Goodness and Mercy Read online

  “How many children do you have?”

  Tiffany appreciated that Gabrielle asked. She loved talking about her children. “I have three. My oldest daughter is Jade. She’ll be eight this year. Dana, our middle daughter, turns six in a few months. And our son, Darius Junior, we call him Little D., just turned two this past November. He’s in the toddler’s section of children’s church.”

  Gabrielle nodded. “That’s nice of the church to have a children’s church and a teen church within the main church. I only went to church a few times when I was growing up, although I went all the time when I was a baby up until I was about three. My mother used to take me every Sunday. . . .” Reflecting on her mother when she was too young (her aunt and others had constantly countered) to remember anything that had to do with her or anything else that may or may not have happened during that time caused her to discontinue, at least aloud, this train of thought.

  Gabrielle smiled, pretending it was perfectly normal to switch topics and entire conversations in midsentence. “Suffice it to say, there was nothing separate for children or the teens to do in the churches I attended growing up. And the preacher where we did go those times mostly put folks to sleep. I mean, they would be sleeping good, too. Until he reached the end of his sermon and started whooping and hollering—startling babies, men, and old folks alike right out of their naps.” She laughed. “I’m sorry. Here I am going on, holding you up when you clearly said you needed to go. Please, go on and pick up your children. And thanks for the Bible.” She patted the Bible’s cover. “It’s beautiful.”

  Fatima Adams walked over to Gabrielle and Tiffany just as Tiffany was about to leave. “Well, hello. It’s Tiffany Connors, right?”

  Tiffany nodded. “And you’re Fatima . . . ?” She frowned as though that would help her recall Fatima’s last name.

  “Yes, Adams. Fatima Adams,” Fatima said as she politely shook Tiffany’s hand.

  “Well, Fatima, I must say that you have impeccable timing. I’m hurrying to get my children from children’s church. Now I don’t feel so bad leaving like this. Great meeting you”—she said to Gabrielle—“and great seeing you again,” she said to Fatima.

  Fatima turned to Gabrielle. “Well, hello there. My name is Fatima Adams, as I’m sure you just heard.” She smiled and held out her hand to shake Gabrielle’s, then suddenly leaned in and hugged her instead. “I just wanted to come over, introduce myself, and welcome you to the body of Christ, as well as to Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center. We’re so excited you’ve chosen to accept Jesus into your life. And believe me when I say that your decision is an eternal, life-changing, and life-saving one.”

  Gabrielle felt Fatima’s hug had been sincere. Still, she quickly pulled away, and even took a step back. “Thank you. I’m Gabrielle Mercedes. And before you ask, I’m not married, so it’s not my married name.” She laughed a little. In truth, the hug had taken her a little off her stride. Gabrielle wasn’t accustomed to being hugged. She hadn’t been hugged much since her days with Miss Crowe, a teacher who had been a rock in her life. In fact, as she thought about it, the last time she’d actually allowed anyone to hug her, to really hug her, was the last time she’d seen Miss Crowe—some nine years ago. Right before that horrible accident that ended up dramatically changing both of their lives. Any other hugs didn’t mean anything to her; they were merely perfunctory.

  Miss Crowe was the only person who had really cared about her. She’d cared about Gabrielle’s dreams and aspirations. Cared that Gabrielle was treated fairly and with respect. In a nutshell, Miss Esther Crowe had cared about what Gabrielle cared about. So, whenever Miss Crowe hugged her, she knew that Miss Crowe wasn’t hugging her for what she could get out of her. She was hugging her because she knew Gabrielle needed it. After Miss Crowe was no longer in her life, she didn’t want or care for anyone to hug her.

  But she had to admit, there was something different about Fatima’s hug—a hug that quite honestly she hadn’t seen coming before it happened. A hug that felt rather sisterly, just one more thing she wasn’t all that familiar or comfortable with.

  Technically speaking, Gabrielle was an only child, born Gabrielle Mercedes Booker. Her mother and father were married before she was conceived. That was a big deal to her since it was the only thing she actually held over the four cousins she’d grown up with who could—and rightly so—be considered more siblings than cousins.

