Song of Solomon (5 page)

Shaking the hands of several of the deacons on his way to his seat, Neil was glad to have been able to navigate through Atlanta's uncommonly heavy Sunday morning traffic and arrive at church before the start of service. The time-consuming yard work that he'd tackled yesterday contributed to a level of fatigue that resulted in an early bedtime last night. Neil couldn't remember the last time he'd slept so soundly. There was lingering soreness in his thighs that, no doubt, resulted from the heavy bags of fertilizer he'd carried from his garage to his yard while working to put the finishing touches on planting hedges that complemented the base of his porch. The finished product looked good, but his body had paid a high price.

Kingdom Builders Christian Center, identified by most as KBCC, had a membership of just over twelve hundred. In no way was it the largest church in metropolitan Atlanta, but it was one of the most esteemed. It was also one of the fastest growing. Its membership today was double what it had been five years ago. The growth spurt had forced KBCC to go through a construction reformation, widening its sanctuary to accommodate the demand. By the looks of today's crowd, it wouldn't be long before they'd be doing it all over again.

Kingdom Builders Christian Center was a part of the New Hope Fellowship of Churches where the nationally known and highly respected Reverend B. T. Tides served as overseer. For more than thirty years, KBCC was pastored by its founder, Dr. Charles Loather Sr. When the founding pastor died four years ago, attendance at the funeral service was expected to be so great that the ceremony had to be held at the Georgia World Congress Center to accommodate. When Dr. Loather died, there was never a question of who would fill the vacated pulpit chair. There was no man of God better equipped to carry on Dr. Charles Loather Sr.'s vision than his son, Charles Jr.

Charles Loather Jr. was young, but wise beyond his years. He knew that despite his education and spiritual insight, he needed to bring the growing congregation under more experienced covering. And connecting it to Reverend Tides and the New Hope Fellowship of Churches was quite possibly the smartest move the young pastor could have made. The association had been a good one, and Reverend Tides had passed along much wisdom to the son of Dr. Loather. The changing of the guard was given much of the credit for the church's expansion.

Neil took particular pleasure in seeing the younger Charles Loather walk through the side entrance to take his seat on the elevated platform of KBCC. Neil had been acquainted with Pastor Charles Loather Jr. since the days he was simply known as CJ. The cleric's closest friends still referred to him as such in spite of his eminent ministerial ranking at the church. Prior to his ecclesiastical ordination, CJ had served many years as a police detective in metropolitan Atlanta's DeKalb County, which was the district in which he still resided. But four years ago, the law enforcer made a choice to lay aside his badge to take up his mantle as full-time pastor of Kingdom Builders Christian Center, where he had served as youth pastor for ten years prior.

As undergrads at the same university, Neil and CJ became fast friends and had seen each other through some of the roughest times of their lives: for CJ, the death of both his parents, and for Neil, the death of his brother.

“We have come into this house to gather in His name and worship Him. . . .”

The eight-member praise team's perfectly blended harmony drew Neil's attention away from his pastor and friend. Morning worship had begun, and Neil found himself standing and swaying in sync to the music of the Hammond organ and slowly forgetting about the tenderness of his joints from yesterday's chores.

Tuning out the off-key singing of the elderly man who sat beside him wasn't quite as simple. At ninety, Homer Burgess was the church's oldest deacon by far. Some days he was sane, and others, he bordered senile. But even on his most feeble days, Deacon Burgess remembered all the words to any song that the praise team rendered. And on no day did he ever sing on key. Because of it, all of the other brothers who occupied the specified section tried to arrive as early as possible to avoid being the unfortunate one to have to settle for the seat directly beside the old man. Today's traffic woes had assigned the space to Neil, and his poor ears were burning with agony.

Praise dancers swarmed the front of the church, adding beauty and strength to the already significant lyrics of each song that was rendered. It helped to take Neil's attention off of the tone deaf deacon and meditate on the Spirit. For a while, he felt as if the entire sanctuary were being occupied by an overflow of anointing that would burst the cathedral at its seams. Every church that was a part of the New Hope Fellowship of Churches was known for radical worship, so Sunday morning services at KBCC were always uplifting. But there seemed to be something extraordinary about today. Ultimately, when the lengthy praise fest ended, the microphone was relinquished to CJ to bring forth the Word of God for the hour.

