Faithful (8 page)

Stephanie clucked her tongue. “You haven't missed a thing. Cassandra's gettin' on my nerves, acting like she's running the show, telling me the bride's not supposed to participate, just sit up front and watch. I know I'm not participating
directly
, but she can't stop me from standing in the back and making sure things are the way I want. What's up with her?”

Cyd and Cassandra had known each other from the time Cassandra joined the church as a single eight years ago. She'd since gotten married, and after the birth of her first child left the event-planning business she worked for. Now she volunteered part-time at the church, helping to organize the weddings held there.

Because Stephanie didn't have a coordinator, Cassandra had been involved from the beginning, guiding her as to what she needed to do and when, as a favor to Cyd. After a couple weeks' involvement, Cassandra confessed she was glad Stephanie preferred to handle most of the planning details herself. “She's a piece of work,” Cassandra had said. “I don't know if the baby or I could handle the stress if this were a full-time assignment.”

Cassandra was two weeks from her due date. Cyd hoped the stress from the rehearsal wouldn't send her into an early labor.

“Steph, Cassandra has a lot of experience with weddings. Relax and trust her direction.”

“Hmph.”

Cyd could hear her mother telling Stephanie the pastor was ready to get started.

“Tell Cassandra to go ahead,” Stephanie told her, “but if it doesn't look right, we're starting over.”

“Everything will work out fine, Steph.” Cyd moved a few windblown hairs out of her face. “I'll be there in about ten minutes.”

“All right,” Stephanie sighed.

Cyd ended the call and held the phone, struck by how small the drama with Stephanie and the wedding had become. She remembered her mind-set in the shower, the dread she'd felt about the weekend. Her eyebrows furrowed.
Was that this morning?
It seemed so far removed from where she sat now. She felt no dread at all about the rehearsal, was glad to have something to occupy her time. If she had had nothing to do tonight, she would have worried herself to death about Dana.

She exited at New Florissant Road and a couple minutes later veered into the parking lot of Living Word Community Church. She'd been a member of the church since its early days. Her family moved to St. Louis when she was in seventh grade and Stephanie was just a baby, because her father had taken a position on the faculty at Wash U. As they acclimated to the area, Bruce and Claudia Sanders had sought a Bible-teaching church and found young Dr. Mason Lyles, a black man three years out of seminary with a passion for preaching the unadulterated Word of God. And when they met Dana and her family—also new to St. Louis—and learned they were Christians, they got them excited about the church too.

The ministry was small at the time, about forty members meeting in a high school, yet it was diverse from the beginning. Pastor Lyles's prayer was that Living Word would be a true picture of the body of Christ, welcoming people from all nations. His personality certainly helped. He had a winsome delivery, naturally lively and hip, but earnest and forceful, always challenging, always zealous in his love for truth and seeing it at work in the lives of others. That zeal drew folk, who would often testify later that they didn't understand the whole counsel of the Bible until they came to Living Word.

The church had outgrown three structures since its inception, and five years ago built a complex of three buildings: one for the main sanctuary, adult education, and administrative offices; one for children's and youth ministry; and the third dedicated to the pastor's burgeoning national ministry of written Bible studies with accompanying DVDs.

Cyd pulled into a spot near the main entrance, raised her windows, closed the moon roof, and hopped out. She loved the view of this building at night. The two-story glassed entrance that flooded the space with natural light during the day had the opposite effect at night, as the lighting inside shone like a beacon to the outside world.

Stepping quickly up a cascade of steps, past a courtyard that connected the main building to the youth building, she slid lip gloss across her lips, unclipped a wide, crystal-adorned barrette, smoothed her hair with her fingers, and clipped it back on. She wore a two-piece shimmering metallic brocade suit with a portrait-collar jacket and sequined tie belt. The slim skirt hit her at the knee, and the soft metallic sling backs had a much higher heel than she was used to. It had been a long while since she'd had a reason to dress up like this.

