Hidden Memories (13 page)

“I’ll take care of the trip,” Ramion said.

“You get the fun stuff.”

“And you’re not having fun picking out your gown and planning for this and that?” he asked teasingly.

“I
am
enjoying myself,” Sage admitted. “Cameron has agreed to give me away and said it’s okay to get married at the Governor’s Mansion.”

“Ummh, I like that idea.” He leaned back against the sofa, his hands clasped together behind his head. “Getting married in the Governor’s Mansion. Mama and Pops will be in heaven.”

“I don’t belong to a church, and I might as well take advantage of my connections.”

“Are we going to have a big wedding?” he asked, knowing that “big” probably wasn’t quite apt. He had overheard Sage tell Ava that she would be inviting more than three hundred people.

“Yes, it’s going to be big and beautiful and romantic. Everything I ever dreamed of and more. I don’t plan on doing this again.”

“Neither do I,” Ramion agreed. “And while we’re being serious, are you going to invite your mother?”

“You know how I feel about my mother, Ramion,” Sage said. Her voice was reproachful. “Especially after she lied to me about my stepfather coming to dinner. She always puts him first.”

“She apologized, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, but sometimes apologies aren’t enough.”

“Sometimes you have to forgive and forget,” Ramion said as he inserted one of the videotapes into the VCR.

“I can’t forgive her,” Sage said, with unsuppressed anger rippling in her bitter words. She paused and caught Ramion’s inquisitive stare.

“She seemed sincere.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think you should let go of the anger.”

“She told Ava that she wants to come to the wedding.”

“Well, maybe it’s time,” Ramion said. He pressed the Play button on the VCR remote.

“I wish Daddy were alive,” Sage said wistfully, realizing that she had been thinking about him often lately. “I wish he could walk me down the aisle.”

“I know, baby,” Ramion said tenderly, rubbing Sage’s arm. “Okay, let’s let it go for now and watch the movie.”

Sage stretched out on the sofa, her head resting on Ramion’s lap. She sighed, wishing she could just let go of it so easily, wishing she could forgive her mother, wishing she could forget that awful night.

* * * * *

The security alarm suddenly sounded, jolting Ava awake. She had just drifted to sleep after arriving home from partying at a popular nightclub. Ava loved the club scene in Atlanta; even though nightclubs frequently closed or changed names, there was always someplace to party.

Ava waited for Sage to deactivate the alarm, but in her sleepy state, it seemed the piercing sound of the shrill alarm got louder. She reached under the bed for the long butcher knife she kept there if someone broke into the house, although she hoped never to need it. Ava quietly got out of the bed and eased down the hall, listening for footsteps or some sound to indicate a strange presence in the house.

Crouching low, her feet softly touching the stairs, she slowly crept down the stairs. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the alarm being deactivated and saw that it was Sage.

“Sage!” she screamed. “What are you doing coming in at two in the morning? You scared me to death!” She could hear her heart pounding fearfully in her ears.

“It’s my house. I can come home when I want,” Sage retorted.

“But I thought you were over at Ramion’s.”

“I was.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“I always come home.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning!”

“I know what time it is. I like to wake up in my bed and get dressed in my house.”

“Don’t you like his house?” Ava asked. She walked down the remainder of the stairs. “Or did you all fight?”

“We didn’t fight. And I love his house.”

Suddenly suspicious about Ava’s protests, Sage frowned and demanded, “Is there a man in your room?”

“I wish,” Ava replied saucily. “But I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Ava, I always come home. Ramion hates it, but I’m uncomfortable staying at a man’s house all night, even if he is my fiancé.”

“That’s crazy!”

“Look, I’ll get dressed in my own house. I don’t like to pack clothes, curling iron, shoes, makeup, stockings. It’s a hassle.”

“This is the nineties, Sage. Get with the program.”

“I’m going to bed, Miss Nineties,” Sage said as she walked through the foyer to her bedroom. “I’ve got my own program.”

* * * * *

Antioch Baptist Church—a sprawling, pale-red brick building with tall stained-glass windows—sat in the middle of run-down housing projects and abandoned homes. Major renovations were being made to improve the area, including a new stadium and new façades for storefronts.

The beautiful church bordered Atlanta’s downtown area. Coca-Cola’s corporate headquarters and the Georgia Technical Institute were nearby. The South’s elite mecca of black educational institutions were around the corner—Morehouse College, Spelman College, Clark College, Morris Brown College and Atlanta University. After a Saturday night of drinking and partying, many students would attend Antioch’s popular Sunday morning services.

Ramion drove around the church, looking for a parking spot. The lots adjacent to the church were filled to capacity, cars squeezed together like sardines. He stopped at a red light. A family of five dressed in their Sunday best crossed the street, on their way to service.

“You can never find a parking spot if you get here after eleven fifteen,” Ramion said.

“I’m sorry, Ramion. I had to talk to that reporter,” Sage said. She spotted a car leaving the parking lot. “Look, there’s a space.”

Ramion shifted gears and jetted around the corner. He turned into the parking lot and into the vacated space.

“A second later and that brother would have had the spot,” Ramion said.

“You
did
jump in front of him.”

“He was too slow.”

Holding hands, Sage and Ramion walked toward the house of worship, passing a flowing water fountain as they walked up the stairs to the front doors.

“It’s a beautiful church,” Sage said, taking in the stained-glass windows and eye-catching architecture. “It’s huge.”

“They spent a lot of money building it. It seats more than five hundred people, but still gets overcrowded.”

