Everybody Say Amen Read online

  Praise for the uplifting novels of

  ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  I KNOW I’VE BEEN CHANGED

  #1 Dallas Morning News bestseller

  “Grabs you from the first page and never lets go…. One of the best reads of the year. Bravo!”

  —Victoria Christopher Murray

  “An excellent novel with a moral lesson to boot…. Billingsley grows as a writer with each effort.”

  —Zane, New York Times bestselling author

  “This emotionally charged novel will not easily be forgotten.”

  —Romantic Times (4½ stars, Gold Medal, Top Pick)

  “A compelling, heartfelt story.”

  —Booklist

  LET THE CHURCH SAY AMEN

  #1 Essence bestseller and Dallas Morning News bestseller

  One of Library Journal’s Best Christian Books for 2004

  “Billingsley infuses her text with just the right dose of humor to balance the novel’s serious events…. Will appeal to fans of Michele Andrea Bowen’s Second Sunday and Pat G’Orge-Walker’s Sister Betty! God’s Calling You Again!”

  —Library Journal (starred review)

  “Her community of very human saints will win readers over with their humor and verve.”

  —Booklist

  “Amen to Let the Church Say Amen…. [A] well-written novel.”

  —Indianapolis Recorder

  Also by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  My Brother’s Keeper

  Let the Church Say Amen

  I Know I’ve Been Changed

  Four Degrees of Heat

  (with Brenda L. Thomas, Crystal Lacey Winslow and Rochelle Alers)

  Have a Little Faith

  (with Jacquelin Thomas, J. D. Mason and Sandra Kitt)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-3876-3

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-3876-9

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  For my grandmothers…the roots that have allowed me to grow

  Acknowledgments

  I am so blessed. And of course I have to first give praises to God, who just keeps on blessing me and helps me achieve and realize things others only dream about.

  I look at how far I’ve come in this literary journey and I know that I wouldn’t have done it without the love, support, and encouragement of my husband, Dr. Miron Billingsley. Thank you for helping me realize my dream; know that I’m right there as you work to realize yours.

  To my babies…Mya Simone and Morgan Camille. I began this journey when you were in the womb. Now, you are the fuel that keeps me moving along this road. Know that everything I do—I do for you. If you could just learn to be okay with people “taking Mommy’s books.” Mya, my proudest moment was when you wrote your first book so you could be “just like Mommy.”

  To my mother, Nancy…I’ve come a long way from the four-page letters that I used to write to you in high school to express myself. Thank you for struggling to give us a better life. You laid the foundation. I can’t wait until I can repay you (I can hear you now—“I can’t wait for you to repay me, either.”).

  Tanisha…more than ever, you and Mom helped me get this book done by taking the girls so I could make it do what it do. Thank you for being a Jill-of-all-trades. Keep pushing my books and you just might get that new car yet. (Why is it when relatives think you’re doing all right, they want you to buy them something major—a house, a car? Whatever happened to “Can you buy me a new pair of shoes?”…But I digress.)

  To two of my very best friends, Jaimi Canady and Raquelle Lewis…thank you for always being there for me, supporting all of my dreams, and not mistaking my lack of time for a lack of love. Jaimi, you told me you always felt God had a higher calling for me. I’ve found it.

  To Pat “Speed Writer” Tucker Wilson. I could spend the next ten pages thanking you for all you’ve done for me…the hours and hours of conversations; you keeping me grounded and sane with everything from the TV station to the literary industry. There are very few people in this world I know I can call at the drop of a dime about anything and they’re there. You’re one of them. I told you your time was coming. Now do your thang.

  To my wonderful, spectacular, fabulous, phenomenal, dynamic (former) editor, Selena James (can you tell I have mad love for her?). Thank you so much for nurturing me on this literary journey and listening with a straight face as I brainstormed endless ideas that sometimes I know had you wanting to say, “Get real.” To Brigitte Smith and Maggie Crawford, thank you so much for picking up where Selena left off and working tirelessly to ensure that this would be the best book it could be. Special thanks also to Louise Burke, Melissa Gram-stead, and the sales team. And to everyone else at Simon & Schuster/Pocket Books, thank you for believing in my work. The sky’s the limit.

