Unexpected Dismounts (33 page)

“Several. Would that be two, three … ?”

“Four. About the time she took in the boy.”

“Desmond.”

“Right. And his mother, who was a prostitute and a drug addict. And may I just say that I applaud Alison for doing that. She has a very big heart. She’s the soul of compassion.”

Mr. Quillon’s eyebrows lifted on cue. “I sense some hesitation there, Reverend.”

I didn’t sense any hesitation. I sensed a script.

“It’s just that Allison’s compassion has become somewhat misguided.”

“In what way?”

The Reverend Garry closed his eyes.

“This is difficult, I know,” Quillon said.

Quillon’s voice was grounds for losing my breakfast. But Garry’s torment was all too real. When he opened his eyes, they were red-rimmed and wet.

“It
is
difficult to see a beautiful soul like hers taken over by pride.”

“Meaning?”

“She calls herself a prophet.”

I went cold.

“A prophet. She claims to be able to tell the future, then?”

“No, no. She tells what’s wrong with the present.”

Mr. Quillon leaned casually against the table. I wondered how long they’d rehearsed this scene. I might have been amused if I weren’t seething.

“Is that such a bad thing?” he said. “There are certainly plenty of things wrong with the present. Political pundits regale us with that information on a daily basis.”

“There would be nothing wrong with it,” Garry said. He worked his lips like his mouth had gone sour.

“If?” Mr. Quillon said.

“If she didn’t claim she was getting it all directly from God.”

The words came out in an anguished rush. Garry put his hand to his mouth, as if their exit had burned his lips. I felt Chief watching me for signs of eruption, but I had no desire to explode. Garry had just spoken the truth.

“As a pastor, Reverend Howard, don’t you hear God’s voice?”

“I get a sense of His will, yes,” Garry said. “But the things Allison claims she hears from God are false teaching.”

I gripped the edge of the table.

“God doesn’t tell people to purchase motorcycles and pretend to be Jesus and wash people’s feet in her front yard. He doesn’t tell them to stand in the way of the work of the church—” His voice broke and he shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s just very disturbing for me to see one of my own use God’s name to raise herself up. The Bible says ‘beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.’” Garry stiffened his face. “That is all I want to say about this. May I be excused?”

That was clearly not in the script. Mr. Quillon had to scramble for his next line.

“Of course, Reverend. You’ve been a great help. Thank you.”

“Just a moment,” Judge Atwell said. “Mr. Kade, any questions?’

“I do have one,” Kade said.

He got up without conferring with me. I couldn’t have spoken anyway. I was smothered in pain.

“Reverend Howard, are you familiar with the Reverend William Sloane Coffin?”

Garry blinked himself into focus. “Of course. He marched with Dr. King. I don’t agree with some of his politics, but he was a godly man.”

“Would you agree with this statement of Reverend Coffin’s?” Kade said. “He said, ‘Some Christians use the Bible in the same way a drunk uses a lamp post: more for support than illumination.’”

Chief’s shoulders shook. I covered my mouth, just in case I was still capable of a grin.

“What exactly am I supposed to do with that?” Garry said.

“Nothing, sir,” Kade said. “I have no further questions.”

As Garry made a hurried exit, Judge Atwell turned his long-and-growing-longer face to me. “I’m a little concerned about this, Miss Chamberlain.… I’ve heard mixed reviews about your work, but I personally haven’t seen anything wrong with it. Anybody who can turn a drug addict around is fine by me, no matter how you do it … however …”

What? For Pete’s sake, what “however” could there be?

“
Hearing voices and claiming to be the next best thing to God … I find that somewhat disturbing when I’m considering granting you an adoption.”

“Your Honor,” Kade said.

“Let me finish.”

And then, of course, he didn’t, for another fifteen seconds, while I fought back a scream.

“The rest of this—these photos, the child’s current
environment
—that’s all easily explained, I’m sure. I’m not worried about that.… But this … I’m going to want a full explanation when we reconvene tomorrow morning. Bring in witnesses, bring in a psychologist, whatever you see fit.… But if you’re going to convince me that this child belongs with you, Miss Chamberlain, then you’d better make me believe you are of sound mind. Bailiff—next case?”

“We’ll talk outside,” Kade murmured to me.

That was optimistic. I wasn’t sure I could utter a word at that point.

We wheeled Chief to a corner down the hall and stood in a knot with our backs to the rest of the courthouse world.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Kade said, “because I don’t get the sense that this judge is religious.”

Chief nodded him on.

“We’re not going to convince him that
anybody
hears God, and I don’t see Allison denying it.”

“Can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” I said.

“Sorry. Look, I don’t want to put you up there and ask you if God talks to you because you’ll have to say yes.”

“Where are you going with this, son?” Chief said.

Kade consulted the ceiling. “Okay, I’m just going to be blunt. We present it as, ‘She may be a wacko, but she’s a good wacko.’”

Chief was already reaching for me, but I eluded his grasp and put myself in front of Kade. Right in front, so I could see straight through those blue eyes.

“Do you believe in me?” I said.

“Look—”

“Just answer the question: Do you believe in me, in what I stand for, in who I am?”

I didn’t wait for the words. I was looking for what his eyes had to say.

They didn’t flinch.

“Yes,” he said. “The same way you believe in me. Without proof.”

“Good answer,” I said. “Because there
is
no proof. There’s only my word. If you can’t work with that, then you can’t represent Desmond and me.”

I heard someone else step up behind us.

“Nick,” Chief said.

“Mr. Ellington.”

I pulled away from Kade and leaned against the wall.

“You got a minute?” Nicholas said to him.

“Does he need his lawyer present?” Chief said.

