Don't Blame the Devil (6 page)

Delilah saw the anguish upon Tamara's face. She took a few steps toward her.

“Don't even think about it!” Deacon Pillar hadn't quite reached her yet, as he was suddenly haunted by Jessie's revelation. He was learning that Delilah—the same old Delilah—hadn't changed at all.

“Touch my daughter and I swear…” Jessie threatened.

Delilah was quicker than Jessie's threats and certainly quicker than the deacon's feeble attempt to stop her. By the time the men got it together to block Delilah, she was already inches away from Tamara.

Delilah's gray eyes never looked away as she honed in on every inch of Tamara. “She's beautiful. She's even my height and size and she's got my gray eyes instead of her father's light brown ones.”

Suddenly all the ghosts from the past invaded Jessie's huge living room and discovered even then there wasn't enough room for all of them and the truth.

“Don't touch me,” Tamara snapped as she jumped aside when Delilah reached out to touch her. “I don't know you, and if my father says I don't need to know you, then I don't want to know you.”

Delilah knew she shouldn't be surprised, but Tamara's words were a punch in her gut. She lifted her head as though it would make her superior by doing so. “Is this supposed to be a room full of Christian folks?”

“She must be kidding.” Tamara inched away from Delilah. She spun around and headed toward the front door. “I gotta get out of here.”

“Forget about this old witch,” Jessie called out to Tamara. “You don't have to leave, but she does.”

Delilah stood with her arms still outstretched as she watched Tamara race from the living room while ignoring Jessie's pleas to return. There was nothing more Delilah could do but continue to watch in amazement as her granddaughter raced from the room.

Tamara stumbled a bit, but she kept going until she reached her front door. She left the door wide open as she raced through the front gate and sprinted up the block.

“Damn you, Delilah,” Jessie snarled as he turned around and began to dump more pent-up rage onto his mother. “Get the hell out of my life. I don't need a prodigal mother. I won't ever need you.”

“I see how well you have your house under control.” Delilah didn't wait for Jessie to respond, and she certainly didn't need to hear further details of what a bad mother she'd been. She'd be the first to say guilty to whatever the charges.

The heaviness Delilah suddenly felt in her heart for her son was as foreign to her as the notion she wanted to take out after Tamara and just hold her. She wanted to hold both of them and never let them go again.

Jessie's shoulders turned spastic as he glared at Delilah. With one swollen fist clenched in pain, he turned to the deacon.

“Deacon Pillar, I know I told you that I wanted to go to the ManPower conference in Dallas, even though it was so soon after Cindy's death. I think I'm gonna use my vacation time and hang around. I need to stay close to home until things get sorted out.”

Torn, Delilah's eyes still clung to the image of Tamara leaving, and at that moment, she didn't care what Jessie said or how much he hated her.

Jessie pointed toward Delilah as he continued speaking to the deacon. “Thanks to you, she now knows where I live. I can't take any more stress….” Jessie couldn't finish.

“I understand, Brother Jewel.” The deacon really did understand. If there were ever two people that could cause an explosion if placed together, it was Delilah and anyone unlucky enough to be in her presence. “I'm so sorry to bring all this pain to your door. Please forgive me.”

“I'm not really blaming you, Deacon. You're an honorable man. I'm sure she lied to you.”

The deacon could barely respond above a whisper. Guilt became a steel trap around his spirit and lips that'd seemed to lie more in the past three weeks than before he knew Christ.

What kind of man am I,
the deacon thought,
to let Delilah take all the blame? I deserve some, too. Lord, please don't let me turn into that kind of man.
Yet he still didn't say or do anything to make things right. Instead, he did the next best thing; he would offer to do what he'd always done for Jessie since he came to live there. “You go and take care of that hand. Don't worry about Tamara. I'll stay here until you get it taken care of. I'll wait on her to get back.”

“Thank you, Deacon Pillar, but it's not necessary. I believe she probably went for a walk. She'll be back.” Jessie turned back to face Delilah. He nodded her way and admonished the deacon, “Just make sure you take out the trash when you leave.”

