Come Sunday Morning. Terry E. Hill

I still feel sick. Just leave me alone, please.”

      Samantha threw her purse onto an overstuffed pink chair under the window and sat down on the edge of the bed, which was partially covered by a satin pink down comforter. She pulled the comforter back to reveal Jasmine’s tired face. She was a young and beautiful female version of Hezekiah Cleaveland. Her skin was still taut and clear but her eyes told of the troubles she had seen.

      “Honey, you’ve got to let me help you with this problem.”

      Jasmine recited her well-rehearsed denial. “I’ve told you, I don’t have a problem. I was just out too late last night. I’ll be fine if you would leave me alone.”

      She knew well the fine line between her mother’s love and rage. Jasmine skillfully stopped short of pushing her to the edge.

      “Jasmine, I’m not stupid. You smell of alcohol. Your eyes are red and you’ve been in this room all day. I won’t have this in my house. You’re going to have to get some help, or else…”

      “Or else what?” Jasmine blurted out. “You’ll throw me out? How would that look? The daughter of the perfect Samantha Cleaveland living on the streets and begging for food. Maybe I could sit on the steps of the church with a sign that says, ‘Pastor’s daughter—will work for food.’”

      Samantha’s eyes tightened. “You know that’s not what I was going to say. Why are you doing this to me? I love you and it’s killing me to watch you destroy yourself like this.”

      Jasmine turned to avoid her mother’s eyes. “I’m not destroying myself. I told you I’m just tired. Now please leave me alone.”

      “I won’t put up with this much longer.” Samantha stood and picked up her purse from the chair. “I’m not going to let you embarrass this family with your behavior.”

      She slammed the door of her daughter’s room and stood for a moment to compose herself before walking back down the stairs.

      Samantha took keys from her purse and unlocked the door to her private study. Hezekiah had never understood why she needed a private study but he didn’t protest when the locksmith came and installed the dead bolt. The room provided a startling contrast to the décor of the other rooms in the house. A sleek Swedish couch and two modern leather chairs, too perfect and erect for comfort, floated on a bloodred island rug in the center of the room. Sparkling modern light fixtures served more as art than illuminators. Stark teak planks covering the floor guided every step taken in the room. Samantha’s glass desk glowed at the rear of the room from light shining through floor-to-ceiling French doors that overlooked the lush grounds of the estate.

      Samantha locked the door behind her. Sitting at her desk, she opened the purse and removed her BlackBerry. Next she removed a pack of cigarettes and then a small black revolver. She found the weight and cold steel of the pistol strangely erotic as she held it in her hand. A sudden knock on the door startled her and she quickly placed the gun back into the purse.

      “Mrs. Cleaveland,” Etta called through the locked door, “I have your dinner, ma’am.”

      2

      Monday Morning

      Muted light filled the large conference room at New Testament Cathedral. The ministry’s staff looked as rested and eager as possible considering it was nine o’clock on a Monday morning.

      The room bulged with a mix of young technology whiz kids, religious zealots, ministers, accountants, administrators, and wide-eyed interns who were clueless to the gravity of their role in running the renowned megachurch and television ministry. Hands clung to coffee cups. Expensive leather attaché cases and purses littered the floral-print carpet.

      Five to six bodies sat at tables placed around the room in no particular order. Pastor Hezekiah Cleaveland stood at the front of the room and addressed the gathering of sixty-two employees.

      “Good morning, everyone,” he said with enthusiasm. “I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, Sunday’s broadcast was seen by a record number of viewers. This is largely due to the great new marketing campaign launched by our PR department.”

      Everyone applauded to acknowledge the good news.

      “We’ve got a busy week ahead of us,” Hezekiah continued. “We officially entered the final phase of the capital campaign for the new cathedral and media center. To date, twenty-five million dollars have been raised and, as a result of the recent jump in viewership, contributions are still pouring in. We are going to need each of you to double your fund-raising efforts. We’ve got twenty million more to raise in the next six months.”

      The rear door opened and Samantha Cleaveland walked in as he spoke. She sat down at a table near the door. Her beige pantsuit was constructed with skilled precision to complement her body. A silk scarf, knotted to perfection, hung over her shoulder, revealing the subtle red tones in her unblemished skin.

      Hezekiah paused midsentence and greeted Samantha. “Good morning, honey,” he said. “I was just reminding everyone that we have to increase our fund-raising efforts over the next six months….”

      “Correction, Hezekiah,” Samantha interrupted. “Everyone who expects to keep his or her job will have to double the amount of contributions, publicity, and the number of new members they bring to the church in the next month.”

      Hezekiah attempted to change the subject. “Thank you, Samantha. We received more good news last week. The Trinity Broadcasting Network has asked us to allow them to air the opening ceremony for the new cathedral.”

      Samantha ignored Hezekiah and stood abruptly. She walked to the front of the room and peered into the now mortified crowd.

      “Some of you don’t seem to realize this job is not just a paycheck. It’s a calling. People all over the country depend on this ministry to fill the empty void in their lives. Every Sunday morning New Testament Cathedral gives hope to millions of viewers who, without us, would have no reason to live.

      “Let me remind you that you represent Hezekiah and Samantha Cleaveland, and if you don’t do your jobs and raise more money the ministry suffers and if the ministry suffers, so will each of you.”

      Everyone sat frozen as all eyes in the room searched each other’s faces for the humiliation they all now shared.

      Samantha exited the room through the door she had entered without further comment. The staff meeting continued for the next half hour. Several brave staff members asked pointless questions in attempts to appear unfazed by the thrashing delivered by Samantha.

      Bodies retrieved briefcases and coffee cups and filed solemnly through the double doors into the cavernous hall and retreated to their designated cubicles and offices.

      Catherine Birdsong, New Testament Cathedral’s chief operations officer, gathered her belongings and darted through the crowd behind Hezekiah. Public relations director Naomi Preston followed closely behind. Both women ignored comments and questions from staff members as they passed through the crowd. They focused on catching up with Hezekiah who had exited the room and now moved rapidly toward the elevators.

      Naomi was a tall woman who, regardless of the season, always wore two-piece monotone suits. Her stiff hair bobbed like a straw hat as she maneuvered around people whose names she never felt the need to remember. A costume bracelet rattled with each step she took.

      The two women caught up with Hezekiah and together they fell quickly into step as if they had been at his side the entire length of the hall. Lesser staff members moved to the side as Catherine and Naomi took their rightful places beside the pastor. Hezekiah stared directly ahead.

      “What time am I scheduled to be interviewed by Lance Savage and what’s the article he’s writing about us?”

      Naomi’s throat dried as she strained to respond.

      “Eleven o’clock, Pastor Cleaveland. I believe he wants to get an update on the cathedral construction.”

      The