Goodness and Mercy Read online

  “She’s not really my daughter,” Aunt Cee-Cee said. “Technically, she’s my niece. Her mama died and her daddy has been injustly incarcerated.”

  “You mean unjustly incarcerated.”

  “No. What happened to him is an injustice, so I mean injustly, just like I said.”

  “Okay,” Miss Crowe said, opting not to waste time arguing about it.

  “But those four little darlings right there”—she pointed at the children balling up paper and throwing it as well as handfuls of popcorn at each other as they ran around laughing—“are mine. Gabrielle, will you please pick up that popcorn and paper they keep dropping! I’ve told you I don’t want our yard looking like a bunch of hillbillies live here. That’s exactly why white folks don’t like us moving into their neighborhoods.” She sat back in her chair and turned back to Miss Crowe. “What about Gabrielle?”

  Miss Crowe pressed her lips tightly together. These poor children, she thought. This was a lot harder than she’d first thought it would be. She relaxed her lips. “I’m looking for someone to help me do a few chores around my house. Nothing big or heavy, mind you. Definitely nothing that would constitute breaking any child labor laws. Someone to help me out one or two days a week maybe. In return, I can put a little change in their pockets. Your niece there appears like she’d do a great job. Do you think you and she might be interested in such an arrangement?”

  “You want to hire Gabrielle?”

  “Yes. And I promise not to keep her but an hour, two at the most. She would be doing things like vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, on occasion possibly helping when I mop. You and I can discuss the terms and what you believe would be fair to pay for this kind of work as well as for her time.”

  Aunt Cee-Cee sucked her teeth, then smiled. “Sounds interesting. But the problem is that I don’t really know you. How do I know you’re not some criminal, a pedophile”—she loved that she not only knew a big word but knew how to use it appropriately in a sentence—“or something else shady like that?”

  “Mrs. Murphy—”

  “Call me Cee-Cee. After all, we are neighbors.”

  Miss Crowe smiled. She could see they were close to striking a deal. “All right. Cee-Cee, I’m a teacher. And you’re more than welcome to call the school where I’m employed and inquire about me. I’ll be happy to give you the school’s phone number and a person to call.”

  Aunt Cee-Cee leaned over so she could see the children better. Gabrielle was still running around picking up after the others. “Gabrielle, run in the house and get me a pen and some paper.”

  Gabrielle started for the house, even though Aunt Cee-Cee was closer.

  “Will you please hurry up, child! Goodness and mercy, please deliver me. You’re as slow as a snail. You move like you’re carrying lead in your feet or something. Pick it up, and let’s go!”

  On the contrary, thought Miss Crowe. She forced back her smile as she watched Gabrielle. Gabrielle moved more like a feather . . . like a dandelion seed attached to small, white feathers floating silently . . . caught in the updraft of a soft and quiet wind.

  Chapter 4

  A hypocrite with his mouth destroyeth his neighbor: but through knowledge shall the just be delivered.

  —Proverbs 11:9

  After the automobile accident, someone from Miss Crowe’s family had come down from Chicago, packed up all her things, and quickly sold her house. Gabrielle wasn’t even sure Miss Crowe was still alive since she didn’t have a way of getting in touch with anyone in Miss Crowe’s family. But Miss Crowe did have her address or, at least, she had their phone number. Miss Crowe would have known how to get in contact with Gabrielle. The only way she wouldn’t have was if she was either seriously injured or dead.

  Gabrielle hated to think that someone like Miss Crowe was no longer in the world. Although Miss Crowe would be the first to say, “No one ever really dies as long as someone somewhere is keeping a piece of them alive inside of their heart.” Even though it had been nine years since Gabrielle had heard anything other than that Miss Crowe had been in a car accident on her way to see her brother, she had still continued to keep a piece of her inside of her heart.

