Page 70 of At Her Will

But hearing his cousin was going to play music in a blues club on Frenchmen Street was a shock. Maybe Tisha wasn’t overreacting as much as he’d thought.

Rev was responsible for at least fifty percent of what went into their coffers, and that was good. But Rev didn’t have to worry about paying the bills or handling the books. He didn’t have to painstakingly outline a sermon every week. He didn’t have to meet regularly with those big league donors and stroke their egos, though Witford admitted that wasn’t so bad,especially when it meant he could take his wife to fancy dinners at their country clubs, or go out to parties on their yachts. That made Yolanda happy.

Oh no. Rev just stood up in church and the words and the songs came through him like a river, and the congregation got in the boat and rode that river with joy in their hearts.

That was all right, Witford reminded himself. When his mother said Rev was the heart of the church, that was all right, too. It was Witford’s burden to carry, to be the practical one who handled the practical matters. A heart couldn’t operate without a mind to run the rest of the body. He was the mind, and Tisha was the soul.

Up until now, that arrangement had worked. Rev had played his part, thanks to Witford keeping him untroubled by the things that could dilute the purity of that faith, of his song. But the world was coming to him anyway, and it would impact all of them if Witford didn’t do something.

Witford frowned. Vera Morgan was a wealthy woman. He'd have to think of other options to discourage her interest. Unpleasant ones, but necessary.

She wasn’t as invested as Rev, she couldn’t be.

Yeah, Rev was mesmerizing, that voice of his, and his faith could be compelling to women, for the short run. Like Michelle, before she’d gone off to college. There’d been plenty of other women in the congregation who’d had a crush on Rev, created by that sense that he stood strong in the light of the Lord. To church women, it was as distracting as if he were a cop or fireman.

Teena Joy and then Tisha had quashed the most ill-advised of the crushes. The others burned out quickly. Over time, the woman couldn’t see him as an intellectual equal, or the God thing made them feel inferior to him. They went elsewhere to fall in love and seek a family.

It wasn’t the same with Vera Morgan, what was between her and Rev. Witford had felt it and so had Tisha, which was why they’d visited her to deliver the shot across the bow. But the woman wasn’t listening, and Rev was getting in deeper.

Tisha had handled the ill-advised ones with frank woman-to-woman conversation. That wasn’t going to work with Vera. He really shouldn’t have told his mother the things that sent her to those images. She had no interest in even faking a female rapport with Vera.

Thinking about Rev and Vera like that… Witford shook his head with a quick snap, dispellingthoseimages from his mind. He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Lord Almighty.” Witford turned and looked at the cross on the wall. When he’d taken over the office after Teena Joy’s death, it had been mounted across from her desk. After he rearranged the furniture, it was in his peripheral vision. He didn’t like having it directly behind him, but it didn’t feel any better where it was. Whatever energy hovered upon it sometimes felt like it was crawling up his neck.

“Yeah, we could pray together, Rev,” he muttered. “But there comes a time the Lord wants us to get off our knees and act.”

If he was going to pray for anything, it was that Vera Morgan would lose interest and move on before she forced Witford’s hand, to preserve Rev, the church, and his mother’s peace of mind.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The music club was a typical one for New Orleans. Too small for how many patrons it attracted, with a bar that took up a third of the space. The walls, mostly made up of old brick and wood trim, were covered with signed photos of those who’d performed there. The vibrations caused by the patrons and bands meant a lot of pictures were crooked.

Because Rev had asked Sy to make sure it was held for her, Vera had a front row two-person table, set off to the right, the wall at her back. Rev would be able to see her there while performing. When he left her for the stage, she would hold the seat for Mavis, who was on her way to join them. Since she’d said she’d never heard Rev sing except in her hallways, Vera wanted her to have the chance to do so. It also meant Rev would have two fans in the audience.

Like Sy, she wasn’t worried that he wouldn’t please the audience, but she thought her usually unflappable male needed the reminder.

“This way different from a church.” He’d said that five times now. Sy had shook his hand when they arrived, clapped him onthe back in welcome, and said to come up and join them when he was ready.

She covered his hand. “Are you okay? It’s not like you to be nervous about singing. It’s no different here than anywhere else, right? Who you’re singing for, and why?”

A rueful look crossed his face. “No. It not that. I had some words with Witford. Told him he and his wife could come. He said no. They angry with me. Him and Tisha.”

Knowing it wouldn’t help, Vera pushed down her own anger. “Because you’re doing something they don’t agree with or understand.”

“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together.

“And they see me as the reason for it.”

“Because you are.” Before the defensive reaction he’d sparked could think of jumping to a flame, he put his hand on hers and doused it. “They just don’t realize that’s a good thing. They’ll figure it out, Mistress. I know their hearts. Just the time getting through to that part of them is hard. The wait, you know. I like it much better when I waiting on a decision from you than when it’s one from them.”

“Hey, Rev.” Sy waved to him. “Let’s get this ball rolling.”

She squeezed Rev’s hand, letting him know she was fine with him answering Sy’s call. “Try to let it go if you can. Just enjoy singing.”

“Yeah.” He curled both hands underneath hers, as if his palms were the nest for a baby bird. He gazed down at her fingers as if they were as precious as that tiny life. The man had such a way about him, and when his eyes lifted, serious and troubled, she had to touch, cup his jaw, stroke his cheek with her fingertips.

“It like getting stabbed by a knife and told it not life threatening,” he said. “You got it all bandaged up, but it still hurts, and it’s gonna, until you get some time and healing on it. Iprayed about it, so I gonna let it go for now. See if I can sing for these people the way I should, with God inside me.”

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