The Presence (43 page)

“Calm down, John,” Senator Erskins said. “Just think of it as part of the deal.”

“I agreed to hold off during the probe.” Silverwood almost shouted the words. “That's it. Nothing more.”

“The deal's changed, John,” Senator Erskins told him.

“They can do it. They can demand this, John.” Ted Robinson sounded very tired. “They can and they will.”

“Maybe from you,” Silverwood said, and got to his feet. He pointed an angry finger at Shermann, said, “Just don't try it on me. Do, and I'll flay those suckers alive.” He looked at Erskins, said, “Good evening, Senator.”

“Sit down, John.”

“Yes, do sit down, Congressman,” Shermann agreed. “This is certainly a lot of fuss over nothing.”

“Count me out,” Silverwood replied, shrugging on his coat, resigning himself to the loss of the promised Ways and Means slot he so coveted.

He was almost to the door when Senator Erskins said, “Maybe you ought to stick around long enough to hear what happens if you don't do it, John.”

Silverwood hesitated, his hand on the doorknob. Reluctantly he turned halfway around, said, “I'm listening.”

“I so hoped this wouldn't be necessary, Congressman,” Shermann said in his rasping voice. “I do so hate threats.”

“You've got just about five seconds left,” Silverwood told him.

“Very well then. If you insist. I'm sorry to have to inform you, Congressman, that the Republican party would drop its support of you entirely.”

That swung him around. He faced Ted Robinson.

“It's true, John,” Robinson said, his voice heavy. “And when you hear the rest you'll see there's not a thing you can do about it. Not a thing.”

“This is a team effort,” Senator Erskins said. “If we can't count on you in a pinch, we don't want to count on you at all.”

“You'd give the district back to the Democrats over some piddling thing like this?” Silverwood nearly shouted, and thought to himself, they're bluffing. I'd go straight to the press with this and have these guys roasted alive. But it wasn't time to say that. Not quite. Let them shoot their best shot first.

“It's bigger than you think, son,” Senator Erskins replied. “A lot bigger. You wouldn't believe how much Atlas supports the party, one way or another.”

“I believe there is also a very promising young man the party is grooming from your district,” Shermann said. “What was his name again, Mr. Robinson?”

“Arnold.”

“Ah yes, that's right. Robert Arnold. The seat might not be lost after all.”

“That's a risk we're prepared to take,” Senator Erskins said.

“There's more, I'm afraid,” Shermann went on. “Some rather compromising pictures of you and a most attractive young lady would be passed on to your local newspapers and television stations back in North Carolina. I've not seen them, of course, but I understand them to be rather—shall we say, explicit.”

“This isn't happening,” Silverwood whispered.

“Yes it is, son,” Senator Erskins said. “And you've brought it on yourself.”

In his mind's eye Silverwood watched his last defense crumble. The party would simply announce that they were dropping him because of improper behavior. Period. With the pictures it would not matter a bit what he said. No one would believe him.

“Your wife contacted a Raleigh divorce lawyer last week,” Shermann went on. “I don't suppose you were aware of that, were you? No. Pity I had to be the bearer of such bad tidings. In any case, I feel sure she would bring action against you with this attractive young lady named as co-defendant.”

Silverwood looked from face to face, searching in desperation. There was no hope, no hope. And the only alternative was to give up what he had taken a lifetime to achieve.

“Why don't you take your coat off and sit back down, son.” Senator Erskins' mood was expansive now that the deal was done. “We need to go over the details, make sure you've got everything straight.”

“Yes, please be so kind as to give us a few more minutes of your time, Congressman,” Shermann agreed. “We certainly don't want to make an error on anything this big.”

That Sunday after the service, TJ walked up to where the reverend stood mopping his brow with a shaky hand, said quietly, “That was one of the finest sermons I've ever heard.”

Reverend Wilkins searched TJ's face with a hard gaze before speaking. His voice rasped and grated as he replied, “Mighty kind of you to say so, Brother Case.”

Jeremy was there beside him. “That story you told about the revival really hit home.”

