Wedgewick Woman (26 page)

Chapter 2

* * *

“Kyle, forgot to tell you we have a new guitarist this morning! Name’s Cadence David.”

Pastor Frank Kincaid, smiled, winked, and patted his daughter’s arm as he passed through the throng of Sunday morning worshipers.

She acknowledged his words with a nod and glanced at the church bulletin, picked up her pace, hoping no one would stop her today. Several people had already captured Popi’s attention on his way to the podium. Popi was her endearment for Pastor Kincaid, who was also her adopted father. Worship started in four minutes and it was a three-minute walk through the hallways just to get to the auditorium.

Dashing up four steps, her size seven Keds tapped lightly across the twenty-four foot round stage as she took her place at the mic, checking to be sure she was on. The other two female singers were already in position, each standing quietly, their eyes closed. A quick glance told her that the team members were at their stations; drummer, backup singers, two guitarists- three this morning, violinist, and keyboardist.

Relax, everyone’s here.

Kyle was not the worrying sort, except for one thing that absolutely threw her straight into a fit of fear. When people didn’t show up on time, she panicked.

Lord, this is your day, your time. Kyle could feel the smile begin to soften the muscles in her face as her eyelids fluttered shut. She forced herself to concentrate on nothing else but the Lord. This was Sunday and they were here to worship.

Slowly her arms relaxed. Her eyes still closed she heard Twinkie tap his drum sticks together, signaling the start of the morning worship service.

The beat of Twinkie’s drums beat a pattern in her soul. She was ready. Eyes open, Kyle leaned into the mic. She heard her voice soar over the buzz of the crowd. “Today is the day the Lord has made. We will be glad. Join with us in singing .” Kyle raised her arms upward in invitation as the huge crowd stood to their feet.

Twinkie winked at her as his head began to nod with the beat. A sense of excitement shot through her heart. This was what it was all about.

Three songs later, and the audience was fully involved. Folks were swaying, some had their eyes closed, tears and smiles on their faces. Power shot through her heart again at the knowledge that she, she, of all people stood on this stage leading so many in singing praises to the Lord God Almighty.

Empowered at the thought she scanned the crowd and enjoyed the moment. Sensing something in her spirit, she let her gaze swing around the circle of musicians.

“Okay, let’s pick up the pace a bit.” She said loudly and swept her arms upward, leading the group in an upbeat worship song.

Kyle’s eyes swung past the new guitarist then back again. She noticed that a series of menacing dark tattoos formed their way from his wrists all the way up his muscled arms then disappeared under the short sleeves of his black t-shirt. Her heart twisted in her chest. A silver choker chain encircled his neck and a single tiny loop hung from one ear. Popi probably picked him up off the street and brought him in. She pushed the distressing thoughts from her mind.

The music stopped and Twinkie led in prayer, all the while, tapping lightly on the rim of his snare.

Then it was time for Popi to preach.

The girls turned off their mics. Kyle made it her job to be the last person to step off the platform, making sure all the equipment was turned off. In charge of the worship service for a couple of weeks in the director’s absence, she waited while they filed past her and was nearly knocked sideways as the new guy rushed by, gobbled up the four stairs in two steps and disappeared into the crowd.

She knew that kind of rush. The rush of conscience biting at your tail.

Smiling, she said a quick prayer for the guitarist, then set off at a jog for her classroom of third graders. Popi led singing for second service. She would be back for third service.

An hour later, she watched, exhausted, as the last boy headed toward the door.

“See you next week, Alex.”

He stopped and looked up, his brown eyes peering boldly at her through smudged, crooked glasses. “Can I call you mommy, even if you’re white?”

“Yes you can call me mommy anytime you want to, Alex.” She knelt next to him. “But you’d better make sure it’s okay with your mom.” She smiled.

“Oh, she won’t care.” Alex said sadly.

Kyle didn’t know what to say. He was quite large for his age and had never once shown any emotion that would have let her see his pain. He was tough and lived in the poorest part of town.

Alex’s mother was in jail and Kyle’s heart bled for him. Some day she would sit down and tell Alex, perhaps the entire class, about her own life. Popi would tell her if it was all right. Some day.

Right now it was time to get back for the third service. Her legs carried her down the hallways and through the large double doorway, people spilling in from everywhere. Heading for the huge center platform, she was stopped three times for questions concerning this or that, and found herself on stage alone, checking mics for the second time that day.

Over the heads of everyone she could see Popi and the new guitarist having words in the hall. Anger poured from the guy’s face, his stance, his gestures told the story that he was more than unhappy. Popi had probably forgotten to tell him that there were three services at this church. He always picked up people, sometimes from the street, sometimes from jail and hauled them in promising them a few free meals and some ‘mighty fine counseling’ in exchange for whatever they could offer in service to the church.

Their reactions were always the same. Disbelief that so many folks went to church. Sinner’s Church served more than a thousand people at each of three services.

Everything was in order, the service was late getting started, ten minutes past the hour and no one seemed to notice. The huge room was abuzz with people introducing each other, shaking hands, talking. A wave of loneliness washed over her and she shuddered.

Knowing that satan did his best to discourage, she threw back her shoulders and scanned the crowd for her crew. They were making their way to their instruments. But one body seemed to be moving faster than the others. The new guitarist.

Popi had won. He always did. He never yelled, he just knew the right words to say.

If anger could be described, this guy defined it. He shot up the stage in two steps, picked up his guitar, slipped his pic out of the strings and feet wide apart, took his stance and stared. At her.