  “Thanks for the information, but I hadn’t planned on asking if you were married or not,” Fatima said. “Not at this point, anyway. I wouldn’t want you getting the wrong impression about us here.”

  In fact, Fatima had noticed the slight cut above Gabrielle’s right eye. She couldn’t help but wonder what the real story was behind that. And that pukey green, bright sunshine yellow, hot fuchsia, orange, and red scarf carefully tied around her neck didn’t seem to match the classy outfit. Fatima pondered whether Gabrielle had possibly worn that scarf to merely cover up some infraction surrounding her neck. That cut above her eye had given Fatima plenty of reason to pause. And Fatima was leaning more toward some act of violence having been done to her than any act of love.

  “Well, I wanted to come and personally welcome you to the body of Christ, as well as to Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center,” Fatima said, maintaining her upbeat manner. “I’d also like to give you my phone number and possibly get yours. That’s if you don’t mind me having it. With thousands of members, Pastor Landris wants to ensure any new people who attend here have at least one person they can easily reach, in case they need something or have any questions. A point of contact, if you will. And I am indeed delighted to say that I am your contact.”

  Gabrielle flashed Fatima a quick smile. Indeed. She’d caught Fatima’s glance at the cut above her eye that honestly she’d forgotten was even there. And had she known she would end up going forward to be saved, ultimately placing herself visibly in front of other people instead of the come-in-andleave-without-talking-to-anyone plan she’d originally had, she might have put off coming to church altogether. At least, until her impossible-to-hidewithout-big-shades cut had completely healed.

  Gabrielle touched the scarf she’d tied around her neck—happy now she’d chosen to wear it. Scarves were definitely not her thing. They were too old fogey for her. And she was not a scarf person. But leave it to her aunt on her father’s side, Cecelia “Cee-Cee” Murphy, to give her something she didn’t want but would later possibly need. The only time Gabrielle ever considered wearing a scarf was on her job, and only then if it was requested. Truthfully, even then, she didn’t keep it on long enough for it to irritate her the way this one was beginning to do. She pulled at the knot to loosen it a little more, careful that it not become too loose and expose the black and blue bruises on her neck.

  After leaving the building, she slid into her pearl-colored, automatic five-speed, V6, 2008 Toyota Camry Solara SLE convertible. She draped her off-white wool coat on the passenger’s side headrest. She then placed on the passenger’s seat her new Bible and the New Convert/New Member’s Handbook she’d received from another person who came over right before she left the conference room. She cranked the car, turned the heat on full blast, and pressed a separate button to heat up her tan leather seat. The seat began to warm quickly. When she’d bought this car, that was one feature the manual spoke of that she thought she’d never use, especially living in the South. But on a cold day like this, she absolutely adored this benefit of her car.

  Gabrielle reached for the Bible, retrieving the handwritten card Fatima had given her with her contact information along with a message she’d written. Gabrielle couldn’t help but smile as she read it.

  You are now a new creature. Those old things are officially passed away. It’s time to let go of past mistakes made by you and even those made against you. It’s time for you to walk in your godly call. If you need anything, have questions as you embark upon this new and wonderful faith journey, or you just need a friend, please tr
ust me when I tell you that I’m only a phone call or an e-mail click away.

  Fatima had included her home and cell phone numbers, as well as her e-mail address.

  Following that were the words P.S. Read Jeremiah 29:11.

  Gabrielle looked at the Bible and suddenly realized she’d never really opened a Bible before, and especially not to seek out a specific scripture. Those few times as a child she had gone to church, the deacons usually read from their Bibles while the congregation passively listened, and nodded with occasional amens. When the pastor stood and read his selected scriptures before giving his text, the congregation was neither required nor encouraged to open their Bibles and read along with him.

  Even her beloved Miss Crowe, who had told her some things about God, had never opened the Bible or read anything out of it in her presence. Miss Crowe merely quoted a scripture when she felt the need.

  Starting at the front, Gabrielle turned in search of a table of contents. Most nonfiction books contained one. Surely the Bible had to have one. Surely it had to.

