French Silk(134)

Jack Collins made a career decision that rainy night in Arkansas. With a portion of that ten-dollar bill, he bought a Bible and struggled through a first reading. He attended more revival meetings. He listened and learned. To pass the hours in freight cars, he imitated the inflection and gestures of the preachers. When he felt ready, he stood on a street corner in a hick town in Alabama and preached his first sermon. The coins pitched to him added up to $1.37.

It was a start.

* * *

"Hello. You probably don't remember me."

Mary Catherine shyly intercepted him at the corner of the Presbytere. He'd just finished his sermon and had cut across the square with his brisk, quick stride. Having observed him for several days, she had noticed that he always moved as though he were in a hurry to get where he was going.

He smiled at her. "Course I remember you."

"I got saved the other day."

"And you've been back twice since then. Without your friends."

She'd hung back at the edges of the crowd, afraid of appearing bold. He had seemed not to notice her. Flattered that he had, she blushed. "I don't want to bother you."

"No bother, sister. What's on your mind?"

"You said the Lord needed help in getting his work done."

"Yeah. So?"

"So I brought you this." She pushed a ten-dollar bill into his hand.

He stared down at it for a moment before raising his eyes to hers and saying emotionally, "God bless you, sister."

"Will it help?"

"More than you know." He cleared his throat. "Say, I'm hungry as a bear. Want a burger?"

Her previous dates had always come in the form of a telephone call. She'd never consented without first getting parental approval. It felt deliciously wicked to be asked out and to accept without anyone knowing, even Alice and Lisbet.

"That sounds lovely."

Grinning, he took her hand. "If we're gonna be friends, I gotta know your name."

* * *

When school was dismissed for summer vacation, it became easier for Mary Catherine to sneak off and meet Wild Jack Collins where he preached daily on the street corners of the French Quarter. They ate cheap suppers that, as often as not, Mary Catherine paid for. She didn't mind. He was the most fascinating person she'd ever met. People were naturally drawn to him, from the seediest ladies of the evening to the shrewdest con men who worked the streets.

Jack regaled her with anecdotes that had happened during his seven years in the ministry. He'd had more adventures than Mary Catherine could dream of as he'd traveled from city to city, spreading the gospel, preaching God's love and salvation to sinners.

"What I need is somebody who can sing," he told her one evening. "Do you have any musical talent, Mary Catherine?"

"No, I'm afraid not," she said woefully. How glorious it would be to join Jack's ministry and travel with him! His sermons didn't resemble the formal, ritualistic masses she was accustomed to. Although the underlying message of Christ's redemption was the same, she doubted that her parents would approve of Jack's rough street manners or the fanatical doctrine he preached. That's why her meetings with him remained secret, shared only with her diary.

As the summer heated up, so did their relationship. One night Jack suggested they pick up Chinese food and take it to his place to eat. Mary Catherine's conscience gnawed at her. Going into a young man's apartment without a chaperon led to disgrace and destruction. But when she saw the wounded look on Jack's face because of her hesitation, she accepted and paid for their Chinese food.

The squalid, roach-infested building in which he lived shocked her sensibilities. Even the colored people who did yard work for her family lived in much better housing. The wretchedness of the place demonstrated to her exactly how poor Jack was, how unselfishly dedicated he was to his mission, and how materialistic her upbringing had been. Out of shame and pity, she began to cry. When she explained to him the reason for her tears, he pulled her into his arms.

"There now, honey. Don't cry for me. Jesus was poor, too."

That only made her cry harder. He held her tighter. And soon his hands were skimming her slender back and his lips were moving in her hair, whispering how much he needed her, how sweet she was, how generous it was of her to contribute offerings to his ministry.

His lips eventually reached hers. When he kissed her, she whimpered. It wasn't the first time she'd been kissed. But it was the first time she'd been kissed with her mouth open and felt the urgent thrusting of a man's tongue against her own.

Confused and afraid, she struggled out of his arms and rushed for the door. He caught up with her there, took her into his arms again, and smoothed his hands over her hair. "That's never happened to me before, Mary Catherine," he said in a hushed, rapid voice. "When I kissed you, I felt the Holy Spirit moving between us. Didn't you?"

She had definitely felt something stirring inside her, but she wouldn't have guessed it was the Holy Spirit. "I've got to go home, Jack. My parents will start to worry."

She had reached the bottom of the dim, derelict staircase before he called down to her from his doorway. "Mary Catherine, I think Jesus wants us to be together."

Over the course of the next few days, she filled her diary with agonizing questions for which she had no answers. She certainly couldn't take her problem to her parents. Intuitively she knew they would take one look at Jack in his cheap, flashy suit, see his frayed cuffs and dingy collar, and dismiss him as white trash.