2
On the night before she left for the meetings in Greensboroâ
four of them
â
four!
âwhere Shep would be preachingâ
in person!
âSandra laid out all her clothes on the bed before gently packing them into the suitcase. Running her hand over the soft, luxurious fabrics reminded her of another night so long ago when she had packed her bag to go on a honeymoon.
Another night so similar in its anticipation, its possibility.
Tonight, everything was organized to the most minute detail so that each night her appearance would be totally coordinated: jewelry, shoes, handbags, lingerie. It was vital to make a good impression.
The first night of the crusade she would wear her cream lamb's wool suit with matching cowl neck insertâ
guaranteed to make her the center of attention!
That particular item had also been available in jade and rust, but Sandra felt those colors too harsh for her first appearance. The following night she had selected a violet velour pantsuit set with a pewter-colored paisley tunic.
Casual with a flair of sophistication!
This would be followed on the third night by a maroon mohair skirt topped with a sequined sweater accented by a faux fur shawl collar.
For those who understand true style and elegance!
For the final night of the crusade, she chose a Diane Von Furstenberg silk fringed animal print ensemble.
Daring and dramatic!
That particular item had not arrived until two days before Sandra had been scheduled to leave for Greensboro, and she was nearly frantic with worry that something had happened to it in shipping. When the UPS delivery man pulled into the driveway, she let out a shout of praise to God for His goodness to her.
The morning of her departure, Sandra cleaned out the refrigerator, unplugged all the appliances, and resealed all the rooms in the house including her bedroom. Just before she closed the door on the house for the last time, she thought of something she needed, wanted to give to Shep. In the cedar chest in the den were all of Carson's thingsâhis important papers, deeds, policies, stock certificates. It was where she had put his wedding ring when she had returned from the funeral. As Sandra unearthed the documents and relics of the past, Carson's smell came flooding over her like a presence.
So long ago!
She tried to picture him in her mind, but could never see him whollyâhe remained a fragment in her vision like a puzzle piece. Next to the box with his ring was Carson's gun. She had forgotten it was there, but now that she had found it, she knew she could not leave it behind. Carson had too often warned her about the dangers of a woman traveling alone. She made sure it was loaded and put it into her handbag along with the wedding ring.
Sandra checked into the Ramada Inn on the bypass outside of Greensboro shortly before two in the afternoon. After hanging all her clothes and setting her shoes in a neat row, she drove to find the Coliseum. She did not want to take any chances that she might get lost that night. As she rounded the corner where the map showed her to go, Sandra let out a small yelp. There it was. Right where it should be. She pulled the car over quickly to the nearest spot the traffic would allow, got out, and walked onto the grass in front of the dome-shaped building where a huge marquee proclaimed for all the world: TONIGHT! IN PERSON! SHEP WATERS! Sandra soaked the majesty of the sight into her being for as long as she could bearâ
so close!
âthen got back into her car and returned to the motel. It was time to make herself ready.
When Sandra arrived back that evening, the sky hung behind the auditorium like a blanket striped in alternating lines of pink and blue.
A baby's blanket!
The air was still hot and moist from the afternoon sun, but a cool breeze waved gently over the crowd that had gathered. Sandra was amazed by their number. The parking lot was nearly half full; several church busses lined the side of the building, and many groups were laying out covered dishes for supper. Pretending to have been separated from her friends, Sandra determinedly worked her way up through the throng till she was almost at the front of the line. Then, when the doors were opened, she was safely swept inside the auditorium in a crush of people so no one noticed her deceit. Once past the turnstiles, the crowd thinned as people made their way to their seats and she was free to do as she pleased.
Souvenir stands had been set up and Sandra purchased a cassette tape,
Shep's Songbook: Favorite Hymns of Shep Waters.
There were hawkers selling Ten Commandments bookmarks and black velvet paintings of the Last Supper and Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, but they were not officially sanctioned by the ministry and did not bear Shep's logo on them. Sandra would have nothing to do with them.
