The redbrick church looked smaller each time Rachelle returned.
Maybe it was because of the volume of megachurches sprouting up around Houston. Everything looked miniature in comparison to some of those structures.
The rich harmonies that floated across the summer wind from the choir loft more than compensated for the building’s modest appearance. Music filled Rachelle’s ears as soon as she stepped out of her sedan. These folks weren’t having church, they were having chuch.
She locked the car door with her key chain control and crossed the gravel parking lot. The enthusiastic welcome from the salt-and-pepper afroed usher who greeted her made the steep climb up the steps to the St. Peter’s Baptist Church sanctuary worthwhile.
Aunt Irene and Uncle Charles must be inside somewhere. She had stopped by their house when she arrived in Jubilant, but realized when no one answered the door that they were already at church.
Rachelle glanced at a clock in the foyer while she waited to be admitted into the worship service. 11:05 a.m. She hadn’t missed much.
She gave herself a once-over. Changing clothes in the bathroom at the local McDonald’s hadn’t been ideal, but the lightly wrinkled black slacks and silver satin top would have to do. In Houston, dressy casual had become the norm for churchgoers. Smaller cities didn’t always catch on as fast, but she hoped she wouldn’t embarrass her aunt and uncle.
Rachelle peered through the small, rectangular windowpanes of the doors that led into the sanctuary. An usher stood on each side, preventing anyone from entering until instructed to do so. The youth choir sang and swayed to an upbeat version of the hymn, “Down at the Cross.” Most of the congregation was on its feet, accompanying them.
Rachelle scanned each row, trying to determine where Aunt Irene might be sitting. It was hard to pinpoint her in the sea of bobbing heads and waving hands.
The scene brought back memories from Rachelle’s days as a student at Everson College. Though she had sporadically attended church growing up, her participation in the Baptist Student Union Choir at Everson came with mandatory weekly Bible studies and with numerous engagements in churches throughout Jubilant and surrounding cities. Soon, she and some of her friends from the choir had begun attending a small church close to campus, whose members’ expressions of faith mirrored these parishioners, from the closed eyes and movement to the music, to the arms reaching toward heaven and outbursts of gratitude.
When Pastor Taylor motioned for the congregation to be seated, an usher allowed her to enter and another beckoned her forward.
“I’m looking for Irene and Charles Burns,” Rachelle whispered.
The older woman searched faces in each aisle and led Rachelle to a seat in the third row. Everyone in the pew turned toward her, including Aunt Irene and her youngest daughter, Yasmin. Aunt Irene’s eyes widened.
She almost looks startled, Rachelle thought.
Aunt Irene and Yasmin moved closer together to make room for Rachelle on the cushioned pew. When she took her seat, she noticed that Irene’s older daughter, Indigo, wasn’t with them, and she didn’t see the girl in the choir loft filled with teenagers.
Yasmin hugged Rachelle’s waist when Rachelle settled next to her.
“Where are Taryn and Tate?” the girl whispered.
“In Philