Page 69 of At Her Will

Rev let out a tired breath. Yeah, there it was. The truth he needed. Let go of control, and it came. Always. He’d learned to do that early in his life. Be willing to be guided by the right things, but not to be misled.

Rev handled those attempts to mislead him by planting his feet like a mule and letting the other person tire themselves out, pulling on the bridle until they realized he wasn’t going to be moved by them. Only by the will of God.

Witford had got ahold of that bridle, all right. Maybe even convinced Rev to take a couple steps in his direction, but Teena Joy’s words brought Rev back to himself.

Would she have liked Veracity? Or would she have had the same worries Witford had? He thought both might be true,and spending time with Veracity would have helped end those worries.

He returned to the church and went to Witford’s office. His cousin sat at his big desk, staring at his computer. The bookshelf behind him was full, holding the sixty-six books of the Bible broken down as individual volumes, as well as books written to help preachers reach the congregation and counsel their parishioners, addressing the challenges in their lives with the Word.

A printout of his current in-process sermon was by his elbow, marked in red. A half empty cup of coffee and an energy bar were next to it. Witford worked long hours, as most preachers did, though lately more than a few of those hours seemed to be with their bigger donors on golf courses or going to fancy parties.

His cousin and aunt both said it was to keep the donations coming for their community programs and the needs of congregation members when they hit hard times. Okay, but sometimes he wondered if Witford remembered that was why he was supposed to be doing it, rather than liking the way it felt to be seen with powerful people. Or if Tisha bought fancier clothes and jewelry for reasons other than what she told Rev.

“Blending in with the bigger donors, being seen as one of them because of the way I dress and the jewelry I wear, is a way to make them feel more comfortable about their donations.”

That was something he prayed about, too. Rev leaned in the doorway, waiting until Witford looked up. “I’m singing Friday night.”

“What?” Witford glanced at his calendar. “We don’t have anything on the schedule.”

“It not for the church. It’s a club on Frenchmen Street. Two fellows in a band need a singer for the night. Gonna be somegood music, Witford, and I know you and your wife like dancing. Maybe we can even get Tisha to come, stay up past her bedtime.”

Witford didn’t smile. He tapped a pencil against his papers. “Did you hear a word I said?”

“I did.” Rev kept his voice steady. “I glad you care about me, Witford. I love my family, I love this church, I love God. But I also am falling in love with a woman who I know, in my heart, is part of God’s plan for me. I considered your words, now I need you to do the same you asked of me. Trust what I feel.”

Witford’s expression stayed flat. “I don’t know if I can do that, Rev. But you’re going to do what you’re going to do, and we’ll do what we’ll do.”

Rev stared at him. “How about we pray together a few minutes, Witford? Just go out to the garden and pray.”

“I’ve got a sermon to finish so I can do my job on Sunday. So maybe later. If that’s all…” Witford put his head back down, and started scribbling in the margins.

It made Rev uneasy, to leave it like this. But maybe he needed to give Witford time to mull on it. “All right, then. I’ll see you Sunday.”

“Yeah. See you then.”

Witford’s tone said he wasn’t sure theywouldsee one another, that Rev’s loyalty and commitment were in doubt. His cousin was good at turning a congregation toward the mood he wanted them to have, to get them to question themselves, their faith, and work harder at it. Usually Rev thought that was an admirable talent. His cousin’s focus might seem, in his opinion, too much on the collection plate, but the church had bills to pay, and Witford and Tisha needed a living to support themselves. Running the church was their full-time job. As it had once been his.

Troubled, Rev left him. He put the cleaning supplies back in their cabinet and bid Mrs. Byrd a good day before heading out to catch the bus.

Witford watched him through the window, a hundred thoughts weaving through his mind, like a needle stabbing through stiff cloth. He had to fix this. He wasn’t sure how, but while his concerns were practical as well as spiritual, his mother’s feelings on it had been accelerating like a rocket, ever since the meeting in Vera Morgan’s office.

She’d weep one moment and rant the next, telling him to take a more aggressive stance with Rev. Tisha was a devout woman with an intense dedication to her family and the congregation. She saw most things through that lens. Her way was the right way. Witford and Rev had even joked about it before, cousin to cousin, but always with affection.

This was different. The years had increased the responsibilities on Witford’s shoulders, and deepened Tisha’s certainty about the path the church had to follow, as well as Rev’s role in it.

You’re a good preacher, Witford, but Rev is the personal touch with the congregation. You’re our mind, but he’s our heart. If we lose him… And beyond that, I promised Teena Joy, and we’re failing her. You hear me? We’re failing her.

She’d locked herself in her bedroom that night, saying she had a sick headache. Ever since, her behavior toward Witford had been sullen. She expected him to fix this.

Losing her sister had been hard, and she seemed panicked at the idea that she was going to mess up the care and protectionshe’d promised toward the nephew Teena Joy had raised as her own son.

He shouldn’t have told her what he’d learned about Veracity Morgan and the women at TRA, sexual Dominants active in the BDSM scene in New Orleans. Though he tried to talk her out of it, Tisha had called up computer images of men on their knees, led around by leashes. Women beating them with floggers.

One of the pictures had been particularly horrifying, a man on a cross like the Lord’s, head bleeding from a thorny crown and barbed wire wrapped around his arms and thighs. Two women were on their knees before him, with their mouths on his genitals.

Witford knew such things were out there, and that they didn’t necessarily show their best face on the Internet, no more than porn showed the best side of sex with a woman you loved, like he loved Yolanda, his own wife. He cared for her by making sure she had the things she wanted to have. But the images had shocked Tisha, and led to more hysterical insistence that they had to do something. They had to save Rev from this woman.

Witford knew Rev had a good and steady mind. He supported the things that were Witford’s business without interfering in them, even if of late he’d been making some observations that nettled Witford some. It wasn’t Rev’s way to shove his opinions down someone’s throat, though.

---