Lady Jasmine (11 page)

J
ASMINE WAS JUST GETTING STARTED

After the Mayors and Ministers luncheon on Saturday, she was sure that she was on her way to being the premiere first lady in the city. But now it felt like everyone was trying to take it away from her.

“I haven’t seen anything like this since I became the treasurer,” Malik said. “Tithes and offerings were down almost twenty percent the last two Sundays.”

Even though her godbrother was giving the bad news, he still sat on their side of the table, next to Jasmine, who was next to Hosea. Across from them: Pastor Wyatt (sans his wife) and Jerome Viceroy. The two sides of the war.

The other board members were there, but at either ends of the table, sitting on the outskirts. As if they realized a battle was coming, and they were afraid of cross fire.

“Well”—Pastor Wyatt laid his hands flat on the table—“you know what this means.” He looked at Hosea as if he’d stolen the money. “It’s because of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Jasmine asked.

Before he could answer, Malik said, “Eugene, don’t go there.”

“Why not? Should we wait until next week to talk about
this? Or maybe the week after that. Maybe we should wait an entire month, and by then the church will be bankrupt and there won’t be anything to talk about.” Pastor Wyatt glanced slowly around the room.

No one said a word.

Then he added, “This never happened when I was leading the church.”

“You’ve never led the church,” Hosea said.

“I’m talking about the times when your father was away. In fact, there were occasions when I brought in more money than your father.”

“I’m not surprised that you were keeping score, but I’m sure my father wasn’t. Being the leader of this church was never a game that he had to win. The only winning he’s ever been concerned about was winning souls to Christ.”

Jerome Viceroy spoke next. “I think Pastor Wyatt is correct,” he said, staring straight at Hosea. “This is about leadership, praise the Lord! And the people, they’re not comfortable with you as their leader.”

“That’s not what’s going on.” Hosea shook his head. “There could be a lot of reasons attendance is down. People are still concerned about the shooting. And many may not know that the services are continuing without my father. Whatever, we’ll figure it out. We have to, because”—this time, Hosea was the one who glanced around the room—“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way Pastor Wyatt and Jerome exchanged glances made Jasmine frown. It was a good thing that Malik was the treasurer, because if not, she would have sworn that those two had siphoned money from the offerings just to make Hosea look bad.

“Well, I’m with you, Hosea,” Sister Clinton said. “That was a fine sermon you gave on Sunday—the second good one in a row, and you’ll keep getting better.”

“I agree,” Brother Hill said.

“Your opinion doesn’t count, Daniel,” Pastor Wyatt snapped.

“That boy is your godson. In fact, you need to remove yourself from—”

Hosea stood up. “First of all, Pastor Wyatt, I’m not anybody’s boy. You need to get that straight before we take this anyplace else.”

Pastor Wyatt looked around the table, his eyes stopping at Jerome. But the councilman lowered his eyes.

Hosea continued, “And secondly, everyone on this board is free to speak. Those are the rules my father and the original board established, and those are the rules that are in place now. Are we clear?”

Pastor Wyatt glared at Hosea with defiant eyes. Said nothing.

“Good.” Hosea moved, as if Pastor Wyatt had agreed. “Now, I understand everyone’s concern. But we have to make this work. All churches go through their ups and downs.”

“But we’re not in the summer or holiday season.” Pastor Wyatt returned to his fight. “And offerings being down isn’t the only problem.” He turned away from Hosea, faced the rest of the board members. “It’s come to my attention that our
interim
pastor has turned down the opportunity for this church to receive more than twelve million dollars.”

“What?” The exclamation came from all of them, in one note, as if they were singing a hymn.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Mrs. Whittingham’s voice rose above the others.

“It’s true.” Jerome jumped into the battle. “The Harlem Redevelopment Project is willing to pay City of Lights so that they can continue their good work.” The councilman stood, and Jasmine had to squint as she took in his bright gold suit with red stripes. He strutted to the front, and then, with his hands flailing and his eyes opened wide, he told the story of a charitable group of developers who, out of the goodness of their hearts, wanted to make the world—and Harlem—a better place. He
explained the details of the proposal he’d shared with Hosea and Jasmine—less, of course, the cash money that Jasmine had no doubt he’d now offered to Pastor Wyatt.

