Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
“ L et’s start with this passage,” Witford said, marking the page. “Then I can expound on it some and you come in at this point, do a song with the choir that ties it back into the last part of the scripture. Beverly has some ideas for that.”
Rev, who’d stopped his task to come stand by the pulpit with him, gave the page a close scrutiny, lips moving as he digested the important parts of what was there. “You could do that verse from Matthew we talked about. It would drive the point home even better.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Witford made the notation. “Might have to shorten the music program, though. Don’t want the women in the congregation taking me to task for overcooking the Sunday pot roasts. You cut it close the other day, with Mrs. Jones and her cancer.”
“God might have thought that more important than your invitation to those dinners.” Rev gave him an amused look. “You miss a few, you might lose a couple pounds.”
Witford snorted, but ran a hand over his abdomen to confirm it was trim. “Don’t be teasing me, boy. A man of God should look like he takes care of the temple.”
“Long as he ain’t so busy maintaining it, he forget what it for. What it serves.”
“Now you’re sounding like Teena Joy.” Witford pointed to the nave. “What do you call dusting the pews?”
Rev glanced down at the can of wood polish and rag he was carrying. “I like to think about the people who sit here, absorb the feelings they left behind, what they came in with, what they left with.”
“I’m surprised you have the time. You’ve been busy.”
Rev’s attempt at their normal banter vanished. “Don’t go down that road again, Witford. I still not right with what you did.”
Witford marked the page and closed the Bible. “Then let’s talk it out, man to man. It doesn’t bother you that she doesn’t share our faith?” He gestured at the silver cross on Rev’s neck. “The one Teena Joy taught you?”
“Veracity don’t share my religion. That a whole different thing. It not our way, but it a different way. Like two paths that lead to the same waterfall. She tell me, in her faith, they say ‘And it harms none, do as you will.’ In ours, we say ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ Both of them mean to love one another.”
Witford frowned. “A lot of our parishioners wouldn’t see it that way. But putting that aside, she’s taking your focus away from here. That affects your faith. It affects your care for your family. Tisha thinks you’re making a mistake, and it’s upsetting her. This woman turned her back on her family because of her beliefs. And family is the heart of faith.”
Witford had done some deep digging on his Mistress, maybe getting some of the answers that Rev himself wanted more details about. But he wanted those to come from Veracity, when she was ready to reveal them. Witford’s disrespect of her privacy didn’t please Rev. “Her family turned their back on her because of their beliefs, not hers. You good with words, Witford, but I know music. There are no wrong chords when I’m with her.”
Witford’s jaw tightened. “A man can be led from below the waist, Rev. Even one as tapped into the Lord as you are. Satan’s always watching. The way she likes to enjoy men…”
Rev’s expression stopped Witford. Rev waited a beat to reinforce it before speaking. “I holding my temper because you’re having the conversation you should have done with me first, but we’re not talking about that. Understand?”
“No. I don’t. The way she enjoys men is unnatural, and she’s enjoyed a lot of them. If you go down that road?—”
“I have gone down that road with her, Witford.” Rev met Witford’s startled look. Had he let his temper say something he shouldn’t have said? If so, he would draw that line here and now, but he’d make his feelings on it clear. “There’s nothing unnatural about it. Just the opposite. But discussing that is done. I mean it in a way I hope you’re hearing. It between her and me. When she comes here, I expect you to treat her the way you would anyone else. If you can’t be warm to her, you’ll be courteous.”
“Or what, Rev? You threatening to leave us?”
Astonishment filled Rev. “What put that fool thought in your head?”
“You’re part of the backbone of this church, Rev, and I’m seeing the possibility of a cancer. Do you respect me? Value my opinion?”
“Course I do.”
“Then hear me. She may be a fine person, no matter if I don’t agree with her beliefs or what she does in her bedroom. But those things make her wrong for you. She is too much part of the world outside, Rev.”
“That not for you to judge, Witford.”
“I’m a preacher. A spiritual leader for our community.” Witford drew himself up. “I pray just as much as you do, and you have a blind spot. I feel it the way Tisha does. What this woman is will change you, break you down.”
“Our Lord breaks us down to build us back up new, square in His ways and light. It make sense that there are people in our life He uses to do that.”