  You know I have to give a huge, huge thanks to my agent, Sara Camilli, who is always looking out for me and believed in me way back when.

  To my boys at the J-O-B, Fox 26 News: Ray Williams, Charles Hobson, Ray Ramirez, Torrey Walker, Joe McGinty, Isiah Carey (check out his blog at carey2.blogspot.com), Rodney Pearson, and Xavier Kirts. (Xavier, keep the faith—your lotto numbers will come in.) To my spiritual/business advisor, “Deacon” Todd Smith. Man, I can’t thank you enough for helping me keep my head up when I felt beat down. You were there as I wrote this book, helping me to stay focused on the bigger picture and to remember above all else, rely on God when life gets you down. You are more than just a colleague. You’re a friend. See you at Starbucks to broker those big deals.

  To the real First Ladies who let me pick their brains and who talked to me about how a “real woman of God” should act: Luela Walker (my First Lady), Vonda Edwards, Mia Wright, Doris Childress, Doris Ratcliffe, and Kayla Simmons.

  To the ministers who provide inspiration (the good stuff) for my stories: Rev. Harvey Walker (my pastor), Rev. Mark Edwards, Rev. Moses Woodruff, Jr., Rev. Terrence Johnson, Rev. KirbyJon Caldwell, Rev. Robert Childress, Bishop T. D. Jakes, Bishop Eddie Long, Rev. Remus Wright.

  Thanks also to the authors who never hesitate to help a sister out: King “The world ain’t ready for me” Jihad (keep your head up), Victoria Christopher Murray, Nina Foxx, Norma Jarrett, Jacqueline Thomas, Sheila Dansby Harvey, James Guittard, Carl Weber, Eric Pete, and Zane and the Strebor Family. Much love also to the other ladies of Femme Fantastik (Lori, Carmen, Trisha, and Wendy).

  Now, let me get to the part that I know is going to get me in trouble because I know I’ll leave someone out. But here goes…

  Thanks so much, as always, to my sorors of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Inc., especially the Houston area chapters, including my own—Mu Kappa Omega—and my sister’s chapter, Chi Omicron Omega; and to my girls who were there for me when I was making $5 an hour as an anchor in Port Arthur—Kim Wright, Clemelia Richardson, Finisha Waits, Beverly Davis, Leslie Mouton, and Trina McReynolds.

  Also thanks to Deidre Lodrig, Angie Pickett Henderson, Carlos Canady, Saki Indakwa, my former co-workers at Fox 26 News, and all my other friends and family. To
JeCaryous Johnson, Gary Guidry, and LaKeysha Jones at I’m Ready Productions and Keith Davis and Deshawn Colbert at DMARS.

  Thanks to the schools and churches that have already had me out and allowed me to do what I do best—inspire and motivate young people; especially Contemporary Learning Center; Madison, Kashmere, and Westside High Schools; Christa McAuliffe Middle School; Klentzman Intermediate; Alief Hastings, St. Luke’s, Brentwood, Brookhollow, Friendship West, New Birth, Mt. Ararat, Mt. Horeb, and Higher Dimensions Baptist Churches; as well as Windsor Village United Methodist Church and Ft. Bend Church.

  Thanks also to all the book clubs and bookstores that have shown me mad, mad love. Nnette’s Book Break; Go On Girl (Texas 1) (special thanks to Betty for the Mimosa); Shades of You; Turning Pages (people are still raving about my purse); Zora Neale Hurston; Kindred Spirits; Cover 2 Cover; Cush City; Tea Rose (a bookclub with a butler—but then what else would I expect from women of your caliber?); Coffee, Tea and Read; Bsure; Ladies of Expression; Nubian Page Turners (you ladies definitely tell it like it is!); Pages Between Sistahs; Sistahs in Spirit; Black Orchids; Gwen Furr and Wal-Mart store #872; My Sisters & Me; Sistahs Who Are Reading; Mahogany Souls; and Kismet Book Clubs.