  Early Thursday morning, January 1, 2009—New Year’s Day—Gabrielle had been attacked. Visibly, it left a nasty cut above her right eye from the large diamond-ringed backhanded slap she didn’t see coming, and a bruised neck from the attempt to strangle her. It had been her quick thinking that had saved her life. But what wasn’t visible was the emotional impact the attack had on her. She didn’t report the attack to the police. She didn’t even go to the hospital to get checked out. She’d merely pulled herself together after it happened, with a little help from a few of her friends. She turned off all her phones, then took a sleeping pill that effectively knocked her out. Sleep quickly transported her from the world of reality and what had actually happened to a world of pure nothingness, not even peppered by dreams. She’d uncharacteristically slept all day and all night Thursday, and most of the day Friday—happy that Thursday was a holiday night and she didn’t have to go in to work. Friday night, it was back to business as usual.

  Sunday morning, a woman showed up as Gabrielle was leaving work. She’d seen the woman before but had never allowed her to get close enough to her to hear anything she’d had to say. As Gabrielle went to her car, the woman came and began to walk lockstep alongside her, telling her she wanted to talk to her about Jesus, someone who loved and cared tremendously about her. She wanted to talk to her about the importance of finding a good Bible-teaching church so she could learn even more about Christ and His love.

  First of all, Gabrielle wasn’t interested in going to anybody’s church, and she told this woman as much. She believed that after she finished giving this woman an earful, she wouldn’t have to be bothered ever again with her nonsense. Besides, all of the church folks she’d ever met in life and even there on her job happened to be the biggest hypocrites she’d ever encountered. At least sinners (if that’s what the rest of the world who didn’t go to church were) didn’t pretend to be something that they weren’t. Why bother going to church if you aren’t serious about what you’re being taught? The true great pretenders.

  Second, she wasn’t interested in hearing anything about Jesus or God. When the woman tried to emphasize it wasn’t about people being perfect, but about God, who is, Gabrielle wasn’t interested in hearing any of that, either.

  Where had God been all of her life? When her mother had needed Him to protect her, to save her life, where had God been then? When, as a helpless child with no one else around, she’d needed someone to step in and protect her, had God been asleep on the job? When she’d prayed to Him, asking . . . begging, even, for His help—although at the age of seven, she wasn’t quite sure how to pray—did God care? Was He not paying attention? Did you have to be a member of the club already for Him to hear you when you cried? If so, then how did you get into this exclusive membership?

  At school when they were allowed a moment of silence, code word for prayer time without breaking some law, she couldn’t learn how to pray from anyone else because if anyone was praying, it was being done silently. And did anyone really pray during those times, or did they merely pretend, the same way she did? Did they think about other things to whittle those silent moments away? Had God overlooked the fact that, even though she didn’t know what to say when she tried to pray, at least she’d tried? And the one time, the one time she’d gotten up the nerve to ask a fellow classmate—a friend, she thought—how to pray, her friend had laughed at her instead of helping her. She was then mercilessly teased by other children for not even knowing the Lord’s Prayer. Did God give her any credit for at least wanting, at such a tender age, to know Him, even though her aunt Cee-Cee had discouraged them by rarely ever attending church?

  “It’s just too much trouble to try to get yourself and five kids ready for church. It’s just not worth it,” Aunt Cee-Cee had said. “Especially when it seems most folks are r
eally only there to try to impress a bunch of other people who are there trying to impress yet another set of people. Well, I believe that God knows my heart. He knows I’d like to go. It will be all right if we don’t make it to church every Sunday.”

  Yes, they’d gone to church a few times, mostly on Easter Sundays. They’d even gone once during Christmastime when Christmas fell on a Sunday.

  “Wait ’til those snooty church folks get a look at y’all’s Easter outfits this time around,” Aunt Cee-Cee had said. “I bet you a whole lot of them are gonna be so jealous that their faces gonna turn the same disgusting green as an overcooked egg yolk.”

