One Prayer Away (20 page)

Fynn had made Obatala proud of the name he'd given him. Bestowing him with the name Efunsgun put Fynn in a place of honor that was far above his brothers. He had always been taught that more was expected of him than of any other of his father's seventeen children. Fynn was the first of his father's family to pursue a higher education, breaking the cycle of dependency that had kept them limited, even in their own country. He had attended one of the most prestigious universities in the United States and had earned a degree that accredited him to practice law, but Fynn never sold out to the unspoken principles of society. Success was required of him by God because he needed to be in the position to provide for his family. All that his wife needed—all that
any woman
needed—to do was care for her husband and bear the children he planted within her. That's what his mother had done up until the day she died giving birth to her fifth child in four years. That was all any of Obatala's wives had done.

In many ways, Fynn's values and beliefs mirrored those of his now-deceased father. But in other ways, he felt that they had drastic differences. Religion was probably their most profound point of divergence. Like many people born in Niger, Obatala followed the traditions of Islam. Fynn remembered crying for many days after he buried his father six years ago, but now he found himself thankful that Obatala's short bout with colon cancer had ended with the disease being the victor. Christianity hadn't become Fynn's way of life until a year after his father's demise. As proud as Obatala had been of his firstborn all of his life, Fynn knew that his father would have all but disowned him had he still been living when Fynn accepted Christ. As much as Fynn believed that he'd made the right choice when he opted to follow the ways of Christianity, he knew that the decision to do so would have been much harder,
perhaps even impossible, to make during his father's lifetime.

“Knock, knock,” Elder Bradley interrupted while simultaneously hitting the frame of the open door with his knuckles.

Fynn turned and smiled. Elder Bradley was the man who had led him to Christ. Over the past few years, he had become like a father to Fynn, just as the pastor was to many of the members of Temple of Jerusalem Church. Just like, as a child, Fynn had wanted to be like Obatala, now he wanted the same with Elder Bradley. He hoped that one day his ministry would flourish so that thousands of people would respect him in his calling and be captivated by his ability to translate biblical knowledge. The seasoned pastor was a man in his seventies, but he remained in good health and had a mind as sharp as any man who'd only lived half his years.

“I'm surprised that you're still here,” Elder Bradley said as he stepped inside. “I saw your light on from down the hall and stopped by to say hello.”

“I'm glad you did,” Fynn said, motioning toward an empty chair where he hoped his pastor would sit. “I think our youth are about ready for the Christmas gala.”

“That's good to hear,” Elder Bradley remarked. Sinking slowly onto the soft seat that the sofa chair provided, he grunted and then relaxed. “I spoke with Sister Virtue yesterday and told her that it might be a good idea for the two of you to get together and compare notes. She's doing a special solo performance, you know. It's been awhile since we've been blessed with one of her praise dances. I'm looking forward to it.”

Fynn had chosen to sit in a chair that faced the one his pastor occupied. His eyes dropped to his lap during Elder Bradley's talk, and that didn't go unnoticed.

“Is something wrong, Fynn? She did call you, didn't she?”

Fynn nodded as he raised his eyes to look directly at
Elder Bradley. “Yes, she did,” he said. “I spoke with her early this morning. She told me of her routine and where on the program she thought it would fit best.”

“Good, good,” the pastor said.

“I thought it would be a good idea if we met so that we could put both our heads together to map the program out from beginning to end.”

Elder Bradley smiled at the idea. “Two brilliant heads are certainly better than one. Do you have something in writing that I can look over?”

Getting up from his chair, Fynn strolled back to the window and turned his back to the preacher. “She had other plans,” he reported. “She couldn't meet with me.”

“Oh?”

Fynn knew that Elder Bradley was aware that he and Virtue had gone out on a couple of occasions, and he was sure that his wise old pastor also had some inkling of his continued affection for the leader of the church's praise dance team. It would be no great surprise if Fynn told him why the meeting that she was in today didn't sit well with him. He turned from the window and faced Elder Bradley.

“Because of my schedule today, I needed to be able to meet with her this morning at eleven o'clock. She told me that she had plans and couldn't be accommodating.” Fynn said the last word of his sentence as though it was distasteful to his mouth. The unconscious grimace that followed displayed his irritation that she'd labeled her meeting with Mitchell more important than her meeting with him.

“Couldn't you set your meeting on a different date?”

“I needed to meet with her at eleven o'clock
today
.”

The sudden sternness in Fynn's voice caused Elder Bradley's eyebrows to raise and him to sit forward in his seat. It appeared to catch Fynn by surprise as well. He immediately cleared his throat and threw an apologetic look toward his pastor.

“I'm sorry, Elder Bradley. I didn't mean . . .”

“You're angered by her inability to meet you on the date and time that you set in place?” The preacher's question cut Fynn's apology short.

Fynn turned back to the window and took a moment to gather his emotions. He'd already spoken too soon once; he didn't want to disrespect his pastor any further. However, Fynn did want to be totally honest. He was certain that his pastor would understand. He'd watched Elder Bradley be a leader in both the church and his home. He'd been a staunch disciplinarian to his children, and his wife showed him nothing but the utmost respect. Elder Bradley didn't come from the same place that Fynn did, but Fynn could see the African roots in him. He would understand and agree.

“Virtue wasn't
unable
to meet with me this morning,” Fynn explained. “She
chose
not to.”