  I know my acknowledgments run a bit long, but when you’ve been blessed to have so many wonderful people in your life…well, I just can’t make excuses for letting them know they’re appreciated. (And if I forgot your name, you’re still appreciated and you love me so much you won’t hold it against me, right .)

  Until next time, drop me a line and let me know what you think of the books.

  Thanks for the love.

  Peace.

  ReShonda

  Prologue

  If looks could kill, Lester Adams would definitely be pushing up daisies.

  Rachel glared at her husband and silently played her mantra in her head: Do not act a fool. You are a strong, mature woman who has left those childish ways behind you. Whatever you do, do not act a fool.

  That had been Rachel’s theme for the last five years, and had helped her out of numerous situations. It wasn’t working today.

  This fool must be on crack. Rachel inhaled deeply. “What did you just say?”

  Lester got up and began his usual pacing as he tried to explain to his wife the reasoning behind his decision.

  “It’s not like this is something I just want to do on a whim,” he said.

  Rachel massaged her temples. She had done so well at walking the straight and narrow since she’d tied the knot. Marrying Lester had been the best decision she had ever made. He kept her grounded. No, he wasn’t the most handsome thing, but he loved her unconditionally, and that love had made her want to be a better woman. But what he was saying now was absolutely insane.

  “I talked this over with your father and he’s pleased with the decision,” Lester added nervously.

  Rachel remained at a loss for words. She stared at her husband. The red pimples were gone from his sandpaper-colored skin thanks to Proactiv, and she’d convinced him to shave off the red mop that had sat on his head for years. Now he wore a closely cropped fade. Right about now, though, she wished she could grab that head of hair and shake some sense into him.

  “Baby, I know you don’t understand this.” Lester sat down next to her. She immediately stood up. It was her turn to pace their spacious three-bedroom apartment.

  “You’re right. I don’t,” she said. “I don’t believe you’re standing here telling me this.”

  “Come on. You act like I’m telling you I had an affair or something,” Lester tried to joke.

  “I think I might be able to handle that better than this.” Rachel shot him a look to let him know she wasn’t joking.

  Lester sighed. “Rachel, when the Lord calls, He calls. This is my destiny. You know how I’ve been telling you I was tired of insurance and felt I had a greater calling. Well, this is it.”

  Rachel spun on her husband. “A preacher, Lester? You want to be a preacher? Even worse, you want me to be a preacher’s wife?” She stared at him as if that was the absolute craziest thing she’d ever heard.

  “That’s exactly what I want, Rachel.”

  Rachel cocked her head in confusion. “What makes you think those people at Zion Hill—‘one of the most prominent churches in Houston,’ as they like to boast—will let you be their preacher anyway?”

  “Come on. After Reverend Wright got arrested in the pulpit, I think the board wants someone safe like me.”

  She could understand that much. That whole situation had been a fiasco. Deacon Wright had finally gotten his wish a year ago when Rachel’s father, Rev. Simon Jackson, had stepped down as pastor of Zion Hill. The deacon was able to get his nephew, Milton Wright, in as the church’s new preacher. The only problem was that Reverend Wright never informed anyone of his outstanding warrants for hot checks—more than fifty thousand dollars’ worth.

  The police had come and arrested him right in the middle of Sunday morning service. Wright had taken off running right in the middle of the sermon with the police chasing him all the way down the street. It was a nightmare that took Zion Hill months to live down.

  But what Rachel couldn’t understand was why her husband had to be the replacement. “Since when did you even want to be a preacher? Besides, you haven’t been to theology school or anything.”

  Lester sighed in frustration. “Not every minister is trained in the Word. For some, it’s just a calling.”

