Mama B: A Time to Speak (14 page)

Chapter 27

My emotions was so high, I couldn’t sleep. Stayed up in the rocking chair crying, thanking God. Humbled He had used me in such a mighty way.

So I was up when I got the call from Pastor at two twenty-seven a.m. Geneva had passed away. “I’m so sorry, Pastor.”

“Thank you, B. For everything. Geneva loved you so.”

“Yes, and she loved you, too, Pastor.” Now wasn’t the time to let him know that his wife was ready to go. But some day, those words might be a comfort.

“You need us to come to the hospital?”

“No, no. They already done moved her body. Her sister is here. Rev. Martin, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

      My body finally conked out around ten in the morning. Had to turn off the phone ‘cause folk kept calling to see if I’d heard about Geneva. Then they would talk about the marvelous thing God had done at the church through me.

      Henrietta one of the first ones to say, “B, we would have
all
been dead if it wasn’t for you standin’ up to your granddaughter’s crazy boyfriend!”

      Wouldn’t be long before the whole town of Peasner had an exaggerated version of what happened at the church. Hard to exaggerate something much more than what actually happened, though.

      Me and a few other church leaders met later in the day with a contractor. He looked at the holes in the ceiling, gave an estimate that sounded reasonable to us. We didn’t have time for a whole lot of biddin’ with the funeral on the way and all. They put up a tarp for the time being, said they’d be back to do the job first thing Monday morning.

      I tell you what, though, Sunday, we praised God like we knew Him. He had done spared all our lives. This was one time I felt like runnin’ around the sanctuary. Not for money, not for my haters, but for the goodness of God and the faithfulness of His word.

      By the time Rev. Dukes got up to preach on what we all reckoned would be his last Sunday, I figured he wouldn’t have to say much. We was already on fire.

      He got up on to the main podium. Face all long, though, like somethin’ troubling his heart. “Saints and friends, I have to repent.”

      Gasps all over the church house. “My wife and I want to repent.”

      Cynthia stood up, swiping tears from her cheeks.

      “For the past weeks, someone in this church has been trying to warn us. Trying to tell us the importance of preaching the word. Preaching something that will stick to your spiritual bones. But we wouldn’t listen. And how many of you know a warning comes before destruction?”

      “Mmm hmm,” we all moaned.

      “Mama B, could you please come here, front and center?”

      Took me by surprise. I looked to my left and my right like I didn’t know who Mama B was. Cynthia come grab my hand, led me to the front with her.

      Rev. Dukes come out the pulpit, stood right in front of us. “Mama B, all this time we’ve been here, you told us we needed to implant the word of God in the people’s hearts. Not simply a love for things, selfish ambition, drive without direction, jubilee without Jesus. But Friday night, when the enemy walked right into this building, the only thing that mattered was the power of the word of God.”

His eyes filled with tears. Cynthia’s, too. Mine, three. I didn’t want them to have to learn the lesson this way, but God knew best. I had no doubt He would use them like never before, after this.

They got it now.

After his sermon, entitled “Getting back to Jesus,” Mt. Zion took up a big love offering for Rev. Dukes and Cynthia. They was so touched by our outpouring, they turned around and sowed it right back to the church.

Now I
know
they got it!

Cynthia give me the biggest hug after church. Invited me to come speak to their women’s group whenever I wanted to. “Every time I left you house, you’d say something that kept me up all night. I might not have liked what you said at the time, but the Lord was working on me. Thank you for speaking the Truth in love, Mama B, and for being a true Titus 2 woman.”

“You welcome, Sweetie. You take care.” And we gave each other holy kisses.

After all the fellowshippin’, me, Nikki, and Cameron walked on back to the house.

Chile, that big ‘ole man sitting at my kitchen table almost took the wind out of me. “Son?”

“Hey, Mama. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Son!” I wrapped my arm around his neck. “I am so glad to see you.”

He hugged me back, too. “I got your letter, and I did some thinking.”

The very fact that he was sitting my kitchen let me know he must have agreed with me. On the inside, I was just a-gigglin’ ‘cause it tickles me every time the Lord answers a prayer by movin’ on somebody’s heart—and that person got the nerve to think they was the genius who changed everything. I tell you what, though, the prayers of the righteous done performed many a heart surgery, without the patient even knowing.