“Do you really think a pagan into BDSM is God’s instrument? Do you hear how that sounds?” Witford stabbed the pulpit with a finger. “There’s a special power to you, in your voice, in your heart, strong and pure. You’re smart enough to know it, no matter how humble you are about it. And it is susceptible to corruption.
“You said you’ve gone down roads with this woman, with the way she wants things.” At Rev’s warning look, he held up a hand. “I’m not getting into that. But I know enough about it to ask you this question. Surrender is important to you. How easy would it be to confuse submission to God with?—”
“Witford.”
When he used that tone at Veracity’s offices, it had startled her people. But it came to him the way the music did, when needed. The one-word warning settled uneasily between him and his cousin, a blanket on a slumbering beast with plenty of teeth. Rev thought of Veracity, standing over him, ordering him to put his mouth upon her, and how those moments made him feel.
He wasn’t confused. Not about that.
“All right.” Witford pressed his lips together. “But let me say this and I’ll be done. Sex feels like something divine, sacred, and it is, in the natural expression of it between man and wife. But its power to make us feel closer to God can be used by the Adversary, a mask of his intent. Just think about it, Rev. You’re worrying me, hurting Tisha, spending more time away from the church. No, you’re not neglecting your duties, but you used to spend most of your free time here. Now you’re not. So what do you think that means? Where do you think it leads?”
As Rev stayed silent, his cousin’s words pelting him like stones, Witford lifted his Bible and stepped back from the pulpit. “Bid this woman good-bye, and put her behind you. Will you promise to think about it?”
Rev met his gaze. “I promise to pray about this.”
“That’s all I ask.” Witford clasped Rev’s shoulder. The fingers digging into his shoulder communicated his feelings on the subject. “I’m your cousin. I want you to be happy, and I want what’s best for you.” His mouth tightened. “It hurts me to say it, because I know you care about her, but I can promise you, she’s not it. Whatever you need, it’s here, in these walls, with your family and this congregation.”
When Rev had left Veracity after their bus ride, things hadn’t been right between them, but she’d given him the space he needed. Witford had just dumped garbage into it.
Last night, Rev had gotten off the bus at the school and gone to the shed. He liked the way the moonlight reflected on the trees, and seeing the animals that ventured out of the woods behind the fence after dark. He’d sat on the bench and traced those four words, smooth and silky as Veracity’s skin, because he’d touched them as often as he wanted to touch her.
Since he didn’t make a promise lightly, now he went out to the garden and sat. He didn’t feel like praying. That sent up alarm flags, so he tried to set aside his gut level rejection of Witford’s words and think about the path he’d insisted upon for Rev’s benefit. Walking away from Veracity Morgan and what she offered him.
Rev had only been in love twice in his life. Both times had been short. Once when he was twelve, and once when he was twenty, with the young woman he’d told Veracity about. She’d been accepted to a college a couple states over, so they’d only had the summer after she graduated high school to be together. Teena Joy hadn’t interfered, but in hindsight Rev knew his aunt had known it would only last for those two months. Michelle wasn’t interested in a long-distance relationship, especially when she got around college friends and a life so much different from the one Rev led…and so much different from Rev.
It had hurt, a lot. Teena Joy had told him that love could be that way. “But God knows what he’s doing, Rev. She wasn’t the right person for forever. She just helped you learn more about love so when that right person comes along, you’ll be ready for her.”
“How will I know?”
“She’ll be right with God, too, and you’ll feel that. And when you look in her eyes, and she looks in yours, you’ll see one another, and nothing will tell you different, no matter how anyone tries. Just like your love for God.”
Rev let out a tired breath. Yeah, there it was. The truth he needed. Let go of control, and it came. Always. He’d learned to do that early in his life. Be willing to be guided by the right things, but not to be misled.
Rev handled those attempts to mislead him by planting his feet like a mule and letting the other person tire themselves out, pulling on the bridle until they realized he wasn’t going to be moved by them. Only by the will of God.
Witford had got ahold of that bridle, all right. Maybe even convinced Rev to take a couple steps in his direction, but Teena Joy’s words brought Rev back to himself.