  She smiled when she found it. Old Testament. Jeremiah. Page 1099.

  Chapter 3

  The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.

  —Ecclesiastes 1:9

  With the handbook, the Bible, and the note, Gabrielle could see she would have enough to keep her occupied. She would now have to decide what her next move would be. There would have to be some changes in her life as well as her lifestyle. She knew that without anyone having to tell her. She was already beginning to see things differently. For her, accepting Christ was not a joke. She was ready for a change.

  After she arrived home and got up to her bedroom, she removed the scarf from around her neck and looked again closely in the mirror. The bluishblack bruises were still very visible, thumbprints etched into her neck. Proof positive that things had to change in her life and that time was of the essence. Because the next time . . . well, the next time could possibly leave her without a next time. She had to face that likelihood as undisputable.

  Then, there was Miss Crowe. Right before the neck incident, as she slept, Miss Crowe had come to her in her dreams. Miss Crowe hadn’t spoken her words harshly, but Gabrielle instantly knew she was disappointed in how Gabrielle’s life had turned out. In the dream, Gabrielle hadn’t seen the beautiful smile Miss Crowe was known for. It was more of a pained smile. And it hurt Gabrielle’s heart to know she was the cause of that pain.

  “There’s so much more God requires of you,” Miss Crowe had said as she stood shimmering in a stunning lavender chiffon dance outfit in her dream. “God gave your gift to you. Me? I was merely a vessel He used to pour everything left inside of me into you and your gift. Gabrielle, you have to stop selling yourself short. Listen to me. It’s time for a change. Listen to what God is saying to you. Listen to your heart. God is speaking to you whether you realize it or not. He’s telling you, ‘No God, no peace. To know God you will know peace.’ God is trying to get your attention. Don’t continue to look the other way as if He isn’t.”

  Gabrielle had awakened in a sweat. She hadn’t known what was going on. She had looked around her darkened bedroom. It had only been a dream. But it had felt so real. She hadn’t seen Miss Crowe since a few days before her accident. Gabrielle had been seventeen and a few months into her senior year of high school. Miss Crowe had encouraged her to keep working hard and to keep her grades up no matter what else she did. She’d grinned uncontrollably when she told Gabrielle she had a huge surprise for her. Gabrielle had been able to tell from the joy that resonated in her voice and her face that she was bursting to tell it. But she hadn’t, no matter how hard it was for her to keep.

  “It’s a surprise, but a good surprise. I promise you, you’re going to be thrilled, absolutely thrilled! I’ve been working on this for some time now. And I must confess right here and now that this surprise has not been easy, either. But we’re almost there,” Miss Crowe had said. “I’ve been praying and working hard, and we’re almost there!”

  A sixth-grade teacher who lived in their neighborhood, Miss Crowe taught in a different school system from the school Gabrielle attended. She was an old woman when Gabrielle met her . . . old by an eight-year-old’s standard of old. In truth, Esther Crowe was only thirty-six when Gabrielle first met her. A gorgeous, perfectly flawless dark-skinned woman, Miss Crowe stood five feet eight in her stocking feet. Nine years later, when Gabrielle turned seventeen, Gabrielle stood one inch taller than Miss Crowe.

  “I do believe I’m shrinking,” Miss Crowe had said in a high-pitched voice as though she really believed it. “I promise you, I used to be five nine, the same as you.” They had just finished measuring each other’s height. “It must be my bones. Must be. Maybe I really should have taken more heed to my calcium needs.”

  Gabrielle loved going to Miss Crowe’s house. And she’d never allowed Aunt Cee-Cee to know just how much she loved going over there. Nor did she ever tell what they did when she went.

  “Your aunt believes you’re coming here to do some housework for me. I don’t mean to be deceptive, as truly that is not my nature. But I fear that if she knew what was really taking place, she wouldn’t allow you to step foot my way again,” Miss Crowe had said when Gabrielle reported to her house for her second day of work. Miss Crowe told her the real intent of having her come to her house. She had asked Gabrielle if what she really planned to do was something they could keep between themselves.

