Come Sunday Morning. Terry E. Hill

had just ordered their second round of beers.

      “So what’s up with the latest gossip going around about Hezekiah?” Larry asked while reaching for his drink.

      “Why? What have you heard? Who’s he supposed to be sleeping with this time?”

      “Everybody’s been talking about it. I’m surprised you haven’t heard. I hear it’s some guy who works with the homeless downtown. Danny something. A buddy of mine who works for the same agency told me he is gorgeous.”

      Kenneth laughed loud enough to be heard over the pulsating music. “A guy?” he said dismissively. “You’re joking. What else have you heard?”

      “Well,” Larry said, leaning forward, “supposedly it’s been going on for about a year now, but I don’t know how true that is.”

      “Larry, if you’re dumb enough to believe a story like that, then you deserve to be an assistant pastor for the rest of your life.”

      Larry smiled. “Yeah, I know. It sounded ridiculous to me when I first heard about it, but what if it’s true? Can you imagine the fallout? The gay community would be pissed because he’s a closeted high-profile minister. The black community would feel betrayed and embarrassed, and God only knows what the evangelicals would do.”

      “Nobody is ever going to find out, Larry, because there’s nothing to this. Hezekiah’s not dumb enough to sneak around banging some guy in the middle of a forty-five-million-dollar capital campaign.”

      “For his sake and yours, I hope you’re right. By the way, who’s Lance Savage?”

      “He’s a reporter with the Los Angeles Chronicle. Why?” Kenneth asked.

      “Because he’s been asking questions around town lately. Apparently, he’s working on a tell-all story.”

      Now sitting alone in his office, Kenneth recalled the conversation with Larry Kennedy. He began to wonder if the gossip could be true. He hoped the possibility of Hezekiah being gay or even bisexual was too far-fetched to be real.

      If it is true, he thought, he can kiss his church good-bye. This country isn’t ready for a powerful gay black preacher and especially not one who cheats on a woman like Samantha.

      Collard green stalks peeked over the pink brick fence surrounding Hattie Williams’s garden. Green tomatoes waited for the day Hattie would say, “You’re just right for picking.” Green beans on the vine protected their precious contents from the sun, and bright yellow squash provided a beautiful contrast in the emerald sea.

      The neat stucco house was quiet except for the gospel hymns playing on the radio. Hattie sat at her kitchen table, which overlooked the garden.

      Her Bible was open to John 3:16.

      She read aloud, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”

      As she pondered the words and gazed out the window, the image of Hezekiah Cleaveland flashed before her. His face expressionless and his eyes hollow. He wasn’t looking at her but rather looking at himself.

      All she could hear, see, and feel at that moment was the battle of emotions that raged in his soul. The pastor’s conflicting feelings of torment and relief, anger and fear, drowned out the crackling of the radio. She sat motionless and silently watched the battle that played out in the reflection of her garden window.

      “Lord, what has the pastor got himself into now?” she said aloud as the melee in her window raged on.

      She had never seen so many warriors on the battlefield of one man’s soul before. Fear violently thrashed his sword at the breastplate of peace. Contentment protected his head from the deadly blows of confusion. Love cowered under the pounding leveled by a white horse whose rider was death.

      The image of the equestrian made Hattie shiver. She had seen him before: at the bedside of her mother and in the hospital room of her late husband. On each occasion she pleaded that he ride away and allow her just one more day with her loved ones. Each time he did not hear her. She knew he would not hear her today.

      Hattie had learned to separate her emotions from those of others. But today she sat helplessly and succumbed to the tears that welled in her eyes as the horseman delivered the lethal blow to the man lying on the ground.

      “Oh Lord, not the pastor. Not Pastor Cleaveland!” She cried out as the scene faded from her window.

      Catherine Birdsong instructed her secretary to hold all calls after the startling meeting with Lance Savage. Her body trembled as she reached for the small flask of bourbon tucked beneath an even smaller bottle of minty green mouthwash, tissue, and a silver makeup compact.

      The office was quiet. Only the muffled white noise of traffic passing below her window could be heard. Cool pale light hovered around oil canvases and ceramic vases filled with yellow and white lilies. With shaking hands, she took the first sip of the brown tonic, then a second, and third.

      Catherine had been with Hezekiah Cleaveland for over ten years, throughout his various business and religious incarnations. She was thirty-three years old and always impeccably dressed, accomplished by frequent and extended-lunch shopping excursions throughout Beverly Hills.

      Her expensive tastes in clothes and jewelry far exceeded her salary as a chief operations officer. That of her husband, however, generously supplemented her own. He was a prominent real estate developer who sold New Testament Cathedral the property across the street for the new church. This deal had bordered precariously on a conflict of interest for Catherine. She naively believed that her position in the church never influenced her husband’s sweetheart deal but silent observers knew otherwise.

      A knock on the door shattered the private moment between her and the bottle. Catherine returned the now half empty bottle to the safety of her purse. It was Kenneth Davis.

      “Kenneth, this isn’t a good time for me. Is this something that can wait?”

      “Catherine,” he said, “I want to know what’s going on. He’s been snapping at everyone for weeks now. There are rumors going around that Pastor Cleaveland is gay and supposedly a Lance Savage is working on a story about it. Do you know anything about this?”

      The alcohol had temporarily sharpened her defensive skills. Catherine bolted to her feet. “Kenneth, I said now is not a good time.”

      Kenneth’s long legs made light work of the distance between the door and her desk.

      “Catherine, you need to tell me what’s going on. We need to do damage control. You can’t hide in this office and pretend this will go away. The entire ministry might be at stake. If Hezekiah is destroyed, we’ll all be destroyed with him.”

      Catherine’s knees buckled under the weight of his statement causing her to wilt back into the soft leather chair. Her eyes filled with tears as she scrambled for the tissue in her purse. There was a tense silence shared between the two while she stared vacantly out the window. Reverend Davis held his gaze firmly on her quivering face.

      Then, through mounting sobs, Catherine said, “Close the door, Kenneth. I don’t want anyone to hear this.”

      Kenneth closed the office door and sat in front of her desk.

      “So what is this all about?”

      “Kenneth, you’ve got to promise me you won’t repeat this to anyone. He’d kill me if he knew I spoke to you.”

      “Who am I going to talk to? Now tell me.”

      Catherine took a deep breath and proceeded to recount the amazing confrontation she had just witnessed between Hezekiah and Lance Savage.

      “Savage claims to have proof that Pastor Cleaveland is having an affair with a man.”

      Catherine looked away to avoid Kenneth’s bulging eyes. Her lips longed for another encounter with the flask in her