Mama B - A Time to Mend (Book 4)

Mama B:
A Time to Mend

(Book 4
in the Award-Winning Mama B Series)

a novella by

By Michelle Stimpson

Description:
Mama B’s address has changed, but her heart for people is still the
same. When a young neighbor with special needs (Jeffrey) passes out on her back
porch, Mama B springs into action to help him recover in more ways than one.
But intervening in Jeffrey’s dysfunctional home life leads Mama B to go poking
where Frank doesn’t want her to venture. How can she submit to her heart and
her new husband at the same time?

Meanwhile, Son wants to rent out the family home to a
trifling relative, Ida Mae, who still owes Mama B money from back in the day.
Even if it weren’t for the money, Ida Mae’s character will certainly ruffle
Mama B’s feathers in a way that only family can do. This may be the biggest
challenge to Mama B’s love walk yet!

Settle down and sit a spell with Mama B and her new
challenges in this award-winning novella series.

Copyright
2014 by Michelle Stimpson

All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for
brief quotations in reviews, without written permission from the author.

The
characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or
events is coincidental.

Published
by Michelle Stimpson

MichelleStimpson.com

Acknowledgments

Thank You, Lord, for the
opportunities that exist in such a time as this for writers. I Your timing is
so incredibly precise.

Thanks to April Barker for
lending her keen eye to this project. Thanks to my writing group for your
critique of the early chapters. I miss you ladies!

And special shout-out to Joy
& Company for recognizing this series as one that impacts the lives of
believers. Also, to the readers who have taken the time to review the Mama B
books, I am encouraged to continue her story. Finally, thanks to all the Mama B
fans who love her as much as I do!

Prologue

“Frank Wilson, do you take
this woman, Beatrice Jackson, to be your lawful wedded wife? To have and to
hold…” Pastor Phillips ran down the list of vows.

My knees was shakin’
something awful, like I ain’t never been down the aisle before! As I was
standin’ there, gettin’ ready to link my life with Frank’s in holy covenant, I
did think about Albert lookin’ down from heaven. I know he would be happy for
me, but he would still give Frank the side-eye.

“I do,” Frank answered.

“And Beatrice Jackson, Mama
B,” Pastor teased, “do you take Frank Wilson to be your lawfully wedded
husband? To have and to hold…”
That sure is a long list
, I thought to
myself as he named off all the stuff I was promisin’ to do. Somehow, my list
seemed longer than Frank’s. Still, I agreed, “Yes.”

“Then by the power vested in
me, I now pronounce you man and wife. Frank, you may now kiss the bride.”

Our guests clapped and
oooooh-ed as Frank lifted the mini-veil from my face. That veil was Ophelia’s
idea. When she and Pastor popped up with their fly-by-night wedding ceremony,
she put on a veil and had the nerve to wear a white dress, too. She said she
never had a real wedding and this was her last shot, so she was going to do
what all she wanted to do. I told her I ain’t had no business coverin’ my face
like a woman who hadn’t never been kissed, but when it came down to the moment,
I was glad I had listened to Ophelia.

When I got a clear view of
Frank’s smooth, round, deeply brown skin, I noticed his eyes glistening. Of
course, I started tearing up, too, ‘cause we knew this marriage was a big gift
from God to both of us. When you lose your first spouse, it’s hard to move on.
You think can’t nobody ever take that person’s place, and you’re right. But
somebody can start a new place in your heart.

We kissed real short-like,
which was something we had already discussed ahead of time. No need in making
people feel uncomfortable. Our kids and grandkids was in the audience, for
goodness sake. Folks was already callin’ me a cougar ‘cause I was 73 and Frank
was seven years my junior.

Me and Frank saved all our
serious kissin’ for later. One of his doctor friends gifted us a hotel room in
San Antonio at the Riverwalk. We drove down as soon as we left our reception in
the fellowship hall. Bags was already in Frank’s SUV! Chile, we waved good-bye
at those folk, hopped right in the vehicle, and headed for the
highway—Frank drivin’ like a bat out of you-know-where.

We laughed and talked about
the ceremony. It wasn’t a big wedding, just the family and friends who were
able to make it early on a Saturday morning. We did it that way more so they
could all meet each other. Being married really ain’t about the ceremony, you
know.

Anyhow, when we got to San
Antonio, Frank checked us into the hotel room. I thought, with the way he put
the pedal to the metal, we might get straight to the business. But we didn’t.
We went for a walk, hand-in-hand. Slow. Strolling along the river. The weather
was so nice, we ate outside.

“You look beautiful, B,” he
complimented. “I feel like the most blessed man in the world.” His compliment
went a long way as we waited for our food.

He kissed the palm of my hand
and I dern near fainted from the heat rising up in me. Part of me felt ashamed.
I hadn’t never been with nobody intimate-like except my first husband, and he
had been gone on to heaven for nine years. What if I went slamp crazy back in
that hotel room?

Ophelia’s words of wisdom
rushed back to me. While in the women’s restroom, just before I walked down the
aisle, Ophelia had cornered me. “B, I know it’s been a while since you did the
bedroom backstroke, but don't be in no hurry. Your body ain’t quite the same as
it used to be. This will help, though,” she’d whispered as she slipped a
plastic tube into my hand. “I call it
lady
lotion.” She raised her
eyebrows and tilted her forehead toward me. “And it
ain’t
for your arms
and legs.”

I understood. Made
double-sure to drop it in my purse so I wouldn’t leave it behind.

Now, I ain’t one to go into
all my private business, but I will say this: Every gift from God is good
indeed.

And the gift from Ophelia
came in handy, too.