“That's mighty Christian of you.” Delilah turned away from Jessie and with her head held high, as usual, added, “I need some fresh air.” Delilah announced it as though Jessie had begged her to stay instead of ordering her to leave.

Defiant as always, she spun around and looked Jessie straight in his face while saying to the deacon, “C'mon, Thurgood, let's go.” Sheer stubborness replaced her need to use the bathroom.

Delilah took a few steps back without taking her eyes off Jessie. She grabbed the deacon by one elbow and started to lead him out of the room. She wasn't waiting for the deacon to respond or to recover from the shock of her deciding that they needed to leave because she said so.

“You just hold up a moment, Delilah!” Jessie's eyes narrowed and sweat poured from his face and neck. “In the precious name of Jesus”—in an instant Jessie went from threatening and almost cussing to praying—“Delilah, I'll not let you take away my testimony.”

“C'mon, Brother Jewel.” The deacon gently moved Delilah aside. He stepped to Jessie and put an arm around his shoulder. “That's right, you pray. You let God use you.”

“Why are you two acting like y'all the only ones God can use?” Delilah wasn't certain if she liked the spontaneous change in Jessie. She was sure she didn't trust it coming from the deacon.

“Delilah,” Jessie said softly, as though she were a child and not his mother, “I'm beyond angry and conflicted. Yet I can feel a stirring deep down in my soul. The Bible says that I shouldn't let my good works be spoken evil of….”

“Preach it and make it plain.” The deacon relaxed his arm around Jessie. The way he did so looked as though he'd really placed his arm there to hold Jessie back from jumping on Delilah. “God is not an author of confusion.”

“Ain't nobody confused but you, Thurgood. Everybody knows the Bible says not to let the moon show up and you still mad.”

She needed something to show that she was not intimidated and knew a little something about God's Word.

“The Bible says not to let the sun go down on your anger,” the deacon murmured and turned back to Jessie. “She does try, though.”

“For Pete's sake, be quiet, Thurgood.” Delilah shifted her pocketbook from one hand to her other and stared directly at Jessie. “I'm not saying that you don't have a reason to be upset with me, because you do. But I am saying that you don't have all the facts, so before you give the devil your testimony, you might get to know me a little better.”

“I'm not blaming the devil for this.” Jessie continued to speak softly yet his mouth still looked a bit twisted. And the perspiration now poured from his head and down around his ears. “I am saying that I just watched the one good remaining part of me and Cindy bolt from her home. I'm saying that the Bible says that I am to forgive my enemies and those who spitefully use me.”

Delilah's mask of composure slipped and she didn't try to hide it. Her son's words had confused her and she wasn't sure where he was heading. “I'm not your enemy and I've never used you.”

Deacon Pillar, as usual, shot off a word or two from the sidelines. “I can bear witness to that.” Then he remembered he wasn't supposed to have known that Delilah was Jessie's mother, so he added, “I've never known her to use any children for nothing….”

“Thurgood, will you please just keep quiet.”

“This time you're right, Dee Dee. I shouldn't interfere.”

Jessie used the deacon's interruption as a chance to pick up a Bible off the coffee table. “It's true,” Jessie said as he began to flip through the pages of the Bible using his good hand. “You're not my enemy in the way the Bible describes such, and I don't recall you ever using me.”

“I haven't,” Delilah replied. “I can promise you that.” She wanted to add more, but was drawn to the many pictures on the wall and almost everywhere else in the room. They were of Jessie, Tamara, and Cindy. There were even a few that had the deacon posing with them. Delilah's heart raced and her blood boiled. The deacon had enjoyed what she'd given up. All this time, and her family was so close and yet so far away.
I shouldn't be the only one Jessie's mad at.
Delilah turned to the side and glared at the deacon, who'd already turned away.

“But you see”—Jessie stopped thumbing the pages as he apparently found what he sought—“this is the scripture that the Spirit brought to my mind after Tamara left and when I'd just used language that I hadn't in years. The Word says in Proverbs 23:22, ‘Listen to your father who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old.'”

