In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (18 page)

I’d seen this countless times as a member, but today the number of those at the front of the church seemed to have tripled. It was so overwhelming, Bishop Carmichael joined his son along with other ministers. Ezra orchestrated the production by organizing several corporate prayers and managed to lay hands on quite a few. I couldn’t stand high enough on my tippy toes to follow his every action. I could however, hear him praying in what seemed to be another language.  It wasn’t strange for me to see him pray, he did it every morning and various times a day alone. It was a personal commitment for him, almost like a hobby similar to his martial arts and chess playing. But not being able to understand the words he spoke was a strange phenomenon.

“What’s he doing?” I bent to ask Lillian.

“Speaking in tongues?” she asked as though my question had been trivial.

Hmmmm…
I thought speaking in tongues was just an extreme act church people put on for show like shouting all over the building. Seeing Ezra do it made me question the validity of that theory. The more he did it, something twisted in my chest. I didn’t understand it, but like hearing his voice or smelling his natural body oils, I had a visceral response to it.

I’m getting too attached to this man.

Quite honestly, I hadn’t recognized my husband throughout his entire sermon. It was as if he’d transformed into another being entirely. Even his posture changed from confident and well-poised to spiritual warrior. And now seeing him hold emotionally-struck grown men at their heads and shoulders petitioning on their behalf through prayer, gave me new insight into his being. The women, on the other hand, didn’t impress me. Many of them made me feel unusually territorial as I watched every move made by them and my husband as they interacted. I felt sick with jealousy and what was more disconcerting was I didn’t care. I cringed each time his hands touched a feminine shoulder.

As the last few prayer-requestors ambled spiritedly back to their seats, Shannon appeared at the end of our pew requesting that I go with her. I collected my things, quickly said my goodbyes to Lillian and followed her to the nearest exit of the sanctuary.

“Pastor Carmichael didn’t want you pummeled in the crowd during the mass exodus,” she explained discreetly once we were in the hall. “I’m sure people would overwhelm you with feedback on your wedding and stuff like that. Would you like to go into the
Bishop’s Lounge
where First Lady and other ministerial staff gather after service? There are refreshments in there.”

I took a moment to consider that. “Ummmmm… Is that where Pastor Carmichael goes?”

She grinned. “He’s not the most social before and after speaking. He’ll be headed straight to the Bishop’s office to unwind.”

“I can wait for him there.”

Shannon reacted to that request similarly to the way she did when I asked to be seated in the pews. Then she relented.

“Sure. Right this way.”

~Ezra~   

The elevator opened as we returned from the sanctuary. Trekking back to the office, I was still coming down, body gradually resuming its normal functions. My heart rate was slowing and cognition progressively sharpening. My senses were slowly returning. When the double doors opened to the waiting area of the office, I saw two figures waiting near the sofa, one I’d come to recognize with blinded eyes.

As I approached her, Alexis alternated her balance from one hip to the other. Her hands played restlessly at the hem of her peplum blouse. I hadn’t noticed her form-fitting maroon skirt with a matching top when I’d seen her before service. I must’ve been in transition at that time. She wore modest black closed toe pumps that didn’t exaggerate her already extreme height; I could still look down on her.
And those eyes
… The closer we drew to them, I could perceivably pick up on her agitation. Now closer, I saw her dilated russet brown pupils had expanded, moving rapidly. My strides grew longer until I was in her person.

I rubbed her cheek with the back of my hand to comfort her. Before speaking, I observed her while allowing my calm demeanor to influence her temper. I studied her chocolate features trying to pick up the source of her discomfit.

“Is everything all right?” I asked gently.

Alexis’ tongue darted quickly, swiping her top lip. Her eyes fell. “Yes, sir.”

That language…gesture
, an act of inferiority.

Then, I knew her state, understood her agitation. My kitten was aroused, somehow affected by my pulpit persona. I don’t know why I hadn’t anticipated this. It wasn’t a reaction I was unacquainted with. Women constantly responded to the power of owning a stage, even in religious realms. My wife here wasn’t exempt from that syndrome. Why I didn’t immediately consider this was what concerned me the most.  

“Alexis,” I growled urgently, low over her head.

Her gaze lolled back and forth between my eyes before she exhaled and melded into my touch. My back was to my staff, but unless I whispered, they could hear our exchange. Not that I cared so much. I just needed to be mindful for Alexis’ sake.

“Did you enjoy the word on this morning, beloved?” I purred thickly, perceptively goaded her already heightened sensual desires.    

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, eyes collapsing, telling of the delicate balance between her minx persona and need of privacy from our waiting company.

She began nibbling on her lip, an act of anxiousness. And now she was unable to maintain her gaze on me. My arousal swelled against my pants. Thankfully, I still wore my robe. I knew immediately I needed to separate from her or I’d be consecrating the Bishop’s office before it officially became mine.

“Thaddeus,” I called behind me. “Please have Carlos bring the truck around. Alexis and I are leaving now.”

“Yes, Pastor,” he replied and from the shift in my peripheral, I knew he’d padded off. On his way, I heard him relaying my message in his wireless radio.

“Shannon, if you could escort Alexis to the truck while I go change, I would appreciate that.”

“Of course, Pastor.” I could hear the concern in her undertone.     

Shannon understood the typical protocol of post-worship activities on Sundays, and that didn’t include the shepherd leaving without words for awaiting parishioners and his administration. I had more pressing things to deal with, like the fragrant arousal my kitten was emitting here before me.

My eyes were still fastened to Alexis when I asked, “Would you appreciate that too, beloved?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Very well.” I grabbed her at the wrists, gently circling them in my hands. I could see the heaving of her chest and knew I was pushing her. “Go wait for me in the truck. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Without further words, Alexis shifted toward Shannon, who led her out.