The Coliseum was large enough to host the circus and Ice Capades once every year, and those first in line pushed for the good seats nearest the stage. The balconies had been closed off, and downstairs large blocks were reserved for churches and for youth groups and people in wheelchairs.
Sandra quickly chose a seat on the end of a row about halfway back. She knew from the TV that Shep often went out into the crowd that far. If he did so tonight, he would come up along this path. She was certain of it.
She let her eyes scan the auditorium. Behind the stage, itself banked in rows of pink, yellow, and white gladiolus, hovered a banner:
WINNING THE WORLD FOR JESUS ONE HEART AT A TIME
. There was a piano and room for musicians and a choir. And in the center was the pulpit where Shep himself would stand.
In front of Sandra sat a pregnant woman in a smock decorated with pictures of traffic signs. She reminded Sandra of the instruction manual for the Department of Motor Vehicles. “It's not that I need saving,” the woman said to no one in particular, “but I have heard of demons possessing babies in the womb, so you can never be too careful.” A choir in purple and gold robes filed past with a clanging of tambourines on their way to the stage.
To her left, Sandra noticed a small-framed woman who sat with a young child, obviously her daughter. Sandra noticed the woman wore no wedding ring. They reminded Sandra of the mother-daughter detergent ads in the supermarket. Both wore black stretch pants held down by stirrup-like loops that ran underneath their heels, both had on shiny black knit tops outlined in silver thread, and both wore their hair long down their back and cut short in the front with bangs. The child would have looked exactly like a miniature version of her mamma except that Sandra observed one of the child's eyes was bright blue, the other a murky yellow-green.
Trash. Common trash,
thought Sandra.
“Jasmine is a singer,” said the woman. “She has been on the radio with the Swing-Low Symphony.” Sandra watched the child color a drawing of Jesus and the Samaritan Woman at the Well in a picture book. In the picture, Jesus sat on the edge of the well, his hands outstretched to the woman, who held a large clay pot, which the child had colored purple.
“That's a pretty picture,” said Sandra.
Jasmine did not answer but glared at her with the malformed green eye as if she were abominable, contemptible, base.
“I want her to sing for Reverend Shep,” continued the mamma. It had never occurred to Sandra that other women might have a desire for Shep's attention. She wasn't sure what to do about this unforeseen situation, but she knew the woman in her tacky Target outfit, reeking of Jungle Gardenia, would not stand in her way. She would not allow it.
Sandra smiled pleasantly at Jasmine's mamma. “I guess it doesn't matter about her eye thenâsince people can't see her on the radio.”
“Her eye is a gift from the Lord,” said the woman.
Sandra laughed. “That's one gift I would have thought about returning.”
“You're a . . .” the woman spat, but Sandra ignored her, focusing on the child instead.
“Do you know what the picture you're coloring is about?”
Jasmine eyed her warily.
“The woman has come to get some water for her houseâthat's the way they did it in Bible days. They all went to the center of town to get water. But Jesus knew the woman had a secretâthat she was living with a man, but they weren't married.” Then, she shifted gears. “Tell me, Jasmine, do you sing for your daddy at home?”
Jasmine didn't speak but looked at her mamma with her one good eye for what to do, what to say. Sandra knew she had struck a blow. Jasmine's mamma shifted uneasily in her seat. “Her daddy and me ain't together,” she said. “I knew him before I was born again. Jesus washes away all our past. Makes us new again.”
“That He does,” said Sandra.
“I'm hungry,” said the child.
“I told you to eat before you left the house,” replied her mother. “I told you there wasn't going to be any treatsânot unless you sing real pretty.”
“I don't want to sing. I want some chicken nuggets.”
Quick as a breath, Jasmine's mamma had her flat-soled shoe in her hand and struck the child hard across the tops of her legs with it. The shoe left behind a whitish dust-colored mark on Jasmine, almost as if she had been stepped on. Jasmine did not flinch at the blow, but silently dropped tears onto her coloring book so Jesus faded into a picture of a leper. “As the Bible says,” Jasmine's mamma confided to Sandra, as if to impress her with her parenting skills, “spare the rod and you get a spoiled brat.”