  And for that one Christmas Sunday they’d attended in 1988, Aunt Cee-Cee had merely said, “You kids are always looking for a bunch of toys. Well, it’s not your birthday; it’s Jesus’. That’s why you didn’t get much of anything for Christmas this year. It’s high time we focus on the real meaning of Christmas, and not get all caught up in the commercial aspect like everybody else. Forget Santa Claus! Today, we’re going to church. Now, go put your clothes on so we can go to church!”

  Of course, Gabrielle would later learn that money had been short that year. That was the year Aunt Cee-Cee and Uncle Bubba (his real name was Dennis) had tried giving a barbeque joint a shot, only to learn that more was needed to run a business than just a knack for being able to cook great-tasting, finger-licking ribs.

  Gabrielle’s outfit for their Easter church visits was usually the plainest of the five children’s. And she knew, without it ever being formally announced, that her clothes were always the cheapest of them all.

  “Gabrielle, I’m really sorry about this dress, but it’s the best we can do.” Aunt Cee-Cee twirled her hand in a circle, causing Gabrielle to turn around in front of her as though Gabrielle’s body were connected to her fingers. “You know it’s been hard, having to take you in the way we did. And you keep having these growth spurts. You grow like a weed. You’ll likely be done outgrown this dress in a month or two anyhow. But you can be thankful that you have a roof over your head and food on the table. There are lots of kids who don’t even have that much. And you know what? They wish they were you. There are plenty of kids, just like you, who find themselves in foster homes. They don’t have good relatives like me to take them in. Not like we did with you. You understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” ten-year-old Gabrielle had said.

  “And folks aren’t exactly lining up to adopt little black children, either. Nope. If you’re not some cute little baby, preferably a newborn, you can almost forget about anyone ever wanting to make you a permanent member of their family. Oh, somebody will take you in for the check they’ll get. But you’re just a means to some extra income. I hope you know and appreciate what me and your uncle are sacrificing just so you don’t have to become one of those children without a real family, possibly being abused.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now, go help Luke and Laura find their shoes while I finish putting on Angie’s and Jesse’s clothes.” Aunt Cee-Cee looked up at the clock on the wall. “Look at the time! We gonna end up being late getting to church again this year. It doesn’t matter how early I start, time flies like a 747 jet. But at least we gonna make an entrance this year when we walk in. Yep. All eyes gonna be on us. Hurry up now. Get the lead out of your tail. Go help Luke and Laura get ready.”

  Luke and Laura were twins, one year younger than Gabrielle. Angie, born a year after Gabrielle came to live with them, was four years younger than Gabrielle, and Jesse, born a year after Angie, was five years younger. It happened that Aunt Cee-Cee was a dedicated soap opera fan, General Hospital and All My Children being her all-time favorites. So, it made sense to her to name her twins after the hottest couple in daytime television, Luke and Laura of General Hospital. As a fan of All My Children, she proudly named her third child Angie and her fourth (a boy) Jesse, after the second hottest couple, in her opinion.

  So, here was this woman approaching Gabrielle when she got off work Sunday morning, talking about God. After all Gabrielle had suffered in her short life, the last thing she wanted to hear about was the goodness of God. Admittedly, this woman did seem different from any Christian Gabrielle had met before. She’d started off by telling Gabrielle that she’d once been exactly where she was now. She understood. She knew the thoughts and feelings Gabrielle was likely wrestling with. How she likely felt too trapped to make a change, even if she really wanted to. The woman kept walking alongside her and wouldn’t stop talking even after Gabrielle told her she really needed to go.

  Gabrielle was exhausted. And all she wanted to do was to go home and get some rest. She opened up her car door and slid in, yet the woman continued to talk. Gabrielle reached over and grabbed the handle to close the car door.

  The woman held out a brochure with information about Jesus’ love, as well as several churches Gabrielle could look into attending to learn more about Jesus and His unconditional love, if she chose to later. Gabrielle wouldn’t take the brochure at first.

  “Please, at least take this and read it,” the woman said. “Please. This is about your life, both now and your life to come. Please.”