Would she have liked Veracity? Or would she have had the same worries Witford had? He thought both might be true, and spending time with Veracity would have helped end those worries.
He returned to the church and went to Witford’s office. His cousin sat at his big desk, staring at his computer. The bookshelf behind him was full, holding the sixty-six books of the Bible broken down as individual volumes, as well as books written to help preachers reach the congregation and counsel their parishioners, addressing the challenges in their lives with the Word.
A printout of his current in-process sermon was by his elbow, marked in red. A half empty cup of coffee and an energy bar were next to it. Witford worked long hours, as most preachers did, though lately more than a few of those hours seemed to be with their bigger donors on golf courses or going to fancy parties.
His cousin and aunt both said it was to keep the donations coming for their community programs and the needs of congregation members when they hit hard times. Okay, but sometimes he wondered if Witford remembered that was why he was supposed to be doing it, rather than liking the way it felt to be seen with powerful people. Or if Tisha bought fancier clothes and jewelry for reasons other than what she told Rev.
“Blending in with the bigger donors, being seen as one of them because of the way I dress and the jewelry I wear, is a way to make them feel more comfortable about their donations.”
That was something he prayed about, too. Rev leaned in the doorway, waiting until Witford looked up. “I’m singing Friday night.”
“What?” Witford glanced at his calendar. “We don’t have anything on the schedule.”
“It not for the church. It’s a club on Frenchmen Street. Two fellows in a band need a singer for the night. Gonna be some good music, Witford, and I know you and your wife like dancing. Maybe we can even get Tisha to come, stay up past her bedtime.”
Witford didn’t smile. He tapped a pencil against his papers. “Did you hear a word I said?”
“I did.” Rev kept his voice steady. “I glad you care about me, Witford. I love my family, I love this church, I love God. But I also am falling in love with a woman who I know, in my heart, is part of God’s plan for me. I considered your words, now I need you to do the same you asked of me. Trust what I feel.”
Witford’s expression stayed flat. “I don’t know if I can do that, Rev. But you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and we’ll do what we’ll do.”
Rev stared at him. “How about we pray together a few minutes, Witford? Just go out to the garden and pray.”
“I’ve got a sermon to finish so I can do my job on Sunday. So maybe later. If that’s all…” Witford put his head back down, and started scribbling in the margins.
It made Rev uneasy, to leave it like this. But maybe he needed to give Witford time to mull on it. “All right, then. I’ll see you Sunday.”
“Yeah. See you then.”
Witford’s tone said he wasn’t sure they would see one another, that Rev’s loyalty and commitment were in doubt. His cousin was good at turning a congregation toward the mood he wanted them to have, to get them to question themselves, their faith, and work harder at it. Usually Rev thought that was an admirable talent. His cousin’s focus might seem, in his opinion, too much on the collection plate, but the church had bills to pay, and Witford and Tisha needed a living to support themselves. Running the church was their full-time job. As it had once been his.
Troubled, Rev left him. He put the cleaning supplies back in their cabinet and bid Mrs. Byrd a good day before heading out to catch the bus.
Witford watched him through the window, a hundred thoughts weaving through his mind, like a needle stabbing through stiff cloth. He had to fix this. He wasn’t sure how, but while his concerns were practical as well as spiritual, his mother’s feelings on it had been accelerating like a rocket, ever since the meeting in Vera Morgan’s office.
She’d weep one moment and rant the next, telling him to take a more aggressive stance with Rev. Tisha was a devout woman with an intense dedication to her family and the congregation. She saw most things through that lens. Her way was the right way. Witford and Rev had even joked about it before, cousin to cousin, but always with affection.
This was different. The years had increased the responsibilities on Witford’s shoulders, and deepened Tisha’s certainty about the path the church had to follow, as well as Rev’s role in it.
You’re a good preacher, Witford, but Rev is the personal touch with the congregation. You’re our mind, but he’s our heart. If we lose him… And beyond that, I promised Teena Joy, and we’re failing her. You hear me? We’re failing her.
She’d locked herself in her bedroom that night, saying she had a sick headache. Ever since, her behavior toward Witford had been sullen. She expected him to fix this.
Losing her sister had been hard, and she seemed panicked at the idea that she was going to mess up the care and protection she’d promised toward the nephew Teena Joy had raised as her own son.