Finishing, he said, “Not only is this an incredible financial opportunity for us, Brothers and Sisters, but we would be doing an incredible service to the congregation. Moving into a safer neighborhood would bring peace to all of us who worry about the men and women of this church. Think of our elderly, someone like Sister Pearline”—he pointed to the woman—“who walks through these gang-infested, drug-polluted, mean streets just to hear the Word of God.” His voice rose with every sentence he spoke. “We need to take her and everyone else away from this danger, away from the violence that has cut down our
true
leader, Reverend Bush, in the prime of his life!” With his hands raised in the air and his eyes looking toward heaven, he added, “Glory! Hallelujah! Praise your name, Jesus!” His feet moved from side to side in a little hopping, holy dance.

Jasmine shook her head and wondered why no one told this bootleg preacher to sit down.

“We owe it to our people! Brothers and Sisters, we are not only responsible for their souls,” he sang, “but their safety as well. Praise the Lord!”

There were moments of silence as Jerome removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at invisible perspiration on his forehead.

Then, “We’re not selling the church,” Hosea simply said.

Pastor Wyatt slammed his hands on the table. “That’s not your decision.”

“It is.” Hosea’s calmness made Pastor Wyatt look like a madman. “Check the bylaws. That’s the one decision that needs the approval of the senior pastor, no matter what the vote.”

“But, Hosea,” Sister Clinton said, “maybe you need to think about what Brother Viceroy is saying. This church has been here for almost thirty years. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

Brother Stevens added, “And do you know what we can do with that kind of money? We could pay cash for another building and still have money left to help so many of our families. We can start that after-school program we’ve been talking about for so long. Those are the things that are important to your father, not some building.”

Hosea nodded. “I understand, but what Brother Viceroy isn’t telling you is that my father had no plans of selling; I’m following his wishes.”

“Your father didn’t say no!” Jerome slammed his fist on the table, but then pulled back his hand quickly, shaking it as if he was in pain.

“There’s no need to lie, Jerome,” Hosea said, then looked straight at Brother Stevens and Sister Clinton. Then at Brother Hill and Mrs. Whittingham. “You’ve been with my father for decades. He’s never led you wrong, has he?”

The four shook their heads.

Hosea turned back to Jerome, who still stood in the front of the room, as if he was in charge. “This church will not be sold.”

Slowly Jerome returned to his seat, but there was no sign of retreat in his steps, no indication of defeat on his face. And when he looked across the table at Jasmine and licked his lips, she squirmed.

“Well, if that’s all.” Hosea stood. “I do want you to know that I appreciate every thought, every opinion, every discussion we have. Our collective job is to continue to move City of Lights in the right direction, and my role is to lead that process. I need everyone’s help to do that, and I pray that we’ll be able to continue to work together under the standards that my father has set.”

When Hosea turned his back, the others stood. But Jasmine didn’t follow right away. She waited for a moment, to make sure that the daggers Jerome Viceroy and Pastor Wyatt were shooting at her husband weren’t accompanied by a couple of real bul
lets. Because she had no doubt that if they could get away with it, both of those men would have pulled out a gun and shot her husband right in his back.

“Hosea!”

They both turned, and Jasmine rolled her eyes as Mrs. Whittingham marched down the hall toward them, her wide flowered-print skirt swishing around her.

She huffed and puffed when she finally stood in front of them, as if that short walk took all of her breath away. To Hosea she said, “Can I talk to you…privately?”

Hosea glanced toward his wife, then shook his head. He didn’t have to say any more.

“All right, all right. Bring her in if you have to.” Looking back toward the conference room, she whispered, “Let’s talk in your dad’s, I mean, in your office.”

The moment they were behind closed doors, Mrs. Whittingham put her hands on her hips and said, “Hosea, you know I love you like a son, right?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “But I have to tell you, I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” She waved a hand in the air as if there was much to be concerned about. “This fight with Eugene was bad enough, but I understood why you wanted to step into your father’s shoes. I can even take tithes and offerings being down. But this thing—the offer for the church.” She shook her head, as if Hosea had turned down the impossible dream. “Taking your father’s place is obviously too much for you to handle.”

