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Authors: Nikita Lynnette Nichols

BOOK: Lady Elect
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Chapter 3
Bright
and early Monday morning, Mother Gussie Hughes was sitting at her post outside of Lance's office with her cellular phone held up to her ear. “Pansie, we have to come up with a plan to get that broad out of this church. We just can't sit back and let her think she's running thangs around here. And it ain't no use in tryin' to talk some sense into the bishop. She's got his nose so wide open, all he can see is her big wide butt in those short, skintight skirts.” She saw Lance approaching and quickly ended her call.
“Okay, thanks for calling. I'll talk to you soon.”
“Praise the Lord, Mother,” Lance greeted as he passed her desk on the way to his office.
A pregnant pause presented itself before Mother Gussie responded. “Praise the Lord, Bishop.”
Lance noticed she had delayed her response and stopped in his tracks. “How are you feeling this morning?”
She exhaled heavily. “I'm still in the land of the living. I guess that's a good thang.”
The last time Lance asked Mother Gussie how she was feeling, she wasn't nearly as chipper.
“My left foot is in the grave, and my right foot is on a banana peel.”
Lance proceeded to his office and sat behind his desk. Mother Gussie prepared his coffee with two teaspoons of cream and four individual packets of Splenda. It was hot, light, and sweet; just the way he liked it. She set the mug on Lance's desk and placed herself in a chair across from him.
She took notice of Lance's attire. Since he'd been married, he'd traded his conservative dress code from crisp white button-down shirts, an occasional necktie, and slacks, to T-shirts and blue jeans. Lance always wanted to look professional just in case he was called out to minister to someone. He had never wanted to look too casual. Mother Gussie wondered if he still felt that way. There was no doubt in her mind that Arykah was responsible for Lance's carelessness. To Mother Gussie, the black turtleneck sweater and black denim jeans Lance was wearing made him look more like a regular member of the church than a conservative pastor. She hadn't yet seen the new black cowboy boots Lance had decorated his feet with. They were a Christmas gift from Arykah.
“Bishop, you know who Brother Jackson Cartwright is, don't you?” Mother Gussie asked.
Lance logged on to his desktop. With about five hundred members on the roll, he tried to jog his memory. “Brother Cartwright, Brother Cartwright. No, I can't say that I do. Is he active in the church?”
“No, he's not active, but he does attend church every Sunday, and he is a faithful tither,” Mother Gussie answered. “You eulogized his wife, Justine, last May when she was killed in a hit-and-run car accident.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, now I remember Brother Cartwright. How is he doing?”
“Not too well, I'm afraid. He called the church this morning and said his only son, Justin, had been found dead late last night.”
Lance sat straight up in his chair. “My God. What happened?”
It was then, when Lance made the sudden movement, that Mother Gussie noticed his shiny Rolex watch peeking from beneath the long sleeve of his sweater. She'd never seen Lance wear jewelry that flashy before. It too had been a Christmas gift from his wife.
“According to Brother Cartwright, Justin had been strung out on dope for years. Before Justin's death, the Cartwrights always had their son's name on the special prayer request list.”
“Was Justin a member of this church?” Lance asked.
“No. But he had been here a few times. I'm sure it was just to please his parents. Justin could never get into the service. He would just sit there and space out. Brother Cartwright said Justin wasn't saved.”
That bit of information saddened Lance. “Oh, wow. That's a shame. Does Brother Cartwright know exactly how his son died?”
“The only thing he knows is that when Justin was found, he had been lying in an alley next to a dumpster only a few blocks away from home. There was a needle stuck in his arm. The police are calling it an accidental drug overdose.”
Lance shook his head from side to side. “Poor Cartwright. First his wife, and now his only son,” he said regretfully.
“You have a decision to make, Bishop,” Mother Gussie informed him. “The church policy always had been that if someone died who wasn't a member, they can't be eulogized here. I didn't want to say that to Brother Cartwright. I wanted to get your take on it. Brother Cartwright isn't active in the church, but like I said, he's one of our biggest tithers. I can't see Freedom Temple turning its back on Brother Cartwright in his time of need. And I don't think he's completely healed from his wife's death. It's only been a year.” Mother Gussie shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, do we tell Brother Cartwright that he has to take his son's body to a funeral home?”
Lance intertwined his fingers and placed his elbows on top of his desk and thought about Brother Cartwright and all that he must be going through.
“No, Mother, that won't be necessary. We'll accommodate Brother Cartwright and his family with whatever their needs are. He's more than welcome to have his son's funeral here at the church.”
Mother Gussie smiled. “You're such a softie, Bishop. But you know you're gonna hear flack from the deacons about this. They are extremely strict when it comes to following the church's guidelines.”
Lance picked up his mug, sipped his coffee, and swallowed. “I'm the pastor of this church, am I not? If I say that Brother Cartwright can have his son's funeral here, then that's what will happen. If the deacons give you any grief about it, direct them to my office.”
“Yes, sir,” Mother Gussie said as she stood up to leave Lance's office.
“Also, Mother,” Lance stopped her from leaving his office, “please contact my wife at the realtor's office and tell her about Brother Cartwright's son. Let her know that I want her to accompany me to visit the family this morning.”
The last thing Mother Gussie wanted to do was contact Arykah about anything. She faked a smile. “Of course, Bishop. I'll get on it right away, but don't you have a meeting with a major land developer at the construction company at ten o'clock this morning?”
Lance looked confused. “No. That meeting is tomorrow morning.”
“I don't think so. I'll check your date planner, but I'm pretty sure the meeting is
this
morning, Bishop.”