  Gabrielle enthusiastically said, “Yes!”

  It all began the middle of June. Miss Crowe was out walking in a neighborhood she’d just moved into a few months earlier. She’d decided to expand her usual walking route, and this was her first time down that particular street. As she pumped her arms with each step, power walking as she called it, she noticed children in a front yard. And there was one child running around picking up toys and other things the other four children were either throwing down or dropping on purpose without a second thought.

  Originally, Miss Crowe thought nothing of it, concluding it was some game the children were playing as children do. But as her power walk brought her closer to the yellow split-level house, she saw a woman sitting in a lawn chair occasionally yelling at the one child to go get this or hurry up and pick up that. She could tell from the woman’s screech to undo what the other four children were doing that the child doing all of the work was called Gabrielle.

  It didn’t take much to deduce that Gabrielle was being treated unfairly. And that broke Miss Crowe’s heart. She understood how it felt to be mistreated. And if her treatment was coming because of something she’d done wrong and she was being punished, even bad children—if that was indeed the case with Gabrielle—needed to be loved. So, she devised a plan right then and there in her stride. She walked up to the woman, who looked to her to be in her midtwenties, and introduced herself. She told her she lived on Bell View Drive, which was two streets over. She told her she was a sixth-grade teacher in the Jefferson County school system. That she’d moved into the neighborhood in December, just in time for Christmas. How eleven years ago, at the age of twenty-five, she became a widow after being married for only two years when her then twenty-eight-year-old husband died from complications with lupus, the autoimmune disease he’d been diagnosed with at age twenty-three.

  “He was the love of my life. I don’t believe I’ll ever marry again,” Miss Crowe said. “I don’t think I’ll ever meet another man who can move me the way he moved me.”

  “How did lupus kill him?” Aunt Cee-Cee asked. “I have a relative who has that, and I know a few other folks with it. But I didn’t know lupus could kill a person.”

  “In his particular case, it was a blood clot. It broke loose from his leg and entered into his lungs,” Miss Crowe said.

  “So, if you were married, then why do you still call yourself a Miss?” Aunt Cee-Cee asked, having thought about what the wom
an had said when she introduced herself. She’d said her name was Esther Crowe, but that her students called her Miss Crowe, loving to overexaggerate the double s in the word Miss.

  “When I write it, I write Ms. My students just find it easier to say Miss Crowe.”

  “Then, why not make them call you Mrs.? I mean, you were married. If I was ever a widow, I would still call myself Mrs.”

  Miss Crowe held back her normal inclination to smile, mostly because she didn’t want to appear overly friendly, at least not at this stage. She didn’t need to trigger any suspicions toward herself. Not appearing too friendly was part of her strategic plan. “Well, technically, I’m really no longer married. Besides, it’s easy on everyone, including my students, to just call me Miss Crowe and be done with it. Calling me Miss doesn’t offend me.”

  “Sounds fine by me,” Aunt Cee-Cee said. Speaking with folks with college degrees normally intimidated her. Aunt Cee-Cee felt that because she’d married right out of high school being three months pregnant (twins it turned out), and she’d never gone to college or worked outside the home, college graduates had a tendency to look down their noses at her. She enjoyed the rare times when she could put someone with a college degree on the spot, as she was obviously doing with Miss Crowe now.

  “Your daughter over there—”

  “Who you talking about? You talking about Gabrielle there? The tall lanky one?” Aunt Cee-Cee said. “I declare that child grows like a weed. Resembles one, too.”

  Gabrielle dropped her head and started gliding one of her feet into the wind. She hated when people called her lanky and referred to her in the same sentence as a weed.

  Miss Crowe pressed her lips together. “Yes, that one. Gabrielle.” She pointed at Gabrielle, who lifted her head up briefly just to be sure she was the one being talked about. She lowered her head again and continued her foot dance with the wind. She then began to spin around with her arms out as if she were a bird caught in a whirlwind. Miss Crowe’s heart went out to her. But it was important for her to maintain her pretense of not caring if her plan had any chance of succeeding.