“So you’re saying…” Hosea paused, letting Mrs. Whittingham finish.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, God help me, because you know that I’m not a fan of his, but maybe you should let Eugene take over.”

Traitor,
Jasmine yelled inside her head. She had to press her lips together and cross her arms to keep that word inside.

Mrs. Whittingham continued, “You have too much on your mind, Hosea. With your father”—she glanced at Jasmine—“and your family. The church needs the kind of attention that you’re not able to give it right now.”

“How can you say that? I’ve been here every day, working, ministering, preaching on Sundays. I’m doing my best to keep everything on track.”

“But you’re not making good decisions.”

“Because I don’t want to sell this church? Are you telling me that
you
want to sell, even though you know that’s not what Pops would want?”

“He may not have wanted it before, but after what happened…we don’t know what he would want now.”

“Exactly. And that’s why we’re not going to do anything. When Pops wakes up, he’ll decide.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Hosea. You’re not thinking clearly. We don’t know when—” She stopped, as if she was finished. Softly she added, “Your father would have never turned down that kind of money.”

“That’s not true. I have a feeling this is exactly what he would do.”

Her voice rose again. “You’re not thinking clearly!”

Jasmine’s eyebrows rose. “There’s no need for you to yell at my husband,” she said, her volume matching Mrs. Whittingham’s.

The woman’s eyes flashed with fury. “Little girl, you need to be quiet.”

Jasmine jumped in front of Hosea and pointed her finger in Mrs. Whittingham’s face. “Who are you calling—”

Hosea pulled her back. “That’s enough,” he said to both of them.

For a moment more, she glared at Jasmine, then Mrs. Whit
tingham’s eyes softened when she turned to Hosea. But she didn’t say a word. Just spun around and marched away, slamming the door behind her.

Seconds passed, and then with a sigh, Hosea took Jasmine’s hand, leading her out. They walked toward the front, where Mrs. Whittingham sat at her desk, her head down, like she had no plans to speak to either of them.

When Hosea said, “See you later, Mrs. Whittingham,” the woman mumbled something that neither could understand.

Inside their SUV, as Hosea maneuvered south toward the hospital, Jasmine broke the quiet.

“Are you mad at me?”

He shook his head. “Not mad. Disappointed.” With a quick glance at her, he said, “Jasmine, you can’t be jumping in everybody’s face. You can’t turn every disagreement into a fistfight.”

“I know.”

“I’ve never seen you so hostile,” he said. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know,” she said, although she knew the source. It came from that place deep inside where her hurt still brewed. Where the memories of Natasia still rose up. It was Natasia who had turned her violent, who taught her not to take crap from anyone.

But all Jasmine said was, “It’s hard to sit there and listen to the way they talk about you.”

“Doesn’t matter what anyone says. We’re supposed to be the leaders.” He continued the lecture. “I can’t be breaking up fights between my wife and every member at City of Lights! Talkin’ ’bout ghetto.”

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
At least not in front of you.
“But it wasn’t all my fault. Mrs. Whittingham is supposed to be on your side.”

“She is.”

“How can you say that now? I think Pastor Wyatt sent her out to talk to you.”

“Nah, he wouldn’t be able to shake her. She’s been in Pops’s corner for a long time. She’s just worried, like she said.”

“She didn’t sound worried. She sounded mad.”

“Whatever. None of them are going to stop me from doing what I know Pops would want.”

“I don’t know, Hosea.” Jasmine shook her head. “The way Pastor Wyatt and Jerome were talking today…”

“So? What else can they do? They can only talk, and soon that will die down.”

Jasmine took a deep breath and then released a long exhale. Reaching over, he patted her hand. “Don’t worry. There’s not going to be any more trouble.”

But Jasmine didn’t agree. There’d been enough trouble in her life for her to recognize it when it was right in her face. She could smell trouble in the air, hear it in Pastor’s Wyatt’s voice, see it in Jerome Viceroy’s eyes. Even Mrs. Whittingham walked like she was holding onto trouble’s hand.