Nicholas shook his head, and Chief nodded for Kade to follow him. I waited until they were gone before I let myself cave, just a little.

“There is one alternative, Classic,” Chief said.

“What?” I said.

“It depends on how much you’re willing to give up for Desmond.”

“I’d give up anything, you know that. I can’t just let her take him off to freakin’
London
and drop him off!”

“What about your job?”

“With Sacrament House?”

“No,” he said. “With God. Would you give up your place as prophet?”

I stared at him. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m asking you the question you need to ask yourself between now and tomorrow. And while you’re at it, you probably ought to ask God.”

I didn’t blurt out the automatic answer. There was a check in my soul, a catch in my heartbeat.

“That’s what it’s going to come down to, Classic,” he said. “And we both know it.”

Kade rejoined us, hands jammed into his pockets. My mind jumped back to him.

“What happened?” I said. “Was that about Ophelia?”

“They did a PCR-based test on my DNA. It wasn’t a match.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” I said. “Now I have to deal with her somehow, but I’m not even relieved, y’know. I knew—”

I couldn’t finish the sentence. Kade was very clearly struggling with something.

“I’m sure he told you PCR isn’t conclusive,” Chief said. “But what it
can
do is rule you out.” He leveled his eyes at Kade. “Take a little time to shake it off. Use my workout equipment if you want. But then you and I have work to do.”

“What do you want me to do?” I said.

Chief turned his gaze on me. “Whatever you need to, Classic.”

Hank met me downstairs with Desmond in tow. He was more than a little disgruntled that he’d gotten “all dressed up like a preppy” only to hang out in the lobby.

“We didn’t get to your part,” I said.

Hank didn’t ask me any questions, which meant I was wearing my angst all over my face.

“We’ll talk tonight,” Hank said as we split off at the corner of St. George and King so I could get ice cream for Desmond.

“What’s tonight?” I said.

“Maundy Thursday at Sacrament House,” she said. “Six o’clock.”

I wasn’t sure I could handle even my Sisters in the shape I was in. Especially Ophelia, who was now going to be faced with the fact that her accusation had been unintentionally false. Maybe Ophelia wasn’t the one I was really worried about. Maybe it was India.

But Desmond and I showed up at the House at six, in the van because he still wouldn’t get on Chief’s bike. On the way, he didn’t ask me any questions about my day in court, and I decided that was about more than him not wanting me to go off about the whole thing. When we pulled up to the curb, I said, “Okay, so here’s what happened today, and I promise not to blow—”

“I don’t wanna know,” he said.

The pain in those four words shredded me. Was this how God felt all the time, watching us make such a mess out of things? Was that what I was supposed to tell the judge, that I not only heard him, but I felt pain, too? I might as well put Desmond on a plane to London right now.

“I do got one question.”

I pulled myself back and took a breath. “Go for it.”

“We gon’ be talkin’ to God tonight?”

“Probably.” I steeled myself for the usual list of excuses.

But he considered the windshield for so long I felt like I was in a car with Judge Atwell. Finally, he said, “You think God gonna swoop down and work it out so that Prissy woman don’t take me away somewhere you can’t find me?”

I turned off the ignition.

“That’s what Mr. Chief said he
don’t
believe. He said God wasn’t gon’ put words in your mouth to keep her from takin’ me. So who I’m s’posed to believe, Big Al? Him or you?”

I rubbed my palms on the steering wheel. Now I knew why Atwell let so much silence fall.

If you want the right ones to come out, God, now would be a good time to put them in my mouth.

“If you don’t even know, then why we goin’ in there to eat that bread and all?” Desmond’s voice rose with his precious Adam’s apple. “I don’t even know—”

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said. “You can believe both of us, Chief
and
me.”

“How Imma do that when y’all sayin’ two different things?”

“We’re not,” I said. “
I’m
saying we need to talk to God and listen to what God’s telling us. Chief’s saying God isn’t going to do it all
for
us, God’s not going to swoop down like a fairy godmother.”

“Oh, I
know
God ain’t no fairy.”

“Chief’s right about that. That’s why I listen for God to show me what to do, so I don’t mess up when I’m doing it.”

“What about them words comin’ out yo mouth?”

“Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t,” I said. “Chief’s nervous that they won’t come out when I need them. He wants to have a backup plan.”

“What is it?”

“What is what?”

“His backup plan.”

I closed my eyes.
There is one alternative, Classic. It depends on how much you’re willing to give up for Desmond.

“You don’t like that plan, do ya?
”
Desmond said.

“No, pal, I don’t,” I said. “But I might not have a choice.”

He gave the windshield another deep survey. I got the feeling his problems with God weren’t solved.

“We better go in,” I said. “You don’t have to participate, Des. Just be with the people who love you.”

I got out of the van before my face could betray me.

There were more people who loved him, and me, in the House than I was expecting. Besides Hank and the Sisters, including Zelda, Ophelia, and India, Bonner was there, and Liz Doyle. Yeah, I always thought those two should get together. She was looking less frazzled than I’d ever seen her.

“We ready for y’all,” Mercedes said from the doorway.

The table had been moved out and another, lower one, moved in with the fresh bread and the juice in its pottery chalice and the snowy white linens ready to catch the crumbs and drops of our ritual. Everyone, including a reluctant Desmond, was gathered around it on pillows on the floor. All except Zelda. She was on her knees next to a big pitcher and a white porcelain bowl.

At last, Zelda.

In some ways she looked very much as she had the day she left Sacrament House. Her hair was still forced into a cruel ponytail that pulled her eyes back to her temples. Her skin was still a jailhouse pale that wasn’t all that different from her former drug-induced pallor. And the bones in her wrists still protruded like dresser-drawer knobs.