“When God is in the building, the sin sick are healed. . . .”

As soon as the pastor began belting out the song that was made popular by The Anointed Pace Sisters, it brought the praise team back to the microphones and the crowd back to its feet. He wasn't nearly as unskilled as Deacon Burgess, but singing had never been CJ's strong point, and it was rare that he ever even made an attempt at the talent.

“Come on up here and help me, Deacon Taylor.”

Neil's eyes bulged at the sound of his name being broadcast through the church speakers, and he took a quick look around like there might possibly be someone else in the midst who shared his name. Surely CJ wasn't beckoning him.

Unlike CJ, singing was a forte for Neil, but it was a gift he'd chosen to shelve a long time ago . . . and CJ knew that. Neil's career was educating and mentoring children, nothing more and nothing less. But years ago, it was CJ's father who had always declared that Neil's calling was to sing.

“Sing your way into victory, boy!” he'd often yell from the pulpit when Neil took the mic.

Neil's gift for singing was discovered when he was still a child, around five years old, growing up on a deep-country farm. He and his older brother, Dwayne, would sing together while they and the rest of their family worked in the fields. For the boys, it helped lessen the heat of the sun and made the time pass quicker. But for others who were working alongside them, it was pure, unadulterated joy.

Soon after Neil graduated from high school, his family moved to Atlanta and quickly found a spiritual home at Kingdom Builders Christian Center. When they were young adults attending church with their mother, the elder Dr. Charles Loather would call on the brothers to carry out praise and worship, and sometimes, to lead the choir in songs that neither Neil nor Dwayne had ever rehearsed. Because the boys delivered with rarely ever a blunder, Dr. Loather said it was a sign of God's calling. Even after Dwayne's untimely death, Dr. Loather would request Neil's vocal assistance. But his compliance was always with much resentment.

After Dr. Loather was laid to rest, Neil asked CJ not to resume the tradition. CJ fought Neil on his decision, but ultimately, as an act of compassion, CJ gave his word. Neil's rich, raspy voice and his energetic delivery gave him the unspoken edge of favorite between him and his brother. And when Neil discontinued his frequent appearances, the church members sulked like spoiled children. But CJ understood more than most. He knew his friend didn't enjoy singing as much as he once had back in the days when Dwayne would stand by his side and harmonize.

Today, however, either someone had requested him, or the pastor must have felt a special leading from the Holy Spirit. If it were CJ's doing, Neil made a mental note to reprimand him for defying his wishes. And if it were the leading of the Holy Spirit . . . well, Neil didn't like that any better. Either way, he wasn't pleased with the open bid, and his narrowed eyes did their best to relay that message to his pastor and friend.

“Sing, Brother Taylor, sing!”

Without looking around, Neil knew that the loud coaxing came from his very own assistant, Margaret Dasher. She was easily his biggest fan when it came to just about anything, and he wondered if she were the perpetrator behind the request for him to sing today. When CJ ignored his silent protest and summoned him for the second time, Neil clenched and unclenched his jaws, then maneuvered his way past the other deacons and toward the front of the church, where the pastor met him at the foot of the pulpit with the microphone in hand. Neil took the mic, but not before giving CJ his best I'll-get-you-for-this-later look.

“When God Is In The Building” had at one time been one of Neil's favorite songs, but it had been so long since he had heard it that while his mouth belted out the tune, his mind juggled to recall the proper words. If any of the original lyrics were missed or sung out of sequence, the audience never made the detection. Neil had come to the front fully determined to sing one chorus just to show obedience to leadership, and then sit down. But God wouldn't allow it.

The tempo of the early 1990s anthem was slow, but the more Neil sang it, the more the ushers were forced to evacuate their stations and attend to congregants who had been overcome by the moving of the Holy Spirit. Neil had started out standing flat-footed on the floor at the base of the speaker's stand, directly in the middle of the church. By the time the song was over, he was leaning against the organ situated on the right end of the pulpit. Even Neil didn't understand how he had climbed the steps to the platform without cringing from painful soreness.

For a while, even after Neil ended the song, it was Sunday morning pandemonium.

“Sit down, sit down, sit down,” CJ instructed the crowd, motioning with his hands as Neil returned the microphone to him. “Y'all sit down before y'all take up all my preaching time.”