Chapter 1

I was having a hard time
saying good-bye to my house. Even though most of my clothes and necessary items
was in Frank’s house and I spent every night there, I still didn’t think of his
home as
my
home, too. We was goin’ on two months of being married, and
more often than not, I felt like a guest in that big ol’ house.

Of course, Frank gave me free
reign. Told me I could bring in whatever I wanted. He told me if I wanted to
throw something out, he would just appreciate if I let him know. Frank said if
he didn’t really want it, he’d let his children know ‘cause they might want it.
We was both tryin’ real hard to be respectful of our kids. It’s hard on them
when a parent gets remarried. Probably feels like a lot of their good memories
are passing away into the wide blue yonder.

Frank’s work schedule left me
home alone for most of the day, which was right up my alley. Lord knows I can’t
have nobody around me all day every day. I likes to clean, wash, and take care
of all my other routines in peace and quiet. I don’t know what I’m gon’ do when
he retires from medical practice. Guess we’ll have to cross that bridge when we
get there.

Anyway, I was sittin’ home in
the kitchen one morning. I had already cleaned up the dishes from making
breakfast, and Frank was already gone to work. It was just me and the Lord at
the table in our quiet time, which I’m glad don’t change no matter where I
stay.

Somebody come beatin’ on the
back door. “Doctor Frank! Doctor Frank!”

My first thought was to call
9-1-1 because anybody who done made it to the back door done already trespassed
the fence. But they had a desperate sound in their voice, so I decided to
investigate first.

I tightened my robe around my
waist and shuffled across the hardwood floors as I unfastened the rag on my
head and allowed my gray curls some breathing room. I passed the second living
area and asked, “Who is it?”

“It is Jeffrey Allen!”

“Jeffrey
who
?”

“Jeffrey Allen. Dr. Frank,
there is a car in your driveway!”

I peeked out the window
blinds and saw the profile of a boy who was probably about twelve or thirteen
years old. White. Brown hair. Camoflauge t-shirt with blue jeans. “Honey, Dr.
Frank ain’t here.”

“Can you tell him there is
somebody at his house,” Jeffrey pleaded.

I knew then, there was
something wrong with this boy. If I just said, “Okay,” and he walked away,
ain’t no tellin’ where he might end up.

I opened the door and got a
good look at him. He was no taller than me, with the cutest little freckles and
braces. “Jeffrey, I’m Mrs. Wilson.” I held out my hand.

He shook my hand but
scratched his head with his other hand. “I thought Mrs. Wilson was dead?”

Lord, help this boy.
“Dr. Wilson’s
first
wife is gone on to heaven. I’m his
second
wife. I’m the
new
Mrs.
Wilson.”

“But if you are Mrs.
Wilson—”

“Baby, Just call me Mama B,”
I put an end to his confusion.

He shivered in the morning
chill.

“Come inside,” I welcomed
him. God knows if my oldest, Son, was there, he’d have a hissy fit about me
letting in a total stranger. But I couldn’t let the boy freeze to death. Besides,
I figured I could take him down with a kick in the leg if I needed to.

He followed me back to the
kitchen. I picked up my cell phone. “Do you know your home phone number?”

“214-555-1634.”

I dialed and waited for an
answer. “Yes, this is Beatrice Ja—Wilson and I’ve got Jeffrey here at my
house.”

“Where is he?” the woman
asked with concern in her voice.

“You know where Silver Oaks
Drive is—Dr Frank Wilson’s house?”

“Yes. We live on that same
street.”

“Great. Well, come on over.
We’re at 2304, Dr. Frank’s address. I’m his new wife, Beatrice.”

“Oh,” she sighed, “I see. I’m
sorry, I’ll be right over to get him.”

“No problem. We’ll be here
waitin’.”

I ended the call and motioned
for Jeffrey to take a seat.

He sat, staring at my Bible
and notepads. “Is this a school?”

“In a way,” I laughed. “I
study the Bible, the word of God, every morning. Kind of like going to church.”

“Oh.” He looked around,
taking in the kitchen. The shiny silver appliances held his attention the longest.
I got the feeling he’d never actually been inside Frank’s house. “What is that
smell?”

“Breakfast,” I said. “You
hungry?”

Jeffrey nodded quickly.

“Well, let me call your
mother first and see if it’s all right with—”

“No. I have to leave.”
Jeffrey stood and hobbled toward the back door again. “Julia will be mad.”

I followed him. “Nonsense.
Why would she—”

“I have to leave,” he
repeated.

I sensed the determination in
his tone. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” I shadowed him out the door, across
the lawn, through the fence gate, and back out to the front yard. Wanted to
make sure he made it home safe.

Frank’s quiet neighborhood
boasted sharply manicured lawns and broad, clean streets. The brick houses
stood tall and magnificent, the result of hard work, blessed work, or—in
Frank’s case—both.

The boy was a good fifty feet
up the street when a red-headed woman parked on the opposite side of the
street, jumped out of the car and grabbed him like he stole something. “What is
wrong
with you? Get in the car!”

My goodness!
Jeffrey certainly knew his
Momma. I waved at her and hollered, “He was fine!”

Immediately, her face lost
the mean quality as she yelled, “Thank you!”
Hmph. She one of them Jekyll
and Hyde types.

She stuffed Jeffrey into the
back seat like a police suspect, then she got behind the wheel again and drove
toward me. As she neared, she lowered the window of her fancy wine-colored
Lexus. “I’m so sorry to meet you under these circumstances. I’m Julie Baxter-Allen.”
Her hair seemed bigger than her body. She was an attractive woman, but I didn’t
like the ugly way she’d snatched Jeffrey up.

“He was no problem at all. We
were thinking about eating breakfast together tomorrow, right Jeffrey?”