Page 22 of At Her Will

“I would have told you to run and made sure you stayed ahead of me, so if he got anyone, it would be me. I’d hope I could stomp on him…dissuade him from dragging me off into the water, without hurting him too bad.”

Their bodies brushed as they walked. In the outside world, an intimate gesture might be interpreted as a chance to press for more. In a club, boundaries were well-defined. Subs asked permission for almost any liberty that hadn’t been pre-approved by a Master or Mistress. He walked the line between the two without much instruction.

“You hesitated over the word ‘dissuade.’ Why?”

“You don’t miss much.”

“I don’t. Keep that in mind. You didn’t answer the question.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Liked the way it sounded for this moment, but it’s a new-to-me word. Witford used it in his sermon the other day. I looked it up in the school dictionary, the big one on the pedestal in the library. Been there for twenty-five years.”

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Under the Ps there’s a paper flower glued to a card. It say, ‘I’ll love you perennially, March 2003.’”

“Is it signed?”

“No. But the flower is the kind of pink that Miss Wilhelm, our head librarian, wear a lot. She was in love with an assistant principal, Perry Walters. He was killed by a drunk driver years ago. Beau, my boss, was around back then, so we think she put it in there. She’s kind of reserved, strict with the kids, but fair.”

“You like her.”

“I do.”

“Because she’s reserved and strict.” She nudged him, and his smile deepened.

“It don’t hurt. She has nice hair, too. Smells good, and her eyes are a pretty brown. She don’t miss much, either.”

He pointed out a root jutting across the trail to keep Vera from tripping over it, though his grip was secure enough on hers she doubted he’d let that happen. “Neither do you,” she noted. “Why no phone?”

“Gets in the way. You miss too much stuff. If they need me at school, they use the intercom system. ‘Rev, come to the West boys’ bathroom for a Code 15.’"

She shuddered. "Do I want to know what a Code 15 is?"

He chuckled. “It mean a child in the bathroom during class and they upset about something."

She glanced up at him, intrigued. "Okay, explain what that’s about.”

"When a student ask to go to the bathroom during the class, the teacher can tell if it just to do their business, or because something has upset them enough they need to go somewhere quiet to think on it some. Or cry over it. Teacher can’t leave the class, so they send up the call for me to go check on them. I come by, pretending to be cleaning.”

He winked. "The Code 15 happen more often for the girls' bathroom. Girls got a lot of drama at that age."

"I daresay. And you don’t ever worry…" Vera paused, concerned that the practical consideration might offend him, but he filled in the blank.

"Beau’s thoughts were like yours, at first. He told me never to be alone with the kids. Said they too messed up these days and will accuse me of doing things.”

He lifted a shoulder. “But I just busy myself cleaning outside the restroom and start singing in a low voice. Whatever God tell me to sing. They always come out.”

“Church hymns?”

“Every once in a while, but God do know his audience. Might be a boy band or Taylor Swift. Some R&B for the boys. That work pretty good.” His lips curved, a wry half-smile. “We sit on a couple of my buckets and talk it out. They good kids. Just a hard road for a lot of them, because of how confused they can be about the world. Plenty of times, they just need to hear what the kids do at Sunday school. We all get caught up in stuff, but we a village, all together. All they gotta do is reach out for help and kindness. No need to be afraid of doing that.”

He returned to her original question. “Village breaks down when all we talking to is screens, not looking each other in the eye to share what’s in the heart. That’s when we find that quiet and calm we all need, and when we realize we never alone.”

He paused. “Sorry. Sometimes I sermonize when I don’t mean to. I just feel it through me, and I have to say it.”

“It’s good stuff.” Listening to the rise and fall of his voice, Vera thought its gentle, appealing authority reached down into the well of what male strength was supposed to be. In Rev’s case, it pulled up an overflowing vessel. “You should write it down for your next singing sermon.”

He blinked. “Singing sermon?”

“Your cousin does the pulpit sermon. You do a singing sermon.”

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