Although the charge was given, it was no surprise when few, if any, of the church members complied. The musicians had stopped the music, but people were still in active worship, walking the floor, leaping for joy, and raising their voices in praise and thanksgiving.

As Neil stood at his seat with his arms lifted in adulation, he felt hairs standing at attention beneath the sleeves of his shirt. It had been some time since God's hand had moved in the manner that it did today. But then again, it had been some time since Deacon Neil Taylor had sung.

For a long while, CJ stood in silence and allowed the voices of the people to fill the edifice. There was no music or singing, only sounds of worship that came from the lips of those who were allowing God to touch them. Moments turned into minutes, and there were no signs that the praises would end any time soon.

“Look around you, people of God,” CJ finally said. “See Mother Turner over there? See Sister Marissa in the back? See this young man kneeling at the altar? See the choir members that have been slain under the anointing? That's what happens when God is in the building!”

Voices from the audience that had already been elevated got even louder. The noise level inside of KBCC was comparable to that of a basketball game wherein the home team was down by one point and had the last possession of the ball. CJ had approached the speaker's stand with an open Bible, ready to start the day's message, but with one motion of his hand, he reached forward and closed it, having not even taken his text.

Holding the cordless microphone in his hand, he walked back and forth on the platform, at first saying nothing. Then, coming to a stop and facing his audience, CJ declared, “I hope y'all are getting what you need from the Lord, 'cause God said that's the Word for today, saints. He's in the building. He's in the building. He's in the building. Do y'all hear what I'm saying? Do you feel His presence? He's in the building!”

CJ stepped down from the podium, holding the microphone in one hand and grabbing a portion of his clerical robe in the other so that he wouldn't step on the hem. Walking the floor, he arbitrarily touched the foreheads of several worshippers, all the while speaking into the microphone. “You're gonna leave here with a new purpose that's waiting to be fulfilled. You know why? Because God is in the building, and He's gonna show you what He wants you to do. You're gonna leave here with a new mind that's not easily confused. You know why? Because God is in the building, and He's gonna change your way of thinking. You're gonna leave here with a new heart that loves. You know why? Because God is in the building, and He's gonna remake your heart from the inside out!”

With that last statement, he touched Neil's head, suddenly rendering him weak and overcome by a phenomenon that he could not ascertain. Neil sank onto the bench that he'd been standing in front of and wept in his hands. With each passing moment, the tears gained momentum. He couldn't recollect the last time he'd sobbed on this level. Maybe it was at the funeral of his brother, who had died more than fifteen years ago. When Neil cried at Dwayne's burial, he recalled feeling as though he was rejoicing and grieving all at the same time. Back then, he understood why. He was sad that his brother was gone and that his mother's heart was broken, but he was joyful to know beyond doubt that Dwayne had died happy and knowing Christ.

Today he had no idea why he was experiencing that same mixture of incalculable emotions. All he knew was that he wanted the tears to stop, but he wasn't in control.

“You know why?” CJ's voice echoed in a timely manner that sounded like he was challenging Neil's thoughts from somewhere in the distance as he continued to pace the floor. “Because God is in the building, and your life is
never
gonna be the same again!”

I must have been on crystal meth when I even thought to volunteer for this.
Shaylynn stood in the back of her son's first grade classroom, watching the hyperactive children prance around as they waited impatiently to leave the room and head to the bus that would transport them to the Georgia Aquarium. She didn't know if it were due to her presence in the room, but Chase was one of the few who seemed content coloring the artwork that the teacher had given them to occupy the time.

When she told her son that she would fill in the vacancy, if needed, to make the trip happen, Shaylynn had been more than sure that another parent would want to ride along. She'd prayed that somebody—
anybody—
would do it so that she wouldn't have to. Yet somehow, here she stood in a room full of wired children that she was sure would push her nerves to the limit before the end of the day.

Look at all the other places in the world that I could be right now.
She half-mindlessly looked at the colorful, large print map that was posted on the classroom wall. Shaylynn was left to wonder if her private thought had somehow been verbalized when she saw the teacher taking quick steps in her direction, her face bearing a troubled look.