  “You really think those people at Zion Hill will let somebody with no experience be their preacher?”

  “I’ve been a member of that church since I was born, Rachel. They support what I’m doing wholeheartedly. They know me and they don’t have to worry about any mess like what happened with Reverend Wright. And it’s not like I’ll just jump in the pulpit. Your father has agreed to mentor me. I can also take part in a six-week theological seminar. And I’ll work closely with the deacon board.”

  “Lester, this is insane.” Rachel tried to reason with him. “You can’t possibly want this. Is this some early midlife crisis or something? If so, go buy a motorcycle or get a tattoo.”

  “Rachel, if you half paid attention to me you’d know that I have always felt something was missing in my life! I’ve been praying on it and meeting regularly with your father about it,” Lester said. “I’ve even preached a couple of times at different churches in the city already.”

  “What? When did this happen and why didn’t I know anything about it?” Sure, she was wrapped up in her own little world most of the time, but surely she would’ve known about her husband having a desire to preach, let alone actually having preached somewhere.

  Lester cast his eyes downward. “You never show an interest in what I’m doing. I didn’t want to hear you try to talk me out of it, so I didn’t tell you what I was doing.”

  Rachel shook her head as she continued walking back and forth across the room. She looked at the family photo of her, Lester, Jordan, and Nia. Both of her kids loved Lester to death. For Nia, he was the only father she’d ever known, since her real daddy didn’t half fool with her. Jordan’s father, Bobby, was in his life, but the nine-year-old still loved him some Daddy Lester. Rachel couldn’t believe she was about to lose the happy home she’d worked so hard to build. But that was what was about to happen because there was no way on earth she would ever be a preacher’s wife. She wasn’t as buck wild as she used to be, but she definitely wasn’t first lady material and didn’t care to be first lady material. “This is too much,” she said. “This is just coming out of the blue. Are you sucking up to my father, trying to be like the great Simon Jackson?”

  Lester jumped to his feet, his frustrations becoming evident. “It’s not like that at all. This is not a decision I’ve made lightly.”

  Rachel put a finger in the air and began wiggling her neck. She had been doing so well in keeping her ghetto ways at bay. But so much for that. “Decision? So you’ve already decided?”

  He lowered
his voice, obviously trying to remain rational. “Rachel, please understand…” He reached out to try and take her arm. She snatched it away.

  “I’m not understanding anything!” She leaned in and pointed her index finger in his face. “You understand this. I ain’t trying to be a preacher’s wife. I spent my life as a preacher’s daughter. I hated it growing up. The church always coming first in my family. My daddy never being around. Those holier-than-thou people watching my every move and passing judgment on me. It was horrible! But I didn’t have any choice then. I have a choice about this!” She was fuming and was not about to back down. She had to let him know she meant business. Lester was a softie when it came to her. Always had been. She had to make him see this idea wasn’t remotely feasible.

  “What are you saying, Rachel?” Lester looked like he wanted to cry.

  “What does it sound like?” Rachel stared defiantly at her husband.

  “It sounds like you’re giving me an ultimatum: either you or the Lord.”

  Rachel didn’t budge. “You can make it sound as horrible as you want, I’m just telling you, I ain’t trying to be a preacher’s wife. Let me rephrase that. I’m not gon’ be a preacher’s wife.”

  Lester inhaled deeply before speaking. He looked her in the eye. “And I am telling you,” he said, his voice taking on a strength she’d never heard, “I give you everything you want and then some. I cater to your every need, your every wish. But this is something I’m not wavering on. This is my calling and if you don’t like it, you can leave.” With that Lester turned and stomped out of the house.

  Rachel was shocked. In their five years of marriage Lester had never so much as raised his voice at her, let alone issued her an ultimatum. But he had to be confused if he thought his little temper tantrum would change her mind. He was just going to have to find another “calling,” because there was no way in hell she was going to be a preacher’s wife.