The Kindest Lie(85)
Ruth was dressed in her Tahari charcoal pantsuit, which she often wore to client meetings. Elegant and classic. She thought it would be perfect for church, but now, glancing from Mama and Cassie to other women in the church, Ruth noticed they all wore skirts or dresses, most with hems at the knee or below. That must have been why the ushers had given her the evil eye. Since she hadn’t set foot in this sanctuary for years, she’d forgotten its customs, its rules for how to be a proper lady in the world and in God’s house.
A man slightly bowed in a brown suit walked over. Dino. “It’s g-good to see you,” he said, and Ruth nodded.
Natasha piped up. “I hear you and Mrs. Tuttle are thinking about a little getaway to Chicago. I love seeing older people still being active.”
Dino’s face reddened and Ruth jabbed her friend’s ribs, immediately regretting that she’d confided that piece of gossip.
The organ’s melody floated through the sanctuary and Ruth looked once again to Mama, on the second row with Cassie and the kids, and then back at Dino, who still seemed flustered. Pulling him to the side and away from Natasha, she said, “Thank you for taking care of Mama for me.”
The lines between Dino’s brows smoothed and water floated in his yellowed eyes. Not wanting to embarrass him further, she patted his shoulder and walked away. As Ruth moved down the aisle toward the front of the church, she heard her name shouted loud enough to be heard over the praise and worship music. “Mrs. Ruth Tuttle Shaw.”
Before turning around, she recognized that voice and the familiar title he had used to introduce their union the day he married her and Xavier.
“Good morning, Pastor.” When Ruth hugged him, her arms got tangled in his billowing purple robe. Neither of them mentioned his visit to the Tuttle home and the way she had unceremoniously escorted him out.
“It’s mighty good to see you,” Pastor Bumpus said, holding her hands in his. “I know how mightily the Lord has blessed you and your husband. Xavier, a marketing executive. And you, an engineer.” The pastor paused to smile and shake his head slightly in awe at the word engineer. “Oh, what a mighty God we serve.”
Most late-night comedy shows had a hype man to warm up the crowd before the main event. Pastor Bumpus was his own hype man, or if you heard him tell it, he’d probably say he was a front man for Jesus himself. Ruth recognized the signs. The minister was getting her ginned up for something.
“You know God is testing Ganton and the whole country with this recession we’re in. Friendship just started a building fund. There are a lot of souls for us to save and we need a bigger house of worship to do it in. We hope you’ll see your way to bless us as God has blessed you.” Pastor reached into his robe and pulled out a donation envelope that he slipped into her hand.
A chord from the church organ punctuated his ask of her. A church ritual she had forgotten, and she bristled at Pastor’s brazen solicitation for money. Still, she accepted the envelope from him and found her seat next to Natasha, who had chosen a seat on the same row with Mama and the rest of Ruth’s family. As teenagers, the girls always sat next to each other, either stifling laughs or throwing shade at somebody.
Waiting for the service to begin, Ruth turned in her seat to look at the front door, checking to see whom she might still recognize all these years later. Mother Hayes, who had to be pushing ninety by now, walked in, leaning heavily on a cane. Her hat game had remained impeccable throughout the years and she stunned in a turquoise skirt suit with rhinestones and matching pumps. Mother Hayes had mothered Natasha and many of the girls in the church when they needed a firm hand.
Looking around the room, Ruth tapped her foot nervously. Natasha had said the Cunninghams never missed Sunday service, and Ruth was anxious to see them. It’s why she wore eye makeup, and truth be told, it was the real reason she had let Natasha style her hair.
In the vestibule, Ruth spotted a white man talking animatedly with Pastor Bumpus. This was odd because, as far as she was aware, everyone knew that eleven o’clock on Sunday morning was the most segregated hour in America. That especially held true at Friendship Baptist, the oldest all-Black congregation in Ganton.
The man looked vaguely familiar—sixtyish, with a narrow, sunken face—but he didn’t have that hungry look of politicians who swarmed Black churches at election time.
She elbowed Natasha. “Hey, check out that white guy talking to Pastor. Do you know him?”
Her friend turned in her seat. Squinting to get a better look, she said, “Hmm. That guy has been popping up here the past few months. I don’t know what his deal is, but you know Ganton’s growing now. All kinds of developers come by the church trying to get Pastor to sell so they can build town houses and shopping centers.”
In Ganton, they knew your name at the hardware store and the butcher shop. Neighbors came over to check on you if they hadn’t seen your curtains move in a couple days. While Ruth hadn’t lived here in more than a decade, she couldn’t imagine somebody bulldozing it beyond recognition. Some storefronts had gone out of business a long time ago, leaving patches of vacant land as reminders. But even the ghost of what Ganton used to be felt enough like home that Ruth couldn’t fathom not preserving it.
The service began and Pastor Bumpus took the pulpit, preaching about second chances, something Ruth prayed for when she remembered to pray. God extended His generosity to many in biblical times, and Pastor listed one by one the names of sinners, those redeemed and the ones the Almighty Himself might have determined irredeemable.