Mother Gussie retrieved Lance's date planner from her desk. She walked back into his office and set the date planner on his desk. She opened it to the month of February.
Lance read in big bold letters,
Monday, February 4th, 2012, meeting with Mr. Ysi Shyuang from Hiroshima Technologies, Japan, ten
A.M.
“Oh, my goodness,” Lance said. He quickly shut his desktop down and rushed out of his office. On his way out, Lance said, “Mother, get a hold of Lady Arykah. Tell her about Brother Cartwright's son's death. Inform her that I have a meeting that I absolutely can't miss. I need her to go in my place to pray with the family.”
Lance had exactly one hour to fight his way through rush-hour traffic, toward the north side of the city, to Howell Construction.
Mother Gussie called Brother Cartwright at home and informed him of Bishop Howell's condolences, then relayed his apologies and explained why he couldn't be present to pray with him and his family. She said that Lady Arykah would be more than happy to attend to his family's needs. She asked Brother Cartwright what would be a good time for the first lady to come by. Moments later, Mother Gussie dialed Arykah's number and extension at Bowen Realty.
“Praise the Lord, First Lady. This is Mother Gussie from the church. How are you?”
The telephone call caught Arykah completely off guard. She remembered that the last telephone call she received from Mother Gussie hadn't gone so well. It happened when Arykah called the church the morning after her first date with Lance. When Arykah arrived to work, she saw roses waiting for her at her desk. She knew they had been sent from Lance.
Arykah called Freedom Temple to thank him. When Mother Gussie answered Arykah's call, she grilled her about who she was and wanted to know why she was calling the single pastor.
“Who is this?” Mother Gussie had asked Arykah.
Arykah could've sworn she was speaking with a jealous wife. “My name is Arykah Miles.”
“Is the pastor expecting your call?”
“No, but I—” Arykah couldn't get a word in edgewise.
“Well, he's in a marital counseling session and can't be disturbed.”
“Oh, I don't want to disturb him,” Arykah said. “May I leave a message for him?”
“What's the message?”
“Will you please ask Bishop Lance to call me when he becomes avail—”
“Is this for a counseling session?”
“No, I just—”
“Well, what's the reason for your call?”
“The reason I'm call—”
“Are you a member of this church?”
“No, I'm a friend.” Finally, Arykah was able to give a complete answer.
“What kind of friend?” Mother Gussie asked nastily.
That telephone call five months ago was the reason Arykah never called the church when she wanted to reach Lance. To avoid another interrogation, she simply dialed his cellular phone.
Arykah knew Mother Pansie and Mother Gussie were good friends that cackled like two hens locked up in a chicken coop. And she was sure that Mother Gussie shared with Mother Pansie the event that went on in Arykah's office at church the day before.
“I'm blessed and highly favored of the Lord,” Mother Gussie said most assuredly.
Arykah rolled her eyes in the air and silently exhaled a long sigh.
Yeah, whateeeveeerrr.
“What can I do for you, Mother?”
“I'm calling to let you know that one of our members, Brother Cartwright, lost his son, Justin, last night.”
Arykah sat at her desk at the realtor's office going over her scheduled appointments for the day. “Oh my. I'm sorry to hear that. I don't think I know Brother Cartwright personally. What do he and his wife do at the church?”
This was the first death in the church since Arykah had married Lance. She wasn't sure what her response should have been or what her duties as the pastor's wife were when a member died.
“Brother Cartwright is a widower; we buried his wife last summer. He isn't active in the church and his son, Justin, wasn't a member.”
“How old was Justin and was his death tragic?” Arykah asked.
“Justin was twenty-seven years old and according to the police report, he died from a drug overdose.”
“Oh my God. How awful. Brother Cartwright must be devastated. Have you informed the bishop?”
“Yes, and that's why I'm calling,” Mother Gussie said. “Whenever there's a death in the church, Bishop Howell goes to the family home and prays with them. But this morning, he has a meeting with a developer from Japan at ten o'clock. The meeting was scheduled three weeks ago and since the client came all the way from Japan, the bishop felt he shouldn't cancel. He asked that I call you to see if you were willing to go in his place to console the Cartwright family.”
What?
Arykah's eyes bucked out of her head, and her heart dropped from her chest to the pit of her stomach. What did she know about consoling a church member and his family? Aside from saying “I'm sorry about your loss,” Arykah didn't know what to do.
How dare Lance throw her to the wolves to fend for herself? Couldn't he get one of the associate ministers to do this good deed?
And what about the deacons? Aren't they the ones who are supposed to go out and console families in a crisis, like tending to the widows? Can't they tend to the widowers too?
Arykah began to sweat, but she didn't want to give Mother Gussie and her cackling hen-friend the satisfaction of thinking that she couldn't handle the situation. She quickly pulled herself together. “Of course, Mother. I would be more than happy to represent my husband,” she lied. “What is Brother Cartwright's address and what time is the family expecting me?”
Arykah jotted down the information she needed.
“I will call Brother Cartwright and let him know to expect you at one o'clock this afternoon,” Mother Gussie informed Arykah.
“Thank you, Mother,” Arykah said and hung up the phone. She looked at her schedule of appointments and saw that she was supposed to show a 7,400 square foot home in the southwest suburb of Warrenville. The estate listed for 2.5 million and Arykah was elated that the listing had landed in her lap a week ago. The potential buyer was in the NFL. When Arykah learned that the wide receiver of the New York Giants would be flying in to Chicago for only a few hours to house hunt for a home for his mother, a Chicago resident, Arykah became excited. The agent of the football player was adamant that the realtor be on time at one
P.M.

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