The Color of Hope (11 page)
“I think I’m done,” she said. “But I gave it a try!”
He walked her off the floor. “You more than gave it a try. You get mad props from me, Coach Willoughby.” He smiled at her. “Thought you said you couldn’t dance.”
“I said I didn’t know
that
dance.”
They sat at the nearest table, which was empty at the moment, and continued to watch the dance floor.
Marcus looked at her. “Glad you came tonight. I was beginning to think you changed your mind.”
Charley could feel her heart racing. “I didn’t think I’d be this late, but . . . I kind of had a date tonight.”
Marcus’s brows knit. “How do you
kind of
have a date?”
“When you go as a favor to your family and can’t wait for it to be over.”
“Ahh, okay.” He sat back, crossed a leg onto his knee. “So, you haven’t been seeing anyone seriously since your breakup?”
“No. What about you?”
“Nah.” He glanced down, fingered a program on the table.
“Sounds like there’s more to it.”
“It’s just . . . ironic.” He shrugged. “I tended to date a couple women at a time—”
“Oh, only a couple?”
He glanced at her. “Not proud of it. Just being honest.” He continued, “But now that I’m getting serious about my relationship with God and thinking differently about relationships with women, I find myself in Hope Springs . . . with no single women.”
“No single women?” She hoped she didn’t sound presumptuous. She quickly added, “Aren’t there plenty at New Jerusalem?”
“Okay.
No
single women might’ve been a slight exaggeration.” He smiled. “Maybe it’s just part of the new thing happening with me right now—I’m not really looking. I’m enjoying this season of just . . . learning. The discipleship I’m getting from Travis is incredible.”
Charley nodded. “I can imagine.” She glanced around. “Where is Travis, anyway?”
“He was here earlier.” He looked around too. “Guess he left. Probably getting ready for service tomorrow.”
Another cheer went up when the music changed. The younger set was flocking to the floor, starting a different line dance.
“What’s this one called?” Charley said.
“The Wobble.” Marcus grinned at the sight, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “I see you, Cedric! You and Cyd show the young folk how it’s done!”
Cedric waved at him, not missing a beat.
Stephanie came off the floor and collapsed in a seat next to Charley. “Don’t encourage him, Marcus,” she said. “Cedric doesn’t seem to realize he’s in his forties. Basketball this morning, dancing all night . . . he’s gonna have a heart attack out there.”
Charley smiled. “Stephanie, you seem really close with Cyd and Cedric.”
Stephanie watched them on the floor. “Definitely. I hate they’ll be leaving first thing Monday morning.”
“Yep,” Marcus said. “When the family reunion’s over, everybody’s gone, and you and Lindell are still here, that’s when it’ll hit you—you live here.”
“Everybody won’t be gone,” Charley said. “She lives with Janelle and the kids, and you’re right up the street.”
Marcus nodded agreement. “True.”
“Yeah, but it’ll still hit me,” Stephanie said, “and I’ll be wondering what’s next.” She grew thoughtful. “I talked to Lindell about your proposition, Marcus. And I
am
praying. I know you need an answer soon.”
“I’m praying too.” Charley looked at Stephanie. “Have to admit it’s crossed my mind how cool it would be to work in the same building. All the friends I grew up with are gone.”
“Girl, I didn’t even grow up with a lot of friends. I have this thing about getting too close to people.” She paused. “But there’s something about you.” She nodded slightly. “You keep it real. I like you.”
Marcus eyed the two of them. “Should I leave so you two can have your girl-bonding moment?”
“No,” Stephanie said. “True girl bonding only happens late-night when Spanx come off—speaking for myself on that one—and
hair is looking crazy.” She turned to Charley. “Speaking of which, you should stay at the house tonight. Then you can ride with us to the service in the morning . . . if you’re going.”
“Definitely going,” Charley said. “But don’t you have a house full?”
“That’s what makes it fun, long as you don’t care about little things like getting a good night’s rest.”
“Sleep’s overrated.” Charley smiled. “I can run home after this and get my things.”
“Awesome.” Stephanie stood as the DJ switched to a slow song. “I see my hubby calling me to the dance floor.” She waved back at him. “My feet are killing me in these wedge sandals, but that’s our song.”
Charley laughed as Stephanie wobbled her way over, then looked at Marcus.
“Don’t feel that you have to keep me company,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.” Marcus stretched out his legs under the table. “Lack of sleep is catching up to me.” He smiled. “It’s a good tired, though. I don’t know when I’ve laughed as hard as I laughed last night.”
“Yeah, y’all get crazy after midnight.”
“
Y’all?
Who started all the ‘You might be from Hope Springs . . .’ jokes?”
Charley laughed. “I thought up some more today too.”
He stared at her a moment. “You’re different from what I thought.”
She gave him a look. “Not sure I want to know what that means.”
“I mean, I knew you were a nice person, but whenever I’d see you, you were about business, heading to the gym, getting it done. I never would’ve pictured you cracking jokes or seeing ‘how low can you go.’”
“All blame goes to you and Stephanie for bringing out that side of me.”
“I’ll take my share, then.” He paused. “I like that side of you.”
She let her gaze fall on the dance floor, telling herself to take caution, not to read anything into what Marcus said or did. He was a nice guy. This was casual conversation. It meant nothing.
She only needed to steady her beating heart long enough to listen.
E
yes barely open, Stephanie entered the kitchen earlier than planned Sunday morning for the sole purpose of telling everyone to be quiet. She’d gone to bed at five, counting on at least four hours of sleep. But as much as she’d tried to bury her head under the pillow, she couldn’t escape the rising voices in the kitchen—and it was only seven.