Inside, she walked through the spacious common area where people milled about between services and after church. There wasn't a soul in sight now, but when she made her way around the bend of the wide hallway, she saw Stephanie and Cassandra conferencing outside the sanctuary doors.

Cyd fixed immediately on what Stephanie was wearing, a platinum baby-doll dress with a rhinestone empire waist, shoulder straps that crisscrossed on a bare back, and a plunging V in the back and front. It had been the subject of much discussion in the store dressing room.

Stephanie and Cyd were both tall and shapely like their mother. Claudia had always extolled modesty, but she could only make Stephanie toe the line while her daughter lived at home. When she went out on her own, her tops got tighter, necklines dipped lower, and skirts, shorts, and dresses climbed higher.

Talking did no good, so Cyd relegated the clothing issue to the same sphere she'd sent Stephanie's romantic entanglements—prayer. But with the wedding, she knew she'd have to deal with it head-on, especially since Stephanie would be choosing what
she
would wear as well. To her surprise, though, they didn't clash at all over the bridesmaids' attire. In one day, Stephanie, Cyd, and three of the attendants visited two boutiques and tried on several dresses. One was a clear favorite of Cyd's, in style and color, and she was shocked when Stephanie and the others declared it their favorite as well.

The wedding gown was an altogether different story, starting with the odyssey that took them from St. Louis to Chicago and back to St. Louis. Cyd had a headache from the first boutique as Stephanie tried on anything and everything that showed more skin than average, asking repeatedly, “Isn't this
gorgeous
?” Cyd treated the question as rhetorical and got away with a noncommittal smile the first couple of times, until Stephanie began asking, “What do you think?”

She tried to be positive, pointing out the beauty and intricacy of the embroidery on one, the luxuriousness of the fabric on another, hoping Stephanie wouldn't press for her
actual
opinion until she had narrowed down her choices, at which time, hopefully, she would have gotten these out of her system and graduated to a spectrum of styles that wouldn't give the pastor apoplexy. But by the time she had done the two-city circuit of boutiques and indulged Cyd by trying on a few “traditional” gowns, the one she'd zeroed in on was still up there in apoplectic range.

Playfully labeled “slightly sinful” by the bridal consultant, it was a sultry silk-charmeuse halter gown that skimmed the sides of her breasts and plunged low in the back, so low that the woman advised Stephanie as to the type of undergarment she would have to purchase, sold in the boutique, of course, and the magic the alterations person would perform to keep it hidden.

“I
love
this one.” Stephanie had admired herself on the raised platform with mirrors all around.

“It's daring, that's for sure,” the bridal consultant said, “but you seem to have the personality to pull it off. You've certainly got the body.”

“Don't you think it's me, Cyd?” Stephanie asked, eyes glued to the mirror.

Cyd had tried more than once to exchange places with their mother, but Momma graciously bowed out from the beginning, citing a history of clothing battles and assuring them she could be much more supportive from afar.

Cyd knew patience would be key. “It's definitely you,” she said.

Stephanie posed and turned and tossed her head over her shoulder, viewing herself from different angles. “I think it's perfect.”

Cyd waited.

The consultant beamed. “You'll look
fabulous
.”

“What do you think, Cyd?” Stephanie asked. “Is this the one?”

Cyd sat up in her chair, crossed her legs, and tossed her head aside, as if considering. “Well, you'll be in Living Word, at the front of the sanctuary, in front of the pastor, your back to Momma and Daddy, Ma Marge, aunts, and other family, not to mention our church family.” She paused and added, “And you'll be standing before God, of course—”

The consultant smoothed her dress and tried to smile.

Cyd continued, “Do
you
think this is the one?”

Stephanie blew out a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror again. “We should have planned to get married on an island, just the two of us and some rent-a-preacher, away from all y'all
folk
.” She sighed again. “Let me try on the other one I liked over there.”

The consultant helped her out of the dress as Cyd sat back, relieved. Her mother would have killed her if Stephanie had purchased it, and with their mother's credit card, no less.