“I thought so too,” TJ agreed.

Getting on toward the end of the sermon, Reverend Wilkins had been showing the strain. His face had streamed rivulets of sweat, his features starkly etched by his battle for the Lord.

“We had an actor fellow come to our last revival,” Reverend Wilkins had told them. “Right famous fellow, lotsa folks've seen him on TV. Yeah. Stood up there for the benediction, gave us all the Twenty-third Psalm. Did a fine job, real nice, rolled out the words, had the people all clapping and standing and calling him on. Real nice.

“Later on, old Reverend Matthers stood up to recite the same text about our Good Shepherd. You older folks remember him, he used to preach here from time to time. Brought a lot of people to their senses, that old man did. Must be over ninety now, gettin' real shaky. Couldn't barely stand without a sister there to hold him up. Voice was all quiverin', cracked over some of the words, so weak you could barely hear him at the back of the room. Wasn't no shoutin' and clappin' for the reverend. Nossir. People were cryin' too hard to say anythin'.”

Reverend Wilkins stared out over the congregation. His gaze erased away pretense, dug down deep to the heart, called people to attention. “Know what the difference was between those two men? Well, I'll tell you.”

He paused, narrowed his eyes, said, “That actor fellow knew the words. But that old Reverend Matthers, now, he knew the Shepherd.”

The reverend gave them a moment to let the words sink in, went on. “Lot of people out there livin' a lie, thinkin' they're close to the Lord because their lives on the outside are in order. Don't want to think what it's gonna be like when they face their Lord. All the lies gonna be stripped away. Yessir. He's gonna look at their hearts, see the emptiness, and there ain't gonna be no way for them to escape. They'll squirm and plead and point at all them holy acts, but their Lord's gonna know. Yeah. He's gonna
know
.”

The silence was alive. The congregation held their breath. Reverend Wilkins kneaded the podium with work-worn hands, strained with a force that drew the tendons of his neck out like cables. He sought to physically drag them to the truth.

“Search your hearts,” he said, his voice hoarse with the desire of wanting it for them with all his might. “Search your minds. Find the door. Open it. Let the Lord come in.”

TJ sought some way to convey the feeling he had come out with, decided on, “They just keep getting better.”

“Ain't concerned with better,” the reverend rasped. “I'm concerned with bringin' people to the Lord.”

Jeremy shook his head ever so slightly. “Seems to me all you can do is invite 'em, Reverend. Whether they decide to enter and sup with our Lord is up to them.”

The reverend gave him a long gaze, said, “There's a lot of truth in your words, Mr. Hughes. You speak like one who truly knows our Lord.”

Jeremy smiled at that. “Well, sir, I'm more like somebody who's just been lookin' awful hard.”

The reverend turned back to TJ, said, “Saw the article in yesterday's paper. Saw you on the TV last night too. Yessir, real fine work you're doin', Brother Case. That all part of your vision?”

“In a way,” TJ replied.

“Real fine work. Lotsa people out there in need, don't have no way of havin' their voices heard. Real important they have somebody who can point out their hardships.” He mopped his brow once more, said, “We were supposed to have a lay preacher speak to the church tonight, but the man's sick. How'd you like to do it?”

TJ did not even have to think. The answer was there waiting for him. “I'd be honored,” he replied. “I'd like Jeremy here to introduce me and make the opening remarks.”

“You come awful close to remindin' me of a danged fool,” Jeremy told him.

TJ turned to him, eyes full of calm power. “You can't argue with this, Jem.”

“I can't, huh?”

“No, you can't. You can turn away from it, you can refuse it, but the invitation hasn't come from me. Now before you say anything else, you just stand there a moment and think it over.”

****

Nervously Jeremy fiddled with the knot in his tie, then clenched the sides of the podium with a force that bunched his shoulders and turned his knuckles white. He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let the shock of grayish-blond hair hide his face from view. The atmosphere was not hostile, simply reserved. Thoughts remained carefully hidden behind the caution of generations.

