LITMIR.BIZ

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saying that ’cause you’re hot on my trail, seeing as you’ve hit your forties now,” Ms. Bertha said with a chuckle. She was never one to hold back when it came to stating the truth. “I’ll be sixty next month. My social security won’t kick in for another two years at best. A woman still has to eat, even though you can probably tell I ain’t missed any meals yet.”

      Ms. Bertha wasn’t fat but what one might refer to as thick. She was solid through-and-through, with curves in all the right places topped off by a perfectly shaped, white afro she vowed would never even flirt with a bottle of anybody’s dye. She was “all nat-u-rale,” as she liked to say, and proud of it.

      “It wouldn’t be too much on you?” Johnnie Mae stared hard at her. “Ms. Bertha, are you sure about this?”

      “Sure as my name is Bertha Ruff. Like I said, your mother was there when I needed someone; now I’d like to do what I can for her. She was the one who sent me to you for this job, which I appreciate more than you’ll both ever know. I’ve worked in plenty of white folks’ houses. Most of them now use maid companies to come in and do their cleanings and whatnots. Folks like me used to could count on this kind of work, but now it’s become big business. There ain’t a lot of places available for many my age.” Ms. Bertha gathered the folded towels and began stacking them neatly inside the clothes basket.

      “You pay better than anyone else I’ve ever worked for, but that ain’t why I want to do this,” Ms. Bertha said. “You know you could have gotten me for a lot less than you did, but you, being your mother’s child, can’t help but do more than right by people. And God’s gonna bless you for that, too. I just know He is. Your mama is so proud of you. And I know I sho’ am. We talk about you and all you’ve accomplished all the time at church. Countess and Jericho Gates did a fine job raising you. A fine job! You’ve done them proud.”

      “Well, thank you, Ms. Bertha. Okay, so I need to hire a sitter. And you definitely would be perfect for the job. If you really want it, it’s yours.”

      “Thank you, Johnnie.” She clapped her hands once, then picked up the basket of folded towels and started toward the arched entranceway. Turning back, she said, “We can hash out the details later.” She winked, gave a quick nod, then left.

      Johnnie Mae smiled as she hugged Landris. “Landris, I know everything is going to work out, but this is so much harder than people know.”

      “Well, I know,” Pastor Landris said as he held on to his wife, enjoying every second of their embrace. “And you know God knows. People say that if God allows you to come to it, He’s going to bring you through it. We just have to hold to His hand. He’s given us His promise and His Word that He won’t let go.”

      Pastor Landris caressed Johnnie Mae’s hands as he brought them, ever so gently, to his lips and lovingly planted them with a kiss.

      Chapter 7

      Have we not all one father? hath not one God created us? why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother…

      (Malachi 2:10)

      It was not so cold on Wednesday, that 13th day of February. Pastor Landris had agreed to meet Reverend Knight for lunch at a little restaurant on the east side of town famous for its down-home, country cooking.

      “Glad you decided to come,” Reverend Knight said. The two men were being escorted to their table by a tall, young, reddish-hued woman whose hair, pulled up on top of her head, swung and bounced like a real pony’s tail with every step, twist, and turn she made.

      “Is this okay?” the young woman asked. She stood next to a booth well away from the kitchen or any other distractions.

      “Very good, as always,” Reverend Knight said. “Thank you, Sherry.”

      The woman blushed after hearing her name and smiled at Reverend Knight, then Pastor Landris as she placed two tall, laminated menus on the table.

      Pastor Landris started to sit down when Reverend Knight touched his arm lightly. “Say, Doc. Do you mind if I sit on that side? It’s just a thing with me.”

      Pastor Landris thought nothing about it and switched to the other side of the table, his back now turned toward anyone who might come up to them. “Looks like you’re a regular here,” Pastor Landris said as he picked up the menu.

      “I like this place. It’s family owned and operated.” Reverend Knight placed his cell phone on the table. “A woman named Sophie started all of this. She passed her tried-and-true recipes down, and now her children and grandchildren run it almost the same way she did. Although I have come to the conclusion that good cooking is more than just knowing all the right ingredients. I can tell a slight difference in the taste from when Sophie was running things and now. Maybe it’s all the health-conscious changes—banning hog jowls, ham hocks, fatback, and the like. But this is still the best soul food place you’ll find anywhere around these parts.” He leaned in and watched Pastor Landris scan the menu. “See anything you’re interested in?”

      “Everything looks good.”

      “Get whatever your heart desires. As I’ve said, this is on me.”

      “Any suggestions?”

      “The seafood section is always great. You’ll get your choice of three vegetables with every entrée. The slaw, with its special sauce, will have you begging for your own bottle to take home, which is why they had to start selling it. Now me, I lean toward the fried food section, but my doctor’s been getting onto me about that. High cholesterol and Type II diabetes mumbo-jumbo—just the devil trying to steal my joy. My doctor says I need to eat more broiled and baked foods and lay off the grease. He doesn’t know our people were raised on grease. I have to catch myself to keep from licking every one of my ten fingers. Grease virtually runs through our veins.”

      “He probably knows that, but we now know grease is not good for our health. You know what they say: when you know better you should do better,” Pastor Landris said.

      “Then I suppose you don’t want to hear me suggest you try the fried macaroni and cheese.” He laughed. “It’s to die for.”

      “Really? Well, I believe in life, so I may give that one a try and say it’s to live for.”

      “I’d like to get some myself,” Reverend Knight said. “But if I do, there goes my doing better right out the door before I even get started.” He sat back, his attention vacillating from Pastor Landris to various people as they walked in. He acknowledged them with a slight wave or a quick nod.

      Sherry came back and took their orders. “I’ll be back shortly with your appetizers,” she said with a smile.

      “So,” Pastor Landris began, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

      “Direct and to the point.” Reverend Knight nodded. “All right. That building you were interested in buying…I suppose you’ve probably figured out I have some vested interest in it.”

      “Vested, like head of the nonprofit organization that holds the deed to it? Yes, I figured it out, right after I learned it was no longer on the market.”

      “Tell me, Pastor Landris. Where are you and your family attending church these days now that you’ve moved to our fine city? I’m sure you must be visiting somewhere while you’re in between assignments.”

      Pastor Landris paused as a plate of six golden brown, golf-ball-shaped items were quietly placed in front of him.

      Reverend Knight eyed Pastor Landris’s plate as a bowl of clam chowder was being positioned in front of him. “Now I wish I’d gotten some of those instead of listening to you about doing better. They look scrumptious. Even more than usual.”

      “Would you like me to bring you some, Reverend Knight?” Sherry asked.

      “You’re welcome to have some of mine,” Pastor Landris said.

      “If you could bring

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