He shouldn’t have told her what he’d learned about Veracity Morgan and the women at TRA, sexual Dominants active in the BDSM scene in New Orleans. Though he tried to talk her out of it, Tisha had called up computer images of men on their knees, led around by leashes. Women beating them with floggers.
One of the pictures had been particularly horrifying, a man on a cross like the Lord’s, head bleeding from a thorny crown and barbed wire wrapped around his arms and thighs. Two women were on their knees before him, with their mouths on his genitals.
Witford knew such things were out there, and that they didn’t necessarily show their best face on the Internet, no more than porn showed the best side of sex with a woman you loved, like he loved Yolanda, his own wife. He cared for her by making sure she had the things she wanted to have. But the images had shocked Tisha, and led to more hysterical insistence that they had to do something. They had to save Rev from this woman.
Witford knew Rev had a good and steady mind. He supported the things that were Witford’s business without interfering in them, even if of late he’d been making some observations that nettled Witford some. It wasn’t Rev’s way to shove his opinions down someone’s throat, though.
But hearing his cousin was going to play music in a blues club on Frenchmen Street was a shock. Maybe Tisha wasn’t overreacting as much as he’d thought.
Rev was responsible for at least fifty percent of what went into their coffers, and that was good. But Rev didn’t have to worry about paying the bills or handling the books. He didn’t have to painstakingly outline a sermon every week. He didn’t have to meet regularly with those big league donors and stroke their egos, though Witford admitted that wasn’t so bad, especially when it meant he could take his wife to fancy dinners at their country clubs, or go out to parties on their yachts. That made Yolanda happy.
Oh no. Rev just stood up in church and the words and the songs came through him like a river, and the congregation got in the boat and rode that river with joy in their hearts.
That was all right, Witford reminded himself. When his mother said Rev was the heart of the church, that was all right, too. It was Witford’s burden to carry, to be the practical one who handled the practical matters. A heart couldn’t operate without a mind to run the rest of the body. He was the mind, and Tisha was the soul.
Up until now, that arrangement had worked. Rev had played his part, thanks to Witford keeping him untroubled by the things that could dilute the purity of that faith, of his song. But the world was coming to him anyway, and it would impact all of them if Witford didn’t do something.
Witford frowned. Vera Morgan was a wealthy woman. He'd have to think of other options to discourage her interest. Unpleasant ones, but necessary.
She wasn’t as invested as Rev, she couldn’t be.
Yeah, Rev was mesmerizing, that voice of his, and his faith could be compelling to women, for the short run. Like Michelle, before she’d gone off to college. There’d been plenty of other women in the congregation who’d had a crush on Rev, created by that sense that he stood strong in the light of the Lord. To church women, it was as distracting as if he were a cop or fireman.
Teena Joy and then Tisha had quashed the most ill-advised of the crushes. The others burned out quickly. Over time, the woman couldn’t see him as an intellectual equal, or the God thing made them feel inferior to him. They went elsewhere to fall in love and seek a family.
It wasn’t the same with Vera Morgan, what was between her and Rev. Witford had felt it and so had Tisha, which was why they’d visited her to deliver the shot across the bow. But the woman wasn’t listening, and Rev was getting in deeper.
Tisha had handled the ill-advised ones with frank woman-to-woman conversation. That wasn’t going to work with Vera. He really shouldn’t have told his mother the things that sent her to those images. She had no interest in even faking a female rapport with Vera.
Thinking about Rev and Vera like that… Witford shook his head with a quick snap, dispelling those images from his mind. He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Lord Almighty.” Witford turned and looked at the cross on the wall. When he’d taken over the office after Teena Joy’s death, it had been mounted across from her desk. After he rearranged the furniture, it was in his peripheral vision. He didn’t like having it directly behind him, but it didn’t feel any better where it was. Whatever energy hovered upon it sometimes felt like it was crawling up his neck.
“Yeah, we could pray together, Rev,” he muttered. “But there comes a time the Lord wants us to get off our knees and act.”
If he was going to pray for anything, it was that Vera Morgan would lose interest and move on before she forced Witford’s hand, to preserve Rev, the church, and his mother’s peace of mind.