Bibles.

  “You’re sweeter than sugar. Thanks for helping me. But you need to get on.”

  Shar took the flower out of her mouth and hugged Sister Tucker, then headed toward the choir stand.

  “It’s nice of you to join us. You’re such a busy and important person that we are just plum grateful whenever you show up,” Nettie Johnson said.

  Every family had one member who made a sister think about doing some premeditated repenting. Like jumping across the seats and slapping the taste out of Nettie’s mouth, even though Shar knew full well that she would be begging the Lord’s pardon for doing so. Not wanting to do something that she knew was wrong, Shar plastered a smile on her face and hoped the Lord would forgive her for lying as she said, “Why, Nettie, I never knew that you cared so much about my comings and goings, but I’m glad to be with you all this fine Sunday morning.”

  “I don’t care what you do, Shar Gracey,” Nettie spat. “But when you keep the pastor out on the stoop when he should be in the church getting ready to deliver one of his fine messages, then it’s all of our concern.”

  “I wasn’t keeping Pastor Landon from his duties,” Shar protested.

  “Oh really?” Nettie pointed toward Shar’s hand. “Nice flower.”

  Looking as if she’d been caught in the cookie jar, Shar began sputtering, “I . . . I—”

  “Hush, you two. I’m not in the mood to referee,” Mother Barnett chimed in. “My knees haven’t given me a bit of trouble all morning. And you know what that means.”

  Mother Barnett always claimed that she could tell what the weather was going to be like by the way her knees ached. If her knee was feeling itchy, then it was going to rain. If her pain was terrible, then it was going to be a gloomy day. But on days when she had no pain at all, Mother Barnett said, the good Lord wasn’t trying to tell her nothing about the weather that day, but about some good news coming to somebody.

  “So, who is gon’ get some good news today?” Shar asked, hoping that Mother Barnett would say that the relief of pain in her knees was about God showing her that Landon was going to be proposing today.

  Mother Barnett rubbed her knees as if she was checking for pain, then she said, “I guess the good Lord will reveal it to us before the day is over. Who knows, maybe my Herbert is finally coming back home.”

  Ten years ago, Mother Barnett’s husband had run off with the cigarette girl who had rented a room from them. To this day, Mother Barnett kept a light in the window for her husband and prayed that every no-knee-pain day meant that Herbert was coming home. As far as Shar was concerned, that would be a waste of a good no-knee-pain day. Good riddance to bad rubbish was the way Shar saw that one. For the life of her, she couldn’t understand why women ran after all these no-account men, who wasn’t thinking about them two seconds after they walked out the front door. She sure wouldn’t waste a nickel on a box of tissue, crying over one of ’em.

  Calvin started tuning up the piano as Marcus fiddled with his guitar. Not many churches allowed their choir to sing with musical instruments. “Okay, everyone, stand up so we can warm up those vocals,” Calvin instructed.

  Calvin could be temperamental at times. Shar never liked to get on his bad side on the days that she was scheduled to sing. Because if she made him mad enough, he’d just cancel her solo. And there was no way she wanted to continue living in a world where she was poor, colored, and not allowed to sing. So Shar immediately jumped out of her seat and did as she was instructed.

  “Place your hand on either side of your mouth and use the tips of your fingers to hold up the weight of your cheeks,” Calvin said as he looked around to ensure that everyone was following his instructions, then he continued, “Now keep your lips very loose and floppy and blow, like you would after you finish a day of washing and ironing or of standing all day on your elevator boy job.”

  Hot, tired breaths blew all across the choir stand.

  “Now, hold that pose and make a dopey MMMMMM sound.”

  The choir followed suit.

  When they finished warming up, Calvin smiled at the group as he told them, “I have a surprise for you all.” He hesitated, then trodded on, “Thomas Dorsey will be at our church today.”

  “So now we know why you made sure that Shar had the only solo today.” Nettie’s venom was now directed at Calvin.

  Shar didn’t understand Nettie at all. The girl didn’t live dirt-poor like the rest of them. Her father was in city politics, and he treated Nettie like a princess, giving her everything that her heart desired. But for some reason Nettie disliked her and made it seem as if Shar had everything that she wanted. When Shar knew that she didn’t have much at all.