The crusade service began in the way a play opensâlights dimmed and several colored spotlights raked the stage with their beams finally converging to a single circle of white light. Sandra never saw Shep make his entrance. He just appeared as if by magic in the center of the circle of light.
“Sit up now and look pretty,” Jasmine's mamma told her daughter. “Maybe Reverend Shep will notice you and ask you to come on stage and sing.”
Sandra let out a noticeable snort of indignation. “I thought this was to be a worship service,” she said, “not a talent show.”
“And the Bible says not to hide your talents under a bushel neither,” replied the woman.
“Is that him?” asked Jasmine, quietly.
“Who else do you think it would be?” her mamma answered.
“He looks like a TV star,” sighed Jasmine.
“As handsome as Elvis,” agreed her mamma.
“He is a man of God, called to preach the gospel,” chided Sandra, throwing a stern look at both females.
But Jasmine was right. He did look like a TV star. Sandra could feel her breath becoming short and shallow at the very sight of him. Shep stood statue-like for a moment with his head bowed, his floppy, leather Bible clasped in front of him. So close she could see the freshly pressed crease in his trousers. His broad shoulders were relaxed like those of a warrior poised in the moments before battle. The light danced off the locks of his hair, so dark it was blue-black. Raising his eyes to encompass the entire audience, he spoke in a voice rich and smooth as heavy cream.
“Let all those here tonight who love Jesus raise their right hand,” he commanded.
Everyone who could, did. Sandra's freshly painted nails reached as high as she could point them.
“Now, let everyone who expects a miracle tonight, raise their left hand.” Again, in a congregational “Simon Says,” everyone raised their left hand.
“Praise Jesus!” exclaimed Shep, and with an auditorium full of upward-stretched arms, he began to pray.
When he was finished, Shep welcomed everyone to the meeting and introduced a short, ruddy-faced man who Sandra knew was the song leader, Brother Toby. Shep retired to the wings. The choir was on their feet in a flurry of tambourines, starting to sway back and forth even before Brother Toby named the first hymn.
“ âWe're Marching to Zion,' ” he said.
Jasmine's mamma tried to pick up on the alto part in the song, but only managed to stay off-key. Jasmine, with a voice like a honking horn, held her own against her mamma, wailing as if she were trying to reach the ears of Shep offstage with her solo.
When they were done, Sandra leaned across the child, close to Jasmine's mamma. “I don't know how to say this, but your little girl screeches instead of sings,” she said.
“Who made you an expert?” the woman hissed.
“Reverend Shep Waters and I are very intimate friends. I know what he likesâwhat his tastes are. He wouldn't like you or your little girl. You don't cut the mustard.”
“Says you! You've been on my ass ever since you sat down here. I could take you out right now and kick the crap out of youâwhat do you say to that? That would show you who cuts the mustard.” The woman bounced lightly on her toes as if ready for a fight.
Sandra turned so she faced the woman squarely. “Threaten me again and I will have the ushers escort you and your daughter out.”
By your ratty, over-dyed hair if necessary!
“I am just trying to save you embarrassment.”
You no-talent, worthless piece of white trash.
“Jesus may wash away our sins, but sometimes He leaves a little reminder, if you know what I mean.” She let her gaze drift down to Jasmine and then back to Jasmine's mamma. “Pastor Waters would not be impressed.” She gave the woman a long, cold stare to let her know she meant business.
Jasmine's mamma's face scrunched up as if she was deciding whether to cry or take a swing at Sandra. Finally, she reached and grabbed Jasmine by the arm. “We're going home,” she said.
“But it hasn't finished yet,” Jasmine pleaded.
Jasmine's mamma gripped the child harder, so tightly you could see where her fingers imprinted in the flesh. “Shut up, will you? We're leaving now!” With that she pushed past Sandra and disappeared up the aisle.