“Could y’all
please
keep it down in here?” Through half-shut lids, she could make out Cyd—with Chase on her lap—Becca, and Aunt Gladys at the kitchen table. “Are you aware there’s such a thing as a
whisper
?” Stephanie said the last word in a hushed voice in case they needed a demonstration.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” Becca had on her robe. “I knew somebody’d be up over here. I had to see what y’all thought about the morning paper.”
Stephanie rubbed her eyes and came closer. “What’s in it?”
Cyd turned it around so she could read it. It was
The Rocky Mount Sentinel
, and the headline below the fold on the front page read L
OCAL
Q
UEST FOR
U
NITY
S
TIRS
D
IVISION
, R
ACIAL
T
ENSION
.
Stephanie leaned over and skimmed the first few lines. “Oh my goodness, they’re talking about Calvary and New Jerusalem?” She snatched up the paper.
“Yes, ma’am,” Aunt Gladys said. “Keep reading.”
Stephanie turned the page to see how long it was. “This is, like, a whole profile of Hope Springs and the churches.”
“I learned a lot I didn’t know,” Becca said. “It’s quite sobering.”
Stephanie slid into a seat at the table, eyes back on the front page, and read aloud. “. . . ‘known for its quaint, small-town feel . . . people still don’t lock their doors at night . . . but there’s a dark thread that runs through the history of the town.’” She looked up. “Dark thread?”
“Mm-hm,” Aunt Gladys said. “Keep reading.”
“Oh my goodness!” Stephanie looked at Cyd. “Did you read this?”
Cyd helped Chase spoon up some applesauce. “About the Hope Springs man who participated in the Greensboro sit-ins of 1960?”
“Yes!” Stephanie continued reading. “Says he was attending North Carolina A&T, heard about the sit-ins at Woolworth, and joined in with his classmates, and came home to Hope Springs that weekend. ‘My family and I were awakened in the night when a brick came crashing through the living room window. All the men in sheets on horseback, yelling. I’d never been that scared in my life.’” Stephanie felt the hair rising on her arm. She looked up. “Can you all believe this?”
“You’re not surprised, are you?” Cyd said. “That’s what Jim Crow was about down here in the sixties, maintaining segregation at any cost.”
“But this happened not far from right
here
.” Stephanie pointed at the table. “This is so eerie.”
“Can y’all lower your voices in here?” Libby stood in the kitchen
doorway looking as half-present as Stephanie had a few minutes before. “I’m really trying to catch up on some z’s.”
Stephanie turned to her. “Libby, did you know there was a Klan raid near here in 1960?”
“You’re surprised?”
Stephanie sat back and stared. “Okay, Cyd said that too. Why are y’all acting like this is nothing?”
“Steph, it’s not that it’s nothing,” Aunt Gladys said. “It’s just not surprising, especially for me. I lived Jim Crow. I remember when we couldn’t eat at the Main Street Diner. And don’t get me started on all the mess that went on when they started changing up the schools.”
“Question.” Libby lifted a finger, yawning. “Why are we having such an uplifting conversation early Sunday morning?”
Stephanie picked up the paper. “The joint worship service made the front page. They’re talking about how these new young pastors at Calvary and New Jerusalem want to change the status quo but have run into opposition.”
“Are you serious?” Libby came and looked over Stephanie’s shoulder.
“They’re saying the opposition is based on racial prejudice,” Becca said, “and telling about a history of opposition here to bringing black and white people together.”
“It’s even more pointed than that,” Cyd said. “The article touches on the tension that surrounded school integration and quotes an anonymous source who says Skip Willoughby was on record as being against it. Then they quote another anonymous source who says he was the one who called the boycott.”
“Todd was bothered by the picture it painted of Skip,” Becca said. “But at least the reporter went to Skip personally for a quote. His objections in the paper are the same ones he’s given from the start. And they’ve never been based on race.”
“Well, he’d never
say
it, not to Todd,” Aunt Gladys said. “But hear me when I say that’s his number one reason.”
“Aunt Gladys, shh,” Libby said. “Charley’s sleeping in there. And anyway, you can’t be slandering the man like that.”
“Call it what you want,” Aunt Gladys said. “I know way more history than they got in that article. But I’ll say this . . .” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m all for the boycott.”
“What?” Stephanie looked at her. “Why?”
“Becca, you know I love you and Todd, always loved his family—but we’ve got our own style, our own way of doing and being. Church is the one place we can have to ourselves to do and be.”
Stephanie pointed at the paper. “They do make the point that both Calvary and New Jerusalem members are joining in the boycott. Here’s a quote from a New Jerusalem member: ‘I admire Pastor Travis for attempting it. But bottom line, if we have to change who we are and what we do to accommodate white people—which we do every other day of the week—no thank you.’”
Cyd sighed. “I wish people could see our church in St. Louis. Living Word has been multiethnic from the beginning, and that’s what I love about it. The love, the unity, the bond in Christ . . . it’s a beautiful picture of what heaven will be like one day.”
Becca nodded. “That’s the vision Todd and Travis have. They’ve been praying that members of both congregations would catch that vision. In fact, they’re praying together right now at the house, after seeing this.” She sighed again. “I wonder what effect this article will have on the service this morning.”
Stephanie had been listening to the conversation and scanning the article simultaneously. “Listen to the end of the article,” she said. “’Martin Luther King Jr. famously noted that eleven o’clock Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America. Unlike schools or lunch counters, there’s no court decree or law that can change that. If there is to be change in Hope Springs at eleven o’clock this
morning—and every other Sunday morning—perhaps it will require a change of heart.’”