  Calvin cleared his throat. “I’m not playing favorites, if that’s what you think, Nettie. But when a man like Thomas Dorsey visits our church, I think Pastor Landon would want me to put our best singer up, don’t you?”

  Nettie was glaring at Calvin as Mother Barnett said, “Why’s this Thomas Dorsey interested in us anyway?”

  Calvin’s chest puffed a bit as he said, “United Worship Center is one of the few churches around that believes in worshiping God in song and music. Mr. Dorsey taught himself how to play the piano and loves the sound of music. So, when I told Mr. Dorsey that I played the piano and that we had the best singer in Chicago at our church, he said to me, ‘I got to come see that.’ ” Calvin raised a hand and added, “Now, I’m not completely sure that Mr. Dorsey will be here today. He just told me that he would try to make it. So, whether he shows up or not, we all need to do our best and sing for God’s glory for the congregation, right?”

  “Right,” the choir members aswered back.

  But Calvin’s news got Shar to thinking. Maybe Mother Barnett’s no-knee-pain day wasn’t about Landon proposing at all. Maybe it was a sign that Mr. Dorsey would offer her a spot on his touring choir and then she would be able to earn enough money to get her mama to a doctor.

  Calvin looked to Shar. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready, but what if he doesn’t show up until after I get finished singing?”

  “You let me worry about that. Now let’s grab hands and pray real quick because they’re getting ready to start service.”

  Sister Betty said the welcoming prayer, and then the choir sang two praise songs. Shar was mumbling the words most of the time because she couldn’t concentrate. She looked to heaven and silently prayed, Lord, forgive me. I know I should have my mind stayed on you during praise and worship time, but I surely wish you would send Mr. Dorsey to service today.

  As the deacons passed the collection plate, the door opened.Shar sat up with a look of expectation on her face. But her facial expression changed, and she leaned back in her seat as she watched Miss Mattie Perkins from two doors down drag her late self into the church house. When the collection plate made it to Shar, she emptied her purse of all the coins she had, hoping that her sacrifice would be noticed by God.

  Calvin began playing the music for “His Eye Is on the Sparrow.” The choir stood, and Shar walked down and took her place in front of the choir. She looked to heaven one more time and silently prayed, Well, Lord, he didn’t come today. But I’m gon’ sing this here song to You, like I should have wanted to do in the first place.

  Shar opened her mouth and began:

  Why should I feel discouraged?

  Why should the shadows come . . .

 
The moment Shar belted out the first few words, people began clapping and standing up all around the sanctuary. Her voice had a soulful, blues-like feel to it that somehow became all gospel when Shar Gracey opened her mouth to sing. It was like pairing the blues with a little dose of heaven. Shar had a voice that could make angels stop and listen. The sanctuary door opened again. This time, Thomas Dorsey walked through the door, and a smile appeared on Shar’s face. The devil himself wouldn’t have been able to turn that smile into a frown.

  I sing because I’m happy and I sing because I’m free.

  Shar was no longer in the mood to just sing the song. She began walking around the church performing. Letting all the saints know that she was happy because if God’s eyes was on the sparrow, then she sure ’nuf knew He was watching over little ol’ Shar Gracey as well. Didn’t He prove it by having Mr. Dorsey walk in the church while she was singing so good, that folks was nearly ’bout ready to break out into a shout?

  4

  Didn’t nobody know how to light up a room like Shar Gracey. And Landon Norstrom loved to hear her sing praises to God and enjoyed it even more when the spirit moved on her like it was doing now. Shar was beautiful, with long black hair that flowed down her back and swayed from side to side when she sang praises to the Lord. The first time he’d seen Shar, her hair had been pinned up on top of her head, so he’d had no idea how gloriously long her hair was. But he had noticed how her caramel skin tone perfectly accented those sweet brown eyes of hers.

  Landon hadn’t wanted to leave Alabama after graduating from theology school. But, knowing that the white folks in town felt that he was uppity and a troublemaker, his parents feared that they’d one day find their son with a noose around his neck. So he packed up and left the Jim Crow laws of the South, for the stay-in-your-place covenants of Chicago. The one bit of brightness he’d found in Chicago was Shar Gracey.