In the truck, on the way home, Alexis didn’t speak. She kept her gaze out of the window, staring blindly. I used the empty time, to finish coming down. Whenever I imparted, I totally allowed my body to be inhabited by the Spirit greater than my own. While caught up, my senses were more heightened than my faculties most times. I could identify ailments, feel the woes of depression, recognize hopelessness—all of the infirmities people carried into the house of God. Some of them desperately wanting to break free of the various strongholds, but not knowing how, and others with less desire to be relieved of them, somehow feeling trapped by their grips.

Typically, it took hours to process what I was exposed to while laying hands or simply identifying infirmities while speaking. At this time, I could determine whether I needed to address issues privately with the individual struggling with them or simply fill in the gap for their delivery through prayer. There were also times I could perceive corporate issues at my home church affecting the church as a whole. This had been the latest trend of my discernment; so many systematic issues preventing
Redeeming Souls
from progressing in its ministry.

As we pulled into the orange polished, concrete, horseshoe driveway of the house, I decided to stow those processes for another time and deal with a more imminent matter. I turned to find Alexis pivot in her seat and open the truck door before Carlos could assist. By the time he arrived she’d started on her way to the door, strutting her long bare legs and plump mounds along the way.

I let myself out, placed an arm on the top of the roof and the other on the frame of the door while leaving one leg in the truck as I faced her leaving. 

Carlos glanced at me, sporting a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, sir. I guess I moved too slow.”

Agreeing on the awkwardness of it all and seeing she wasn’t upset when we left the church, I jeered, “Women.”

Carlos chuckled at that. As I returned inside of the truck to retrieve my things my phone sounded. I dismissed Carlos and as I pulled it out, I noticed a new bed of flowers in the center of driveway, around the fountain. My phone continued to ring and when I went to address it, I recognized my father’s name and answered.

“Bishop Carmichael,” I greeted while walking over to the cemented structure to inspect the new ornaments.

“Son, you didn’t collect offering and you left service before the place was empty.” I heard the disproval in his voice right away.

Unperturbed, I replied, “The atmosphere was highly charged that collecting offering didn’t seem appropriate. You saw the prayer line flooded with burdened souls. It would’ve changed the direction the Spirit led us into.” I realized immediately after service what I’d omitted from the typical itinerary. We’d collected offering during the first service, but the second took on a different pace. I was prepared to remind him how we could go six months without collecting offering and stay afloat, but digressed. Only having his last grievance to address, I added, “I left service when it ended, sir. The place is never empty when we end service.” I made a play on words, reveling in puerility.

I bent to gain a closer view at the colorful miniature garden. It was just yesterday that I’d finally gotten around to turning over the soil and laying more down at Ms. Remah’s cantankerous request.

“Don’t get flippant with me, young man! Offering is a key component to service. It’s an act of worship.” He was right about that, but missed the point I made about the need to deviate from the normal script to address wounded souls. I didn’t want to debate the issue. “And you know we were expecting you up in the
Bishop’s Lounge
to debrief like we always do after service. It was rude of you to leave! Your mother is upset by your slight, son.”

I gave in to my sudden interest and felt the silky petals of the petite flowers between my fingers. They’re almost as smooth as my kitten’s delicate sienna skin, yet not quite. Nothing feels better against the pads of my fingers than her.

“I meant no slight against mother and I’m sorry to have offended you,” I offered affably. I wouldn’t match his irritated state. In fact, my limbs had relaxed and I was finally back to my fleshly norm. “I needed to get home to tend to something of urgent importance to me. Please keep in mind that I’m still on administrative leave, accustoming to my new marriage. I complied with your eleventh-hour request to take over on Sunday mornings before my official resumption.”

I could hear the huff and grunt of his annoyance over the line. 

“And your wife,” he referred to Alexis with his usual disdain. “She didn’t sit with us on the
clergy pulpit
. That’s not customary. She should be told where her proper seating is moving forward.”

It didn’t bother me in the least that my father didn’t welcome Alexis. I didn’t marry her to suit his needs of tradition and image. I wedded her to address my need of companionship, so I wouldn’t end up like him, a serial philanderer. I’d still been conditioning her, something I left to address immediately after exiting the pulpit to tend to. Alexis was trembling with palpable lust when I ran into her, it literally dripped from her. 

Reining in my growing impatience, I evenly informed, “You’ve asked that I take over as pastor and I agreed. You asked that I push up the date of installation, I acquiesced. You requested that I prematurely return and resume my role as head speaker, I complied. In return, you will allow my wife the time she needs to get acclimated to her new role at
Redeeming Souls
as
she
will
not
be rushed to conform by anyone, sir.” I rose from my hunched position prepared to end this conversation. When the Bishop didn’t reply right away, I took my cue. “Please give mother my highest regards and let her know I’ll call her this week. Good evening, Bishop.”

With a little hesitation, he forfeited. “Good evening, sir.”

I took a fortifying breath before heading into the house. I didn’t want to bring what could have been the start of an ill-mood anywhere near Alexis. She was to serve as my sanctuary from the propaganda of ministry. I didn’t need her dismayed so soon. As soon as I closed the front door, I was hit with the pleasant scent of herbs and garlic. I ambled into the kitchen, experiencing the aroma increasingly with each step. I expected to see Ms. Remah. Instead I was met with what appeared to have been an untouched kitchen but for the couple of covered pots on the
Viking
stove. She must have cooked then wiped the place down spotless. I heard rustles in the dining room and headed there. That’s where I found her stirring some aromatic concoction in one of the fancy ceramic chaffing dishes aligning the buffet using a stainless steel serving spoon.