But now here she was, in another dress with “issues.” They had had a similar conversation in the dressing room over this one, and Stephanie admitted it “probably” wasn't suited to a wedding rehearsal and dinner, but she loved it so much she'd get it for the honeymoon. Cyd couldn't believe she had actually put this thing on tonight. She was glad she was late. She could only imagine the buzz when Stephanie strolled in.

“How's the rehearsal going?” Cyd asked, determined not to give her sister the “momma look,” as Stephanie called it.

Cassandra looked wearily at her. “It's
not
going,” she said. “Half of the bridesmaids and groomsmen got down the aisle, and Stephanie called them back.”

“Why?”

“Because the way she had them walking in was just dumb,” Stephanie said. “The groomsman would walk halfway down the aisle, stop, and hold out his arm, waiting for the bridesmaid to walk down the aisle and take it.” Stephanie took a few steps to act it out as she explained, then stuck out her arm. “It looked silly. Just let them walk down the aisle together.”

“And I said that was fine,” Cassandra said.

“Okay . . .” Cyd said, waiting to hear why action hadn't resumed.

“Then Stephanie wanted to talk about how you and the best man would walk in.”

“I thought the best man stood up front with the groom,” Cyd said.

Cassandra rested a hand on her butterball tummy and sighed with a smile. “Traditionally. But Stephanie wants to mix things up.

She's even talking about walking down the aisle with Lindell instead of your dad.”

Now Cyd couldn't help giving Stephanie the momma look. “If you wanted to be unconventional, you should have thought it through long before now,” she said. “You've got people waiting.”

Stephanie tossed her hand. “They'll be fine. And anyway, I just decided. I do want Daddy to give me away, even though it's old-fashioned and ridiculous since Lindell and I are already . . . you know. But I like the idea of you and the best man walking down the aisle together. Let's do
something
different.”

“Sounds fine.” Cyd moved toward the sanctuary doors, but her mother pushed one of them open before Cyd could pull it.

Claudia looked stunning in a cornflower blue long silk skirt with a matching beaded crocheted sweater. “Cyd, good, you're here,” she said. “I was just coming to see what the holdup was about.”

Cyd hugged her mother. “It's been resolved. We were just coming in.”

Claudia leaned back to get a good look at her. “And everything's okay with you? Stephanie said there was an emergency.”

“I'm fine.”

Stephanie and Cassandra walked past them and through the door, marshaling the wedding party back into place.

Claudia followed Stephanie with her eyes, then grabbed Cyd's arm and stepped farther out, letting the door close. “Did you see that dress your sister's wearing?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I thought she was wearing the knee-length black number. It looked beautiful on her.”

“Thought so too.”

Claudia looked exasperated. “I can hardly face the pastor or anyone else. What must Lindell's mother think of her? Why would she
do
this?”

Cyd shrugged. “Same reason she does everything else. All she cares about is herself.”

The door opened, and Cassandra peeped her head out. “We need the mothers in line.”

Claudia and Cyd walked through the door. “I really want this to be a memorable weekend for Stephanie and Lindell,” Claudia whispered, “and not because she caused a stir with her cleavage.”

Cyd didn't respond. She was following the pastor as he strode with purpose through the bridal party, toward Stephanie in the very back, holding something folded in his hand.

Dr. Lyles was in his late fifties now, but he hadn't lost any fervor for his ministry of teaching and preaching. The church was so large that he rarely conducted wedding ceremonies anymore, delegating the task to his associate pastors. But he'd agreed at once when Cyd's father, Bruce, approached him. Dr. Lyles said he would have it no other way.

Cyd watched as he reached Stephanie, spoke into her ear, gave her a hug, and unfolded a gorgeous silver stole, draping it around her shoulders. He headed back to the front.

Cyd and Claudia made a beeline for her. “What happened?” Claudia asked.

Stephanie looked as if she was still trying to understand it. “Pastor said after I walked in, he called Sister Gloria to see if she had anything for me to cover up with. He said he'd known me all my life and loved me like a daughter, and I was too precious to God to wear something like this.” Stephanie fingered the ends of the stole, which fell well below her chest.