I stepped aside so Son could get a good look at his daughter.

Son cleared his throat. “Hello, Nikki.”

“Hi.”

Look like they needed my help. “Y’all can hug, if you want to.”

Worst hug I ever did see! Like they two porcupines afraid they’d stick to each other. Still, it was a hug.
Thank you, Lord.

I waited a second for Nikki to introduce Cameron, but the tears in her eyes told me I’d have to do the talking for her. “Son, this here is Cameron.”

“Who’s he?” Cameron asked me.

“This is your grandfather.”

Chile, the biggest smile come on that boy’s face. “My paw-paw?”

Son shrugged. “If that’s what you want me to be.”

Cameron slid into Son like a drawer in a cabinet. And somehow, Son’s chest got big as a rooster at the same time.

Nikki was still standin’ there with her arms crossed. Still mad. Still hurt. She needed some time. One thing I know about daughters, though: they might stay mad at they momma’s for years, but something about they Daddy. He be the
first
one they forgive.

“Son, you gon’ stay and eat with us?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sound of the doorbell made us all stop.

“You expecting someone?” he interrogatin’ me.

“No.” I slid my apron back off. “Probably just somebody from the church. I’ll get it.”

All I could see through the peephole was flowers. “Who is it?”

“Delivery.”

On a Sunday.
“Deliverin’ what?”

“Flowers.”

Call me slow that day, but it took me a minute to put two and two together. I opened the door, took the bouquet of lilies from the man. Signed my name on the sheet.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No, thank you.”

Who on earth done sent me flowers?

I opened the card.

B, so sorry for the loss of your dear friend. Take care. –Frank Wilson

My goodness. Flowers.

I set them on the coffee table, stared at them for a minute. Smelled them. First time all year I’d had a chance to smell any because…well, because Albert’s hadn’t bloom for me.

Guess sometimes flowers bloom in unexpected places.

Son, Nikki-Nik, and Cameron washed up and joined me at the table for a pasta dish. New recipe I found on my iPhone. Son and Nikki didn’t have too much to say to one another for now, so I carried the conversation while those two took turns stealing glances at one another. Trying to see themselves in one another. Takes time.

But you know Cameron didn’t catch on to none of it. He was too busy stuffing his face. “Mama B, this is so good!”

“Thank you, Cameron. I’ll have to remember this recipe for the next time you all come to visit.”

Son said, “He’s right. You put your foot in this, Mama. You’ve got to let me know when you cook this for Cameron again.”

I grinned at my child’s round-about way of sayin’ he wanted to see his daughter and grandson again. “I sure will, Son. Sure will.”

The End

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Mama B: A Time to Dance

Book Two in the Award-winning, Bestselling Mama B Series

Chapter 1

Pastor Phillips sure was lookin’ good and strong up there in the pulpit again. Hadn’t been but a few months since our first lady passed away, but the Lord was restoring Pastor Phillips the same as He did me when my Albert died. It takes a while, but after the one you done shared a bed and a life with for forty something-odd years dies, it’s hard to sleep at night again. We do the best we can to get settled. Can’t get too settled, though, ‘cause at our age, we know it won’t be long before it’s our time to go, too.

I was sixty-four when Albert died. Eight years and five months ago. Some time, seem like it was just yesterday, though, especially if I get to thinking ‘bout it too hard. So I don’t. Albert wouldn’t want me to spend what little time I got left feelin’ sorry for myself.

Besides, I assure you, Albert Jackson, Sr., is not up in heaven moping around about me. Knowing him, he probably ain’t even asked Jesus if I was coming up soon.  Too busy asking David and Paul all those questions he had about the Bible. Whew – that Albert could talk your ear off!

Yes, Albert was something else.

And so was first lady Geneva Phillips. She sure gon’ be missed.

Soon as service was over, you couldn’t beat Henrietta skating herself up to the pulpit to talk to Pastor, standing by his side while he greet the visitors. Good Lord, it was a shame the way that woman threw herself at him. She got to be at least three years older than me, carrying on like she need special prayer from Pastor.

She need special prayer, alright. Pray herself right on back to the altar and into the baptism pool!

Lord, I’m sorry.