Both the deacon and Delilah were completely dumbfounded. Neither dared to breathe or to speak, each for a different reason.

“Now, I haven't used the term
mother
in quite a long time, unless I referred to Cindy or to my last foster mother. And I don't know who my father is, and at this point, I'm not sure I'd believe you if you told me. I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt that at this moment it is easier for me to forgive my enemies than it is for me to forgive you. So I'm going to now do what me and Cindy always did when we confronted the devil.”

“So now I'm the devil?” Delilah's face produced a frown that made her look very much like something she didn't like—she looked her age.

Jessie ignored Delilah's question and continued. His voice remained calm despite the pain that still engulfed the hand he used to point to a room off to the side. “I'm going to go into my prayer closet. I'll fast and talk to God. I don't know how long it will take, but I do know this: My God will fight my battles and He'll lead me to the place in His will where I'm to be and where He is, too.”

“Then you need to pray for Jehovah-shammah's grace,” Delilah whispered. It took all the strength she possessed not to reach out to him. She'd do anything to have it all back again.

For a brief second both Deacon Pillar and Jessie were stunned, but Jessie recovered first. “What do you know about Jehovah-shammah?”

As Jessie asked the question, the deacon pondered the same thing.
I thought I knew all of God's nicknames
.

“Jehovah-shammah means ‘the Lord is there.'” Delilah's voice was reverent as she said the name Jehovah. No matter how she prayed, it was always something about the name Jehovah that gave her the most comfort.

“I know what it means,” Jessie replied. “I'm just surprised that you would.”

Still confused, Delilah decided to take what Jessie said as something positive. “I'm so sorry you're in this state, but you being a man of God, I know you will find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“I certainly hope so, too, Delilah, because right now I can't stand to look at you; I can't stand to hear your excuses. To be truthful, I'm not certain I even care where you've been all these years, and that's not of God, nor is it the person I truly am.”

“I'm sure you've raised Tamara to never have a reason to look at you like that….” Delilah's eyes swelled with tears, preventing her from explaining further, but she refused to let one drop fall. Perhaps, if she hadn't given in to her stubbornness instead of pushing the deacon out the door ahead of her, she would've seen the flood of tears that'd begun to soak her son's face.

Jessie remained silent as his tears poured. He looked like an adult who'd suddenly had to grow up and didn't want to. All his life he'd wanted to experience the beautiful flower of a natural mother's love. Now it came delivered in person and he'd treated it like poison ivy.

But like Delilah, who hadn't seen her son's tears, he, too, had turned and walked away and hadn't seen hers.

All those tears wasted.

 

In the darkness, with only a glimmer of light provided by the street lamp, Tamara rested against the coolness of the metal chain fence for almost twenty minutes, and she was hot. Emotions of anger, confusion, and the need to pray collided.

“Tamara?”

Tamara's face swung around toward Sister Marty's voice. The proud walk, the pure white nurse's uniform—she'd know the woman anywhere, even if she'd not called out. Sister Marty was the sort of godmother who'd laughed, sung, prayed, cooked, and was the one who answered yes when her mother often said no. Although Sister Marty, a petite woman, was a size five to Cindy's tall size eighteen, some folks wouldn't believe that Marty wasn't somehow Cindy's lost sister. And because Cindy loved Marty for the way she'd loved Jessie when he was in her foster care, the two remained inseparable until Cindy's death did the parting.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Sister Marty called out again as she came toward Tamara lugging two heavy plastic bags. Her usually smiling, pecan-colored, heart-shaped face looked confused. “What are you doing outside my door by yourself? You have my spare key. Why didn't you go on inside and wait for me?”

By the time Tamara could think of an answer, Sister Marty was standing next to her.

“I haven't been here but for a minute,” Tamara replied, not wanting Sister Marty to worry. “It was such a nice evening I thought I'd come down and chat for a moment.”