Page 12 of At Her Will

Vera’s heart tilted as Rev went to one knee beside her. He touched her knee, the silky stuff of her skirt. Her dress had flowers on it, a bright pattern she’d likely bought on a far better day.

“You gonna sing with me, sister,” Rev said gently. “Sing this line. ‘Show me hope. Help me, Lord.’”

He sang it, low, easy, a plea set to music.

She shook her head and began to rock, but he brought her hand to his face. He sang the words again as that intimate contact drew her attention to him. He did it without hesitancy. Confident. Vera was leaning forward herself, hand gripping the edge of the pew in front of her.

“You sing that first bar, and I'll come in behind. Just like the Lord, holding you up, standing behind you, helping you through anything. He going to catch you, sister. He's holding you in His Hand right now…can’t you feel it? Just like my hand on you…”

His grip tightened, and her fingers slowly curled around it. Her voice was thin and quavered as she haltingly sang the words. “Show me hope… Help me, Lord.”

“Help her,” Rev said, and the room was swept with “Go on, sister… Let the Lord help… Bless his name… He loves you…”

Rev picked up those same words and put them to that music in his voice, a whole orchestra in it, every note clear. As she repeated the line he suggested, her voice began to strengthen. The power of the effort tingled against Vera’s skin and sank into it.

Each time the woman sang the line, Rev came in behind her, doing in song form exactly what he’d described, a subtle but strong presence echoing her own plea, lifting it up, carrying it forward.

Then something broke and she was crying out different words. “Forgive me, Lord, I've been so afraid, I've been so afraid…and that was wrong. I should have known You were there.”

“He’s with you sister… We don’t need to be afraid…”

People rose, more hands lifted. Since Vera was on the aisle seat of her pew, she could still see Rev and the woman.

“It’s scary to let go of what we know.” Though spoken lower, a conversational tone, Rev’s voice resonated through the church like the preacher’s had. There was still that hum to it, on thecusp of becoming music again. “Because we don't know God, not face-to-face like you and me now. We don't know His face. We know our bodies, and it's scary to let go of our bodies. We know all about them, and when they get sick and they letting us go, they’re freeing our soul, cutting it loose. That's new and scary.

“We wonder, can we get that coffee we like anymore? How will we do without that? How will my husband manage? The poor man don’t even know how to wash his own clothes.”

His tone had changed, creating a ripple of laughter, the most powerful kin to hope.

The woman lifted a tear-stained face to Rev, smiling. Vera could see the evidence of poor health there, a woman struggling with serious illness. She’d likely been sitting in church, feeling overwhelmed by her fear, isolated by it, but Rev had brought her back to them.

As he rose, and gestured to the others in the row, the woman was helped back to her seat. Her husband put his arm around her, and she clung to him in a way Vera expected she hadn’t done in a while. She’d been holding herself apart, caught alone with her fear, needing to be brave, thinking she needed to do it all by herself.

Vera had led energy raisings for people with emotional or physical afflictions. The person was put in the center of the circle, a symbolic as well as literal focus, the coven participants putting hands upon them to channel healing energy and intent toward them. To give them whatever they needed to help connect them to the Divine, for healing, acceptance and strength.

It was a beautiful, intimate thing, like this. It brought tears to her eyes, but she also noticed the subtle motion of the preacher. In response, the ushers rose and began passing collection plates.

Learning how marketing worked from some of the best—Ros, Cyn, Abby—she knew their timing was excellent. Churches oftenprovided resources that helped people in need of jobs, food, clothing, housing. If the money was put to good use, she had no objection to it. But something about this…it felt a little off.

It wasn’t a calculated coordination with Rev. He seemed as oblivious to it as Skye was when she was deep in a programming issue, and Bastion left her favorite soda at her elbow for her to hydrate when she surfaced.

Rev was working his way back to the transept. He’d also moved on to Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror,” with lyrics that lent itself to a religious setting. His voice made the transition easily, pulling them into a song they could sing with him. The choir joined him in leading it.

When they concluded, there was a general call to praise. Rev gave the impassive preacher a respectful nod and skimmed his fingers along the wood molding of the pulpit. As he did, he shot a smile toward the older woman. Despite her cryptic exchange with the preacher, she gave Rev an approving look, her expression poignant.

It was obvious he did it as an acknowledgement, a silent nod to the one who’d once occupied that pulpit. Probably the aunt who’d raised him, that Mavis had mentioned had died a year ago. The older woman was likely her sister, and Vera was guessing the preacher was Witford, Rev’s cousin. Some similarities in his and Rev’s features suggested it.

An alcove behind the pulpit had a door to other parts of the church, but it also held a chair. Rev was mostly concealed by the shadows as he took a seat in it, but his head lowered, and his shoulders slumped, as if the energy to do what he’d just done had taken a toll. Maybe the emotion he put into it had overwhelmed him.

She wanted to go to him, and would have, if she was formally his Mistress. However, she continued to watch him as the preacher handled the last half hour of the service. The choiroffered a mix of traditional and contemporary hymns. They were excellent, but her body was still humming from the music that came from Rev.

At length, he left, slipping out that door. In case he was departing, she considered leaving to see if she could catch him in the parking lot. Before she could make a decision, the side door to the nave whispered open and he was there. The usher was no longer in her pew, so he moved toward her unimpeded. As he took his seat next to her, his slacks brushed her sheer stockings and the hem of her skirt.

Her breath caught from him being so close to her, so unexpectedly. His gaze met hers, and it was alive and fierce and wondering, to see her here. The energy between them was like a sewing needle flashing back and forth, stitching together two pieces of cloth.

She had her hand on the small expanse of cushion between them. Rev’s eyes were on it when he reached out, but he didn’t touch her. With his fingertip, he traced the shadow her braced arm was casting. It might be the most intimate thing she’d ever seen a man do. She wasn’t breathing as he did it. When he put his palm down on that shadow, she wanted to touch him, but it would dilute the potency of the act, so she didn’t.

The service was concluding. “I need to help my cousin,” Rev murmured. “Can you wait a few moments so I can talk to you afterward?”

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