Come Sunday Morning. Terry E. Hill

      “What did you think of my sermon?” Hezekiah asked. “I think I should have spent more time on the Twenty-third Psalm. People hear it their whole lives but never really understand its true meaning.”

      “It was fine, Hezekiah,” she said. The tiresome chore of reassuring him of his oratory prowess had been part of their Sunday-sermon debriefing for the last ten years. “I’m sure everyone enjoyed it very much.”

      “Next time I think I’ll do a sermon on the entire chapter.” Hezekiah looked pensively out the window and continued. “Willie Mitchell slept through my entire sermon. At least he pretended to be asleep. Why doesn’t he go to another church if he dislikes me so much?”

      “I’ve told you before, we need him here. He’s already donated a million dollars toward construction of the cathedral and he’s hinted that he might double that. Just smile, shake his hand on Sunday mornings, and let me handle him.”

      “I know you like him, Samantha, but sometimes I’m not sure if the money is worth the trouble.”

      “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t like him either but we need him.”

      “One day he’s going to push me too far and…”

      “And what, Hezekiah? You’ll kill him?”

      Hezekiah laughed. “No, something worse. I’ll sic you on him.”

      Samantha quickly changed the subject. “You should use the cordless microphone more often. You look stiff standing behind the podium for the entire sermon. I wish you’d move around more. The audience and the cameras would love it.”

      “I’ll try to remember next Sunday,” he said as he laid his head on the headrest. Without looking in her direction, Hezekiah continued to speak. “Do you want to preach next Sunday? I think I could use a break.”

      Samantha’s heart fluttered when she heard the words. She was rarely offered the opportunity to preach at the coveted Sunday-morning service. She had earned her doctorate in theology six years earlier and was a gifted and inspiring ordained minister, but her more frequent role was that of the expensively dressed mannequin smiling at Hezekiah’s side on their weekly television program.

      The 15,000-seat sanctuary had always been filled to capacity on the rare occasions she had been given the opportunity to preach. Television ratings would skyrocket, primarily due to channel surfers forced to pause by the striking and charismatic woman who flashed on their screens.

      Men loved Samantha for one reason. She was beautiful. At thirty-five she commanded the adoring attention of deacons, cameramen, lighting technicians, and every heterosexual male within range of her seductive voice. She never flaunted her looks. Everyone in her presence took notice of them without any effort on her part. Instead, she focused her energy on perfecting the image of a sacrificing wife and mother who stood by her man, come what may.

      Women had the predictable love-hate reaction to Samantha Cleaveland. They loved her devotion to the man they admired but envied the command she had over every inch of her body. No part of her was unattended, unnoticed, or unappreciated.

      She only wore clothes designed especially for her voluptuous figure or those from her favorite boutiques in Beverly Hills, New York, and Paris. Even if other women could afford the clothes and accessories she took for granted, they could never assemble them as masterfully as she. It took years to perfect the look and most people didn’t have her patience, skills, or her means.

      “Why didn’t you ask me earlier?” she hissed. “I won’t have time to prepare a sermon by next Sunday. I’ve got a busy week.” Anger took over after the initial shock from the unfortunate timing of his request. Titles of the dozens of sermons she’d written but never had the opportunity to deliver flashed through her mind.

      “You don’t have to do anything new. How about preaching the one on wives supporting their husbands?”

      Samantha marveled at the arrogance of her husband. His one-dimensional view of her caused her blood to run cold. She had spent their entire marriage in the shadow of Hezekiah’s greatness. Her beauty and talents only served to propel him higher.

      She responded sharply, “I’ve got more important things to say than to remind women of how great their husbands are.”

      “I know you do, honey. I just thought it was a good sermon.”

      “Drop it, Hezekiah. I won’t be able to preach next Sunday.”

      “All right, baby, maybe the following Sunday,” he said while rubbing her knee. “I think I’ve got at least one more good sermon in me.”

      Hezekiah stared out the tinted limousine window. He braced himself and hoped that the next exchange would be quick and painless. “Reverend Duncan is in town,” he said, closing his eyes.

      “Who’s Reverend Duncan?” Samantha asked with a hint of suspicion.

      “He’s from Shiloh Church of God in Detroit. I’m having dinner with him today.”

      “I wish you would have told me this morning. Etta has been home all day preparing dinner for us.” She knew there was no Reverend Duncan.

      “I didn’t know about it then,” Hezekiah snapped defensively. “He called before this morning’s service. Where was Jasmine? I didn’t see her at church.”

      “She wasn’t feeling well.” Samantha had no intention of allowing him to use their daughter as a diversion for his lies. “I can go to dinner with you.”

      “He wants to talk to me alone. I think he’s having marriage problems.”

      Samantha was almost embarrassed by the perverse pleasure she took in his obvious discomfort. “Then he might benefit from a woman’s perspective,” she said looking directly at him.

      “Damn it, Samantha, he said he wanted to talk to me alone.” Hezekiah knew he had overreacted as his words reverberated through the car.

      “Hezekiah, I know you’re seeing someone. You haven’t been yourself for months now. The least you can do is come up with more original lies.”

      “Can I have dinner with a fellow pastor without you thinking I’m sleeping with another woman?” he snapped. “Your paranoia is getting out of control.”

      “It’s not just dinner, Hezekiah. You’ve been sulking around the house for weeks now. You could never hide your feelings from me.”

      “Maybe if you had a life of your own I wouldn’t have to hide my feelings.”

      Samantha sat erect in the plush leather seat. “A life of my own? You wouldn’t have a life if it weren’t for me. You’d still be in that storefront preaching to neighborhood kids and old ladies. Everyone knows I made you and without me you’d be nothing.”

      “I don’t want to argue with you, Samantha.”

      “I’m not arguing. I simply want you to tell me the truth for once. I can’t keep pretending not to know something is wrong. I deserve better than this.”

      “I’m not seeing anyone, Samantha. I’ve just had a lot on my mind. You can believe it or not. I don’t care anymore.”

      The intersections rushed by in a blur. Samantha’s mind raced as she thought. When this is done, I should send his body to whoever the bitch is and let her bury him.

      The car turned onto Sunset Boulevard, toward the whitewashed towers at the West Gate of Bel Air, and began the familiar ascent up the hill. Rolling estates quickly replaced the grime and congestion of the city streets below. Lush trees on each side of the winding road tilted inward and formed a green lace canopy over the street. The center median was filled with vibrant flowers and cement fountains poured water from the mouths of lions at each intersection. Pristine terra-cotta-tiled roofs peeked over the tops of densely clustered shrubs and waving palm trees. Couples wearing matching jogging suits strolled leisurely along the paved sidewalks with their