“And that disturbs you. Why?”

His slowness to grasp the symbolism surprised Fynn until he realized that he'd failed to tell the pastor who it was that Virtue had chosen to meet instead. “Her meeting this morning was with Mitchell Andrews.”

A look of confusion covered Elder Bradley's face as he tried to put the pieces together.

“He's her ex-husband,” Fynn explained. “She chose to meet the man who beat her years ago rather than to meet with me.”

The newfound information warranted that the pastor change his position. He rocked back and forth twice before releasing another grunt that brought him to his feet. Fynn watched him pace the length of Fynn's office once before coming to a stop and facing him.

“I wasn't aware that she knew of his whereabouts,” he said.

“Apparently he found a way to contact her and wanted to meet with her in person. She didn't want to give me the details at first, but when I kept insisting that she meet with
me this morning over breakfast, she finally told me the truth.”

Elder Bradley spoke again. This time it was as if he was speaking to himself more than to Fynn. “I remember the time when she was so adamant about never wanting to see or hear from her husband again. I wonder what he could have had to talk about that was important enough to change her mind.”

“
Ex
-husband.” Fynn made a noble attempt to hide his brewing anger at his pastor's passive behavior, but exasperation could be detected in his words. “And what does it matter what he wanted to discuss? She should not be meeting with him for any reason, and she certainly shouldn't have chosen to meet with him over me.”

Elder Bradley took several steps to close some of the space that separated him from Fynn, who continued to stand in front of his window. The pastor came to a stop directly in front of Fynn's desk. When Fynn turned from the window, their eyes locked. Elder Bradley's narrowed eyes told Fynn that his pastor was not pleased.

“You can't say who she should and should not meet with, Fynn. That's not your decision to make. Perhaps her meeting with her
ex
-husband was warranted. The matter that they had to discuss may have been time sensitive. And even if it was just a leisure meeting, there is no law against it.”

“You cannot be serious,” Fynn said in disbelief. “Would you feel the same way if
your
wife chose to meet a former lover over giving you the time with her that you asked for?”

“It's not the same thing.”

“But it is, Elder Bradley. You and I are both men, and we should both be able to expect the same level of respect and consideration. How can you be for one situation and against the other?”

“Because the scenarios are very different.”

“Why?” Fynn challenged. “Because one involves you and the other involves me?”

“No,” Elder Bradley said. “Because Lillian is my
wife
.”

“And Virtue is
my
. . .” Fynn stopped himself this time.

Elder Bradley tilted his head, and confusion was in his eyes as he glared at the youth pastor of Temple of Jerusalem. Fynn read his body language well. He knew that Elder Bradley was just a moment away from declaring him incompetent for the position that he held. He had to somehow break through seventy-four years of non-ancestral beliefs that had, no doubt, been drilled into his pastor's non-African brain. Fynn had to get him to understand his plight.

“Elder Bradley,” he began. “You have to understand that I'm a proud man, preceded by generations of proud men. The things that we are taught to accept as normal in the United States aren't truly normal to our people. I understand that Sister Bradley is your wife under a law that for years our people have been forced to live by. I understand that, I respect that, and I honor her as such. However, in our true culture, such rituals as are carried on here are not necessary to make a man and woman one. In Niger, men can pick their brides without the years of courtship and the waste of thousands of dollars on ceremonial rubbish that has no real meaning, even in the eyes of God.

“No, Virtue is not my wife in the way of American custom. But in the ways of our fathers, she has been spoken for. I have loved her for two or three years now. I spoke with her just a day or two ago, and I think I was finally able to get her to see another way. Now this demon from her past has resurfaced, and I feel in my heart that he has come to deceive her and to once again do her harm.”

“Fynn, I understand the ways of Niger,” Elder Bradley said. “But Virtue doesn't live in Niger, and neither do you.”

“But I honor my homeland, Pastor.”

“If you want to uphold the traditions of Niger, that's fine,” Elder Bradley emphasized. “But don't expect those around you to do the same. Your spoken claim on Virtue has no merit unless she accepts your claim as a valid proposal.”

“As I said, I believe she understood better following our last conversation.”

“I don't think so, Fynn,” Elder Bradley said. “If she now saw the world through your eyes, would she have kept her appointment with her ex-husband, realizing that you wanted to meet with her?”

Fynn folded his arms and once again turned his back to his pastor. He wanted the conversation to end, but Elder Bradley kept talking.

“You are in a leadership position wherein you are trusted to be an example to many impressionable youngsters. Many of them are boys who are looking to you to be a role model. I've never known you to be anything but upright, Fynn, but I must tell you now that I cannot allow you to plant such unacceptable seeds in the hearts and minds of our church's children. I won't tell you what you can and cannot do with your own life. As long as I know that you are living by God's Word, I won't impose on your traditions. However, you must be able to separate your tribal or homeland beliefs from those that you know are widely practiced among the members of this congregation.”

For several moments, it seemed as if silence had become a permanent fixture in the room. Fynn thought it best to remain quiet. He had never tried to impose his cultural traditions on the young members who served in the ministry that he headed, and he resented the fact that Elder Bradley felt the need to hint of an ultimatum. But the pity that he felt for his pastor and all people of African descent overshadowed his anger. In a sense, he felt sorry for the widespread ignorance that had taken hold of Blacks in America, and it made him all the more thankful that he was counted among the few who knew better.

Eighteen