Miss Berkshire was a thin white woman, even shorter than Shaylynn. She barely looked old enough to be out of school, let alone teaching it. She was cute in a childish kind of way, but the freckles on her face and neck were so obvious that they made Shaylynn want to pick up a marker and connect the dots. Miss Berkshire's underdeveloped body mirrored that of a twelve-year-old girl, but with the assistance of makeup, and with her red hair pinned into a neat up-do, her face looked closer to nineteen or twenty. As she neared Shaylynn, the teacher's expression became an apologetic billboard.

“I'm so sorry, Mrs. Ford. We're running just a little bit behind schedule. The other parent that was supposed to help chaperone hasn't arrived yet.” She looked at her watch, and her face fell even more. “I have a full classroom of twenty-five today. Even the daughter of the parent who is supposed to go on the trip with us is here, so I don't know where her mother is. My assistant had a death in her family and had to take some days off. It's against Kingdom Builders' policy for me to take the children away from the school with more than a ten-to-one student/adult ratio. If Ms. Garrison doesn't arrive soon—”

“Hey, Dr. Taylor!” a chorus of children's voices sang all at once.

Shaylynn turned to see several of the children, her son included, rush to the door, where Neil had barely had the chance to enter before he was bombarded. If she didn't know any better, she would have guessed that the new arrival was some sort of superstar. Barney, the beloved purple dinosaur, didn't get this kind of reception from the children on the television show that Chase watched occasionally. Shaylynn watched the scene in awe as Neil took the time to greet each one of the excited kids, either with high fives, handshakes, head rubs, or hugs before asking them to excuse him while he spoke to their teacher. Obediently, the children scattered and freed Neil to walk in the direction of the other adults.

“Hi, Dr. Taylor,” Miss Berkshire said. Suddenly her actions mirrored her adolescent appearance. The woman shifted her feet, tucked a non-existent strand of stray hair behind her ear, and then timidly straightened the jacket of her tailored navy blue pants suit. Her already rosy cheeks deepened in an obvious blush.

“Umph.” The sound escaped before Shaylynn could suppress it, and she hoped that no one else had heard.

Neil grinned at the teacher, concurrently ducking his head. “Miss Berkshire,” he acknowledged. “How's it going today?”

“Good, Dr. Taylor.” Her distinct green eyes batted in quick motions before she turned in Shaylynn's direction. “Oh.” Miss Berkshire uttered the single word like she had forgotten a parent was even standing there. Like Neil's entrance had totally erased her short-term memory. It only took her a second to regroup and say, “By the way, Dr. Taylor, this is Mrs. Ford. She's Chase's mother.”

Shaylynn watched a smile snake its way across Neil's lips as he extended his hand toward her. “I know,” he admitted. “I had the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Ford last week.”

His hand was warm, just like it had been when he shook her hand at their first meeting. “Good to see you again, Dr. Taylor,” Shaylynn said, only meeting his dark brown eyes briefly before looking away. There was something about this guy that she really didn't like . . . or really
did
like. She hadn't yet decided.

“Likewise,” Neil replied. Then, turning to Miss Berkshire, he said, “I was coming by to check on the class trip. The bus has been waiting outside for a while, and I believe you were scheduled to leave nearly fifteen minutes ago. Is everything all right?” He looked back toward Shaylynn as though he thought her presence was the reason for the delay.

The teacher caught his concern and swiftly said, “Oh, no. Mrs. Ford is here to ride along as a chaperone. Unfortunately, my other parent volunteer hasn't shown up yet, and I have too many children for just the two of us to monitor.”

“I see,” Neil said, glancing again at his watch.

Feeling a tug around her hips, Shaylynn looked down into the troubled eyes of her son.

“Mama, when are we leaving?”

“I don't know, Chase. Just be patient,” Shaylynn replied, giving him advice that she was having trouble applying to her own life.

There was so much that she could have been doing today. Having already started, folded, and then restarted her business on a couple of occasions, Shaylynn understood how important it was to be in place when potential new clients called. If she wanted to establish hers as a stable and reliable company, days like this one couldn't happen too frequently. Every second that ticked away on the clock represented lost revenue.

“Dr. Taylor?”

A familiar amplified voice broke into Shaylynn's thoughts, and she looked up to see the woman who had tried to pry into the details of her personal life.

“Come on in, Ms. Dasher,” Neil said. “You remember Chase's mom,” he added as she neared where they all stood.

“Of course. How are you,
Mrs
. Ford?”