He raised up to the sea of dark faces, the watchful eyes, brushed the hair from his forehead, and said quietly, “I don't have much education, and I don't have the fire of your preacher here. I'm just a lowly man who made good by the grace of God, and I've tried to live as I think the Lord's wanted me to. Most times I'm not sure of what He wants. I search the Scriptures like a drownin' man grabs for a lifeline, hopin' I'll have the sense to understand His message. He's never spoken to me outright, like He did to my brother here. When I wonder about His silence, I hope it's on account of Him feelin' like I'm doin' about the best job I can.”

“Amen,” someone called out from the back, startling Jeremy so that he stopped, squinted, and grinned.

“Now that's about the nicest thing anybody's said to me in a long while,” he said, and the congregation blessed him with a chuckle.

“I've studied the Bible pretty much all my life. Most days it seems like I've only scratched the surface. Sometimes I look at it and feel like I'm gropin' through a fog so deep I can scarcely find my hand in front of my face. Other times, like this mornin', I feel like the Lord is leanin' over my shoulder, readin' along with me. I get chills runnin' up and down my spine from the power of His message. He's right there with me, sayin', I wrote this down for you, Jeremy. I know you're a sinner, and I forgive you.”

“Tell it, brother,” somebody said.

“This mornin' I read how Jesus said that if a man is acclaimed here on earth, he's
had
his reward. There's nothin' more for him. He may enter heaven, yeah, but he'll do it with empty pockets and holes in his shoes. But those people who've stood firm through trial and tribulation, why, they're gonna know a wealth that's eternal. And the ones who've learned true humility, they'll sit themselves down in the back row at the holy feast, only to have our Lord and Savior take them by the hand and lead them right up front.”

Catherine stood up from her place down front, turned to the congregation, pointed to Jeremy said, “Y'all just
listen
to the man!”

“I want to tell you somethin' I know for a fact,” Jeremy went on after a moment. “After slippin' through those pearly gates, I'm gonna be sittin' way back in the far right-hand corner, kinda scrunched up beside a pillar.

“I'm barely gonna be able to make out our Lord up there in the distance. I'll stand up on my chair and shade my eyes and look real hard, and you know what I'm gonna see? Up there in the distance, in all those high seats of honor, know what I'm gonna find? Seated right there next to our Lord are gonna be all those downtrodden people of the world, all the simple souls, all the brothers and sisters who suffered through life because of the pride and selfishness of others.”

An expectant hush fell upon the crowd. Every eye was on this gangly white man with his rawboned face and oversized hands. They sat and they waited, and for a moment the barriers were forgotten.

“So when you're up there in His presence, surrounded by His glory for all eternity, I want you to do somethin'.”

Jeremy turned slightly so he could see where TJ was seated, and said quietly, “Remember me.”

****

After TJ's portion of the service, Reverend Wilson came up to Jeremy with an outstretched hand. “That was fine what you said up there, Mr. Hughes. Real fine.”

“Never did feel like I could talk in front of folks,” Jeremy replied.

“No, no, you did just fine.” The reverend fastened on him with a keen eye. “You just gotta remember, sir, that black folks is just as sinful as whites. Color don't make no difference far as Satan's concerned. He'll hit us where we're weakest, and black folks've got just as many weaknesses as whites.”

“I kinda doubt that,” Jeremy replied.

The reverend gave him an ancient look, said, “You just take my word for it, Mr. Hughes. We's all sinners in God's eyes. Every one of us. All are in need of His saving grace. None of us is worthy. Nossir. Not one.”

Monday morning found TJ Case marveling that he still had a job. He walked through the halls with the sensation of knowing the building, yet somehow seeing it as though for the first time. He smiled greetings to many, found a number smiling back, found others who absolutely refused to even look his way. He didn't mind. He really didn't. It was all just the ways of the world.

He was mildly surprised to find two gentlemen with earpieces stationed outside the door to the auditorium. He nodded a greeting, got stone-cold stares in return. He smothered an illogical smile and entered the room.

It was packed. There was no other word for it. Every seat was taken, and people lined the dual stairways, sitting so close together that he had to carefully pick his way down.