Fierce clapping and thunderous organ chords barreled out when Ramion opened the doors. As they slid into a pew near the back, a few rows from Ramion’s parents, the choir was boisterously singing the gospel song, “His Eye Is on the Sparrow”.

The choir clapped and stomped each chorus with personal meaning, and the congregation grabbed the verse, breathing the words into their souls, absorbing its blanket of comfort. People stood up and waved their hands, praising God through music, the spiritual harmony of their soul and spirit.

The song ended with a huge expulsion of air, and the congregation sat down as one body.

An older woman with a colorful, high-pillared hat decorated with bright pieces of fruit that blended with the colors in her tropical-print dress went up to the pulpit to read the church’s announcements.

“Good morning, Antioch,” Sadie Morgan said with a red-lipsticked smile.

“Good morning,” the congregation responded.

The two-thousand-member congregation was a cross mix of people from different backgrounds and lifestyles: doctors, lawyers, teachers, entrepreneurs, politicians, production workers, technicians, secretaries and even the homeless. Mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers and children gathered at Antioch for spiritual nourishment and uplifting.

“It’s a beautiful day, and I thank God for waking me this morning. We’d like to invite you to participate in some of our activities,” Sadie said.

“But our first order of business is to recognize our visitors. Please stand up, visitors, so that we can acknowledge you and give you a membership packet.”

Sage stood, along with other first-time visitors. Older women dressed in white blouses and black skirts passed out the packets.

“We welcome you to Antioch,” Sadie said.

An assistant minister conducted the collection, inviting members to bring their tithes to the pulpit. After the tithers returned to their seats, the minister asked for general donations, and white-gloved deacons passed collection plates down the pews. The choir began a contemporary rendition of “Pass Me By”, a gospel song with a stomping rhythm-and-blues beat. The stirring voices of the choir and the thumping music brought the congregation to its feet, clapping and singing along with the choir.

When quiet returned to the church, Reverend Benjamin DuBois approached the podium. Wrapped in a white robe, his tall, rotund body was an imposing figure. Pastor DuBois reigned supreme. This was his church, his congregation of the meek, the haughty, the tired and the poor, who came to hear him speak the word of God, seeking spiritual strength and solace. Those who could not hear would not be denied his message—a woman stood in front of the pulpit, signing the service for the deaf.

“Good morning, Antioch,” Reverend DuBois greeted, peering at his congregation from behind his glasses.

“Good morning,” the congregation responded collectively.

“I’m glad you made it to church this morning. Tell the person in front of you, sitting next to you and sitting behind you ‘Good morning, God bless you’.”

The organ intoned, as church members turned and twisted to greet people sitting near them. “Good morning, God bless you” rang out from the pews.

Pastor DuBois gazed upon the congregation. He had their full attention, and the congregation waited for him to wrap his voice around their souls and soothe them, to comfort their pain.

As the spiritual message about forgiveness poured from his mouth, people were moved to respond—some called out “Amen, Brother” and “Yes, Jesus”, others jumped up from their seats when his words set fire from somewhere within. He pushed and pounded with clenched fists in order to be understood, and he dared not stop the rhythm of his voice until their replies had reached their fevered pitch of satisfaction. “Yes, Lord, free my son from addiction.”

“Merciful Jesus, forgive my sins.”

“Perfect Father, heal my mother.”

Pastor DuBois’s chest heaved in long spasms, and the sweat poured down his grey temples and rolled under his chin. His rich voice was now hoarse, and his raised arms waved dramatically like wands.

“God forgives us for our sins, our numerous sins. That’s why he sent his only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. He sacrificed his Son, so that we would be saved. There’s a lesson to be learned. We must learn to forgive each other for mistakes or misdeeds. We are imperfect creatures, and sometimes we expect too much from our brothers and sisters. Forgiveness is the way to peace of mind and soul. Forgiveness is the way of the Lord. And we must learn to forgive ourselves and others.”

With the ending of his sermon, the congregation sat back, momentarily at peace. His words fortified their souls, giving them faith and strength. While still under the spell of his powerful message, their spirituality fully exposed, Pastor DuBois invited folks to become members of the church, where they could find peace, strength and the protection of the Lord. With his invitation came the moving chords of the piano.

Sage was spiritually moved. She felt strange, as if the insides of her soul had been physically touched. She understood why so many people felt compelled to become members of Antioch. It satisfied a thirst she hadn’t realized she had. She whispered into Ramion’s ear, “He really knows how to touch your soul.”

After the service, Ramion took Sage downstairs to meet the reverend. His family had been attending Antioch since he was a little boy, and he’d continued to claim Antioch as his church home after he moved from the area.

“Well, it sure is good to meet Ramion’s fiancée. I’ve known this young man since he was a teenager. You got yourself a good man,” Pastor DuBois said, patting Ramion on his back.

“He sure is,” Sage said. She wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a black-and-white wool-crepe suit. A pair of cameo earrings, engraved with the likeness of a black woman, adorned her ears.

“Have you set a date?” Reverend DuBois asked.

“Yes, August 15,” Sage answered, observing that the pastor seemed even taller in person. Up close, his presence was awe-inspiring.

“Have you decided on a church?”

“Actually, Reverend DuBois, we’re going to get married in the Governor’s Mansion,” Sage said.

“That’s wonderful. That’s a beautiful place. Beautiful,” he said, patting his sweating brow with a folded white handkerchief. “I hope you’re going to have a minister, a man of God, marry you.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Ramion said. He was dressed in a single-breasted grey suit, silk vest and yellow dress shirt. His tie matched the yellow, pink and grey colors of the vest.

“What church do you belong to, Miss Kennedy?”