Nevermind Henrietta, I rushed out the church and across the lawn through the gate to my own back yard. Had to hurry and transfer the pulled chicken simmering in barbeque sauce to a proper Tupperware bowl. Once I’d packed that up, I wrapped up a few rolls in foil, scooped a couple of servings of baked beans into another bowl. Finally, I scraped half the pan of peach cobbler aside for myself, kept the other half in the original throw-away container and slapped some plastic on top.

I set all that in a paper shopping bag and headed back over to the church to give it to Pastor. I knew if he was anything like me, he’d been lost about things his spouse used to do. That Geneva could cook up a storm, too!  

“Here you go, Pastor,” I said to him as I transferred the handles from my hand to his. He and Reverend Martin were just locking up the front doors by then. “Chicken, beans, and peach cobbler.”

“B, you don’t have to keep cooking for me,” Pastor said as he stooped down to give me a thank-you hug.

All I could think was how much it hurt inside to go home to an empty house the first few years after Albert died. I was hoping the food might take Pastor’s mind off the loneliness at least a teenchy bit.

“Pastor, I’ll take Mama B’s cooking if you pass it up,” Rev. Martin stuck out his hand like he was intending to take the sack.

Pastor Phillips swatted the hand away. “You gon’ fool around and draw back a nub.”

“I’m just saying,” Rev. Martin laughed. He looked better, too, now that Pastor had returned to the pulpit. No more visiting ministers preaching all kind of foolishness, scattering the flock in different directions.

Henrietta come hopping out of her car. Fast as she whipped out of that front seat and scrambled back to Pastor’s side, I don’t see how she ridin’ around with handicapped license plates.

“Pastor!” She flagged with her handkerchief as she shuffled her way into our conversation. “I got some ice cream to go with that peach cobbler. I can have my niece bring it by your house later on this afternoon.”

“Oh, no, Mother Henrietta, that’s alright. I can’t take in too much sugar at once.”

Henrietta pursed her lips for a second. “You sure? It’s Blue Bell.”

“That’s mighty tempting, but I’ll have to let it go this time. God bless you for thinking about me, though.”

Lord knows, if I was the gossiping type, Henrietta sure would have gave me plenty to talk about. But I ain’t the one to talk about people, so I don’t. Just keep it between me and Jesus.

She waddled on back to her car while me, Pastor, and Rev. Martin stood there and watched just what way she was backin’ out so she wouldn’t hit none of us. Once she was clear, we said our good-byes and promised to pray for one another until we met again.

The rest of my Sunday I spent watching football. One thing I don’t like is people talkin’ during the games, so I do my very best to watch football at home alone. And that’s exactly what I did until the last second of the last game.

Nothing like a good ‘ole Cowboy game and some peach cobbler.

I tell you what, whoever this is knockin’ on my door after nine o’clock at night better be some kin to the late Ed McMahon.

“Just a minute!” I wrapped my robe around my waist and pulled the belt to. Good thing about these old houses, don’t matter what size you are, your feet make you sound like Godzilla walkin’ across these hardwood floors. Make strangers think somebody real big on this side of the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Derrick, Mama B.”

“Derrick who?” I set my ear up against the door so I could catch his voice maybe.

“Roy James and Winona’s son.”

Lord, what Derrick want at this hour?
I twisted both locks to the left and beheld a sight for sore eyes. Derrick LeVon Jackson, my nephew from my husband’s side. Might as well have been my grandson as much time as he spent at this house with my grands, especially during the summer.

“Well, to what do I owe this pleasure, if that’s what it is?”

I hugged him, felt his heart racing even through his shirt.

“Hello, Mama B. It’s so good to see you.”

I stepped back and pointed him toward the couch. The clock showed it was nine-thirty. In my book, might as well have been midnight, but I know the young folk don’t think the same. “You hungry?”

“No, thank you.”

He sat down on my sofa, letting a black duffle bag fall at his feet. I already knew where this was going, so I started praying.
Lord, I don’t know what the problem is, but he sure can’t stay here while he find the solution
.

I hadn’t been too long getting back into my routine after my granddaughter and great-grandson, and Cameron, moved out. They had stayed with me most of the summer while Nikki found a new job and closed the door on a relationship with her deranged ex-boyfriend.

Somebody must done put out the rumor that my house was the Red Cross.
I don’t think so, Jesus!