Shaking off his glaring eyes, dark ones, she noted, Kyle turned slightly, shut her eyes to pray. When she opened them, she couldn’t help but glance back at the man. Contempt raged in his eyes.

He immediately looked down at his guitar and pretended to tune it up.

Yeah, like you really want to be here. Her thoughts took her back to her own first days here at Sinner’s Church. Smiling, she turned away, knowing he would not appreciate being stared at by a holier-than-thou type. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would be able to follow their music sheets. He didn’t seem to have any trouble the first hour.

Her answer came quickly. The third service started like the first. Twinkie snapped his drum sticks together and her voice rang out. By the end of the first song, she was glaring at the new guitarist. He had purposely stepped up the tempo by playing one note ahead of her lead, forcing everyone to follow him. What was his problem?

First instinct was to stomp over there and tell him to slow it up. She was the worship director, he was to follow, not lead. But a small voice stopped her steps. Taking a deep breath, she cleansed the thoughts in her head. No way am I going to let him get to me.

With a raised hand she started the second song and purposely held a note, hoping to make him stick with her, but he strummed even louder and faster than the last song. Twinkie’s eyes met hers across the stage. His raised eyebrow hinted that he was having a time trying to slow the pace down to match her tempo.

Then Kyle saw Twinkie shrug as he leaned into the drums. He was going to follow the guitarist’s lead. There was nothing else to do but to fall in line. The next two songs were paced quicker and upbeat. It didn’t take long for the smiles on stage to wipe out her anger and Kyle decided to ride it out.

Still she wanted to cuff the guy. It was rude to overpower the worship leader. Surely Popi had told him to follow her lead. She could give him a piece of her mind and have plenty left over for another day. But the softer words she sensed in her head…
let me handle him
…stopped her from taking another mental stab at this guy’s rude behavior.

When the last song ended, Twinkie gave her a thumbs up. Kyle left the stage first, willing herself not to give him a look, knowing it was not her place to judge him. Her feet carried her out of the auditorium and to the nearest water fountain. She leaned over, grabbing the hem of her straight blue jean skirt so the backs of her knees would not show, and drank. Thirsty, she gobbled and swallowed several times.

“You ‘bout done there sis?” she heard from behind and jumped, hitting her head on the sink, choking on the water.

She knew by the tone of his voice without ever having heard him speak. It was the new guitarist. Kyle, swallowed again and coughed giving her time to force a smile and turned. She found herself looking into a pair of glaring dark eyes; ones that dared her to cross him. A smug look rested easily on his tan face. No way would she give him what he wanted. The neck of his guitar was visible over his shoulder. The wide black guitar belt that ran across his chest said in big white letters, “Natural Fear.”

She wanted to laugh at that.

A lock of black hair fell across those dark eyes.

A false smile spread on her face as her chin lifted ever so slightly. She clamped her mouth shut and uttered not a single word, then gave him her back and walked away, shoulders stiff.

Immediately her conscience bit her.
What in the world did I do that for? Now he knows how to get to me. Whooo…

Kyle turned and saw the smirk still there on his face. Suddenly she hit something hard — a whoosh came from her lungs and she found herself entangled with a male body.

“Marcel.” She puffed out. “I’m sorry…I…” Kyle glanced back in time to see the guy shake his head, turn, and with a slow, purposeful walk, head down the hallway, his guitar riding his back.

“In a hurry?” Marcel’s deep voice brought her anger into submission.

“Uh…no…I just…it’s nothing.” She breathed out the air in her lungs that seemed to be caught there. Kyle had not experienced that kind of anger for a very long time.

Chapter 3

* * *

“Kyle, you and Marcel joining us for lunch today?” Popi called from his office.

Kyle looked to Marcel and he winked. “Yes, I guess we are…unless we’re eating at that fast food place. I’m hungry for something good.”

She smiled and took Marcel’s offered hand as they walked to his car.

“Let’s go. It’s been a crazy day and I’ve got the workings of a headache.”

“I saw you rubbing your head. And you looked as though you were going to blow your cork in the hall there.” Marcel teased.

“Yeah, almost did.” She admitted.

“So who was our new guitarist?”

Marcel’s voice gave him away. Kyle sensed his teasing and gave him a look.

“Uh oh, hit a sore spot.”

“Not really.” She lied.

Marcel looked at her with his dark brown eyes and Kyle confessed. “You’re right. He made me angry today.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” Marcel came around to the passenger side, opened the door of his silver Toyota.

“Well, first of all, he changed the tempo…faster. Then he had the nerve to stare me down at the water fountain as though I was some kind of…germ.” She sputtered, settling on the front seat.

“Germ?” Marcel’s smile replaced his serious look, as he bent and sat on his heels next to her open door.

“Don’t laugh. It is very difficult to lead a thousand people in a song when the guitarist is running away with the music!”

“First time I’ve ever seen you riled.”

“Not the last, if that guy sticks around.”

“He really got to you didn’t he?”

Kyle shrugged, realizing she was whining. “Yeah.”

“You know Popi is going to keep bringing in strays.” He reached over and tugged at a wayward wisp of hair, blowing across her face. Marcel had begun calling him Popi, too.

“Yes.” She said and guilt assuaged her soul. “I know.”

She had been one of those strays. But Marcel didn’t know that.

Kyle stared out the windshield letting the wind blow through her hair as Marcel drove to the restaurant. She shut her eyes against the world as it sped by, preferring to think about good things. And wondered why she had never told Marcel about her life.

Determined to keep her past life buried, she pasted a smile on her face and turned toward him. “Remind me to thank you some day.” She whispered.