Under the Peach Tree (20 page)

“I know.” I sniffed. “I just could've done things differently.”

“It's never too late when you're still breathing,” he assured me.

And he was right.

 

 

The day of the funeral came quickly, and with it came dread. I woke up groggy and tired from tossing and turning all night. I went into my closet, pulled out a black dress I had bought the day before, and laid it on my bed. After I showered and dressed, I joined Dante downstairs in the kitchen. He handed me a cup of hot coffee.

“I figured you didn't sleep good.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the cup, but I was too anxious to even drink. Today was her funeral. At her church. The church I'd never stepped foot in due to fear. It was the reason I'd tossed and turned all night. If I slept, I'd wake up to the worst day of my life, so I tried not to sleep.

Dante could sense my hesitation and sighed. “You don't have to go.”

“I want to,” I told him. Even though I was afraid, I needed to say good-bye to her.

An hour later we stood in front of the entrance of the church. It looked the same as I remembered it, but the clouds hung low above, adding strange shadows over the building. It had started raining on the ride to the church and I wondered if it was God Himself mourning.

I watched as people piled inside the church and was amazed by how many people showed up. There had to be at least a hundred people. And I watched them all looking sad with lowered heads and humbled hearts as I wondered each of their significance in Momma May's life. Most of them probably went to her church, but some of them would be family and I knew they felt ten times worse than I did. I wished I could console them.

“Come on,” Dante said, tugging my arm, and I sucked in a huge breath and stepped onto the church grounds. That was the first step. I tried to keep my breathing even and my hands from nervously fiddling as a very sad memory flooded my thoughts.

I was seven years old again. Sitting on the couch, watching Faith wait for Grandma on Easter Sunday. She was excited about an Easter egg hunt that the church was having for the kids. Momma had made her an Easter basket with all types of candy and suckers, small toys and crayons. I eyed her with envy as she grabbed another piece of candy, popping it into her mouth. Same thing happened last year. I hoped this year would be different.

“Faith, stop eating that candy.” Momma came out of the kitchen, grabbing the piece of candy out of Faith's hand. “You're gonna get that pretty white dress dirty.”

“Can I eat some candy, Momma? I ain't got a dress on to get dirty,” I asked with anticipation.

I hadn't learned yet to never expect anything from that woman.

“No,” she yelled. “How many times do I gotta tell you? You can't have no candy. Faith gets an Easter basket because she's going to church.”

“Well, can I go to church then?”

Momma looked at me with the most evil glint in her eyes. She took in a deep breath, trying to keep herself from exploding. She came up to me with her face inches from my hopeful, innocent face. “If you step foot in a church, you'll burn.”

I jerked out of the memory as Dante and I were about to enter the church. I stopped and stepped aside, allowing a few other people to go before me. I didn't realize I was shaking until Dante grabbed both of my hands, steadying them.

“Just breath, Hope.”

“The devil can't go to church,” I said, recalling the recent memory.

“What?”

“That's what Momma said,” I cried. I was sure the people walking up to the church would think I was crying for Momma May, and in ways I was. How did I think I was strong enough to go to church today? I couldn't do it. “She put it in my head, the fear. It's all because of her! I can't do it.”

“Your mom wanted you to be just like her, which is nothing. But you're everything, Hope. I love you.”

My eyes shot up, meeting his with curiosity.

“I do. Ever since the first day I met you. I could see God's grace all over you. I could see why Pastor May took to you. The problem is, your mom brainwashed you into believing you're not good enough for God. But you are. You're everything to Him. He died for you. The devil works on us harder when he knows God has great plans for us. He started with you at a young age, tried to keep you from church, because it's the place where God meant for you to thrive. Do you want to know why Pastor May gave you this church? It's because your calling is to be a pastor, just like her. Do you think your life was a coincidence? No. Don't you see? It's all part of His perfect plan. This . . .” He pointed to the church. “This is your destiny. You were called into ministry, and, Hope, your testimony is great.”