  Gabrielle took the brochure, believing it was easier to throw it away later than to continue having this woman bug her about it. And then, the woman said something that stopped Gabrielle cold in her tracks.

  “To whom much is given, much is required,” the woman said. And, “There’s so much more God requires of you.”

  Gabrielle looked up at the woman. Tears began to sting her eyes. The woman said it again. “To whom much is given, much is required. There’s so much more God requires of you.”

  Gabrielle didn’t know enough about the Bible to realize that the first sentence the woman had spoken was actually a scripture. But she did know enough to recognize that the last sentence was the same words Miss Crowe had spoken to her in her dream. Perhaps it really was time she stopped running from and starting running toward God. Maybe God was trying to tell her something. Maybe, just maybe, it was time she found out exactly what God had in mind for her, and for her life.

  Why not give God a chance? At least see what He has to say. Why not? she thought. She’d tried practically everything else.

  Perhaps one day, she would do just that.

  Chapter 5

  Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.

  —Ecclesiastes 4:2

  Gabrielle had come home from work that Sunday morning. She’d taken a longer-than-normal shower, eagerly looking forward to crawling up in her nice warm bed. But those words kept pecking at her mind, playing over and over again in her head like a woodpecker that won’t go away. “There’s so much more God requires of you.” She went to her purse, took out the brochure, and looked at it.

  “There’s so much more God requires of you.” In her dream, Miss Crowe had said it. Now, a stranger had said it.

  Meeting that woman in the parking lot after work on this day of all days, Gabrielle now believed, was neither an accident nor a coincidence. If it had been, then why today? Of all days, why a day when she was probably the most vulnerable in allowing the woman to get that close? Why had she successfully avoided her the past few times she’d shown up at their place of work doing the exact same thing? But on this day, Gabrielle had let her guard down and allowed her to get close enough to hear her speak. And why had this woman spoken the exact same words Miss Crowe had spoken in her dream?

  Something was definitely going on. Gabrielle knew she needed to follow it all the way through if she was ever to find out what it was. Then again, maybe it really was nothing. But isn’t this what people do? They take a simple nothing and, at times, make it into something greater than it really was supposed to be? Whatever was happening, she knew she needed to go wherever it was leading her. And right now, for whatever reason, it seemed to be leading her to church.

  She looked up at the clock. It was fifteen minutes past nine o’c
lock. According to the brochure’s information on churches, she had time to make it to either one of the listed four churches. But which one? Followers of Jesus Faith Worship Center jumped out at her, as did Divine Conquerors Church. And what to wear? She didn’t have church clothes. She knew whatever she found in her closet would need to be dressy, but not over the top.

  Quickly, she got dressed and headed to Divine Conquerors Church. Reverend Marshall Walker was listed as the pastor. There was just something about the name of the church that instantly appealed to her—Conquerors. To be a conqueror implied there was something in one’s life that either needed to be, and ultimately could be, or had been conquered. This was a start.

  Divine Conquerors was a large church. As soon as she stepped into the sanctuary, she took off her off-white wool, full-length coat and draped it over her arm. She was early. There were lots of empty seats up front. She decided to pick a place about seven rows back of a fifty-row seating. Before she could sit down good, she was approached by an usher and asked to follow her. She was told she needed to sit more to the back, even though there were obviously plenty of empty seats in the front and the middle. Sitting in the back didn’t bother Gabrielle. Admittedly, she wouldn’t have gone that far back were it up to her. But what really bothered her was the reason the woman dressed in all white from head to toe had given for moving her.

  “Honey, you’re a very pretty girl, very pretty. But what you’re wearing, goodness gracious, it’s not exactly appropriate for our church service. Especially since we tape our services and it’s broadcast around the country. Our pastor has strict instructions with regards to what ends up on tape. We wouldn’t, and I’m certain you wouldn’t, either, want anyone to get the wrong impression of our church just in case the cameras accidentally get you in one of the audience panned shots.”