Shaylynn detected the slight emphasis that the director's assistant placed on the title, but brushed off the urge to respond with the same level of sarcasm. And why did this woman always have to talk so loud? She'd done that same thing the first day they'd met. Did Ms. Dasher think everyone was hard of hearing or something? Shaylynn forced herself not to roll her eyes, but she immediately filed Margaret Dasher in the “unsure” pile too, right alongside her boss. She'd determine later whether she liked the wide-hipped, spectacle-wearing woman. Right now, the cards weren't stacking in Ms. Dasher's favor.

Keeping her voice on an even keel, Shaylynn answered, “I'm fine, thank you.”

“What can I do for you, Ms. Dasher?” Despite his pleasant tone, Neil tossed his assistant a reprimanding gaze that Shaylynn didn't fail to notice.

“We just received a call from a Ms. Tomeka Garrison. She said that she was supposed to assist with today's trip to the aquarium, but she's having car trouble and is stuck at the mechanic's. She says she won't be able to make it.”

Yes!
Shaylynn struggled not to pump her fist in victory like Serena Williams would after acing a serve. Thank the Lord! He had answered her prayers after all. She wasted no time reaching for the purse that she'd set on an empty desk during the wait and began fishing for her keys.

As loud and lively as the classroom full of children had been prior to Margaret Dasher's entrance, each child overheard the amplified announcement, and it resulted in a collective disappointment-filled moan. Some moped to their desks while others remained standing, but slumped their shoulders in defeat. A few of them looked to be two seconds away from tears.

“I told my mama not to buy that old ugly, raggedy car,” a pretty little girl in thick pigtails huffed. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was Ms. Garrison's daughter.

“Does that mean we can't go?” Chase asked over the voices of others who were asking the same question.

“It doesn't mean we can't go,” his teacher said in as sympathetic a voice as she could. “It just means that we can't go
today
. We'll just reschedule for another day when we can get the assistance that we need.”

The verbal pacifier that she handed them was rejected with more whines, accompanied by fits of pouting, as more children moped back to their seats with fallen faces. And the tears that some had held back until now were skating down their cheeks.

“See, honey?” Shaylynn said, feeling ill about her own elation after noting the wounded look on her son's face. “You'll still get to see the fish. You'll just have to see them on another day.”

“Sure you will,” Miss Berkshire added, tweaking Chase's cheek in the process. “School rules won't allow just your mother and me to take you. It's not safe for there to be too many children and not enough chaperones. So, as soon as we get someone else to sign up, we'll reschedule.”

“What about you, Dr. Taylor?” Chase said, abandoning both his mother and his teacher and taking a spot directly in front of his school's director. “Can't you go with us so we'll have enough grown-ups?”

“Chase.” Shaylynn tried not to lace her whisper with harshness, but her level of embarrassment couldn't be hidden in her tone. She'd always taught her son not to beg anybody for anything, and to her ears, that's exactly what Chase's plea sounded like. “Dr. Taylor has to work. He can't leave to go on a trip. Now, those same fish will be there on the date that's rescheduled.”

“Do I have anything on my desk that's pressing, Ms. Dasher?” Neil asked, bringing astonishment to Shaylynn's eyes and hope to Chase's.

“Well . . .” Margaret paused to think deeply. “Not
pressing
, I don't suppose, but unless you want me to call Pastor Loather and tell him you won't be available, you do have that conference call this afternoon.”

Neil shook his head. “No, no, no. Pastor Loather is my boss. I can't very well tell him that I'm no longer available for an appointment that's been on the books for two weeks. Just give him a call and tell him to call me on my cell because I'll be away from my office for most of the day.”

“Does that mean we can go?” Chase's face brightened.

Neil nodded and brushed his hand across the boy's head. “That's what it means, Chase. Miss Berkshire, if you and Mrs. Ford will line the kids up and escort them to the bus, I'll meet you there shortly.”

Shaylynn could barely hear Neil's words over the cheers of the students. And as much as she wanted to be at home working on completing the setup of her office, Shaylynn smiled as she watched her son hold up his arms and jump up and down in sync with one of the other boys in the class. Knowing Chase was happy forced her to set aside her selfish desires. Just like the fish would still be at the aquarium had the class visited on a later date, the clients that would help to rebuild Ford's Home Interior & Designs would still be there as well.

God willing.