I fell to my knees, overtaken by God's love. It had always been with me. It urged me forward when I thought I'd never make it. It caressed me on those nights when I couldn't stand to be alone. His love sheltered me when I was homeless with nowhere to go. It protected me from Momma's beatings and cruelty day by day. It comforted me on those Sunday mornings when I sat under the peach tree, thinking He never loved me. Oh God! How wonderful, how beautiful is His love, grace, and mercy! He was here this whole time and never let me go. I didn't deserve His blessings and mercy and yet He still accepted me as his child in Jesus' name. He found favor in me when no one else did. He accepted me when everyone else rejected me. I owed my life to Him.

And in that moment, I made a decision.

I stood up, dusted myself off, and I walked into that church. My church.

My destiny.

Ten years passed by beautifully and the good Lord never stopped blessing our lives. Dante and I got married when I turned nineteen; we had our first child when I was twenty-one. We named her May because she was a blessing, just like Momma May. It was a name we agreed on the first day I found out I was having a girl. And May was a joy. Her laughter brought a new meaning of happiness into our lives. I loved spoiling her and giving her the things my mother never gave to me. I taught her, the way Momma May taught me. I gave her everything I wasn't able to my first unborn.

I managed to get back in school after Momma May passed away. When I graduated I went to college for ministry. Dante had finished school way before I did, and led the church. I was his first lady. I spent a lot of time working with the youth, helping them build relationships with God. World change begins in our youth; they are the ones who grow to lead our countries. If we catch them early and teach them Jesus' ways, we could prevent so much crime in the future.

And that's what I tried to do. I'd reach out to foster homes, shelters, schools, anywhere to get to the children. We started a great youth program that I led every Sunday. Children of all ages and from all walks of life would come to hear me preach and they would always leave with hearts opened to God.

I gave all of the glory to Him.

Norma was delivered right before my eyes one Sunday morning. She burst through the church doors, crying and screaming for God to deliver her. Dante laid his hands on her and the Holy Spirit took over. She'd now been clean for five years and had been a great member to our church.

I wish I could say that my sister and I reunited the right way, but we didn't. I tried calling the house but the number was changed. I drove by a few times, but no one was ever home. I wrote her letters with a return address, and she never wrote me back. My biggest regret was ruining my relationship with my own twin, but I had to have faith that if God wanted us to be reunited, then we would. One day, years after Momma May passed, I got a letter in the mail addressed to me. It was from my sister.

I hurriedly opened it, trying to hold back my tears of joy. It had been ten years since I saw my twin's face.
Separated by catastrophe, but we'll soon be brought together by love.
I'd dreamt of this day for years. I'd hoped she heard stories of my success and would come find me, but that never happened.

I pulled the letter out of the envelope and opened it.

I ran inside of the house, passed my daughter, who was watching TV, and ran into the kitchen, where my husband was cooking May's lunch. He turned around, smiling like he always did when he saw me. I smiled back, holding up the letter.

“Faith.”

He dropped the grilled cheese sandwich back on the pan in shock. “After all these years?”

I nodded. “Finally.”

Dante pulled me into a hug, as if he'd never let go.

 

 

That Sunday, I stood alone, staring at the peach tree, which held so many distant, yet strong memories. I closed my eyes, listening to the sound of nature, which hadn't changed since I last remembered. The feeling of anticipation was building up in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see her, to touch her, to cry with her. I wanted to tell my sister that everything turned out fine for me, that the day I walked out of Momma's house, I walked into a blessing.

I felt a presence behind me, or maybe I felt the wind blowing past. However, I turned around and saw Momma. She was much older than I remembered, with wrinkles swallowing her fragile face. It had only been ten years and yet her back was hunched over from working so hard. Instinct told me to run to her, take her in my arms, and hold her. It'd been years since I saw her face. However, I couldn't bring myself to hug a woman who never seemed to love me.

I smeared tears into my skin as I tried to wipe them away.
Faith.
I needed my sister. “Momma, where's Faith?”

Momma shook her head. I knew what she'd say even before the words slurred out of her mouth: “Faith is gone. She went to be with the Lord.”

The pain of an incident becomes faded with time, distancing itself like an aloof and shy child. It's the memory that lingers, a venomous snake waiting for an opportunity to strike. I was sure that if my soul were visible, it'd have been masked with battle wounds. But I wore those scars proudly. They were reminders that I'd made it, that I was still making it. The devil was not successful in his pursuit to destroy me.

“How?”

“Giving birth. Two twin girls. She named them before she passed. She named them Hope and Faith.”

I groaned in pain, almost collapsing to the ground.
My sister! She's dead.
I almost knew she'd live this long, wonderful life and have plenty of kids and that we'd reunite and move next door to each other and raise our families together. But no, she was now gone. And after ten years, she hadn't even tried to look for me.

“I wrote the letter, Hope. I needed to see you. I wanted to—”

“You,” I said, cutting her off. My sorrow turned to anger in a matter of seconds. “It's your fault! You took my sister away from me and now it's too late!”

“I'm sorry,” she alleged, letting tears fall from her eyes. I could almost see the regret seeping out of her skin. It lightened my heart, but not enough. “I'm sorry for everything I did to you.”

“Why did you do it?” I asked. I needed to know that it was never me. That the reason she never loved me wasn't because I was bad or evil.

Momma lowered her head and slumped her shoulders in guilt. She then looked up to the peach tree, as if the answer lay there. I too looked at the tree, wondering how old it was, how many stories it held. This tree and its fruit had been a home and a way of life for many animals. The peaches didn't grow as ripe as they once had when I was younger. Maybe it was because I caused the tree to die a little.

I'd planted the seed of hatred toward my momma right here. This was where I cried out all of my hurt, and this was where I had to go back to in order to completely move forward from my past. I watched Momma as she began to explain why she never seemed to love me.

“My mom hated me. She used to say all sorts of messed-up stuff to me when I was younger. She called me a devil, too. She'd beat me for it. She got pregnant with me and her momma didn't like the boy, said he was a devil and his seed would be too. My daddy left my momma and me, and she began to believe I was an abomination. I did the same to you. I thought you were the result of my sins.

“I thought I was only having one baby and then you came. I should've been happy but every time I looked in your eyes, I saw a spitting image of myself. I saw a bad omen. I believed there was a generational curse, one passed down from mother to daughter, and I just knew I passed it to you. In my mind, I was no longer the devil, it was your turn. You looked just like me. It was so easy to pass it on to you.” Her head dropped even lower. “I'm the devil.”

“Momma—”

“I
am
the devil!” she screamed. “The things I did to you and you were so innocent. I hate myself for it. I won't ever forgive myself.”

My anger vanished and I knew God was taking over. I could feel Him all around us, encouraging me to do the right thing. I reached out to mother and wrapped her in my arms and held her tight. I couldn't believe I was doing it, hugging her, loving her when she didn't deserve it, but it was the kind of thing the Lord would do and I tried to obey Him in all of my ways.

“I always kept enough love in my heart for a day like this. I forgive you, Momma,” I cried. “God forgives you. You have to forgive yourself.”

She pulled back, staring at me like a small child. “Do you think He will?”

Just then, I heard the choir begin to sing. I listened closely as the song filled my heart with recognition. I knew it all too well, sang it so many times I could recite it in my sleep.

“Do you hear it?” I asked her, watching her eyes look around until they landed on the church in the distance. It was an old spiritual song about being saved.

I took Momma's hands into my own and lifted them in the air. I knew what Jesus wanted me to do.

“Momma, have you ever been saved? Have you been to church since I left?”

She shook her head sadly. “But I want to know Jesus.”

“Then repeat after me.” I recited the salvation prayer, listening as Momma sang it back to me, shaking. Halfway through, the Holy Spirit took over and Momma started shouting and speaking in tongues, praising God. And I joined her, thanking Him, even though I lost Momma May and my sister. I thanked Him for reuniting my mother and me. I thanked Him for my wonderful husband and beautiful daughter and my sister's twins, who I couldn't wait to meet. I thanked Him for the children's lives I'd been able to touch over the years. I also thanked Him for the years to come, and I hoped it would be a lot more.

Momma and I stayed under the peach tree for a long time, praising a God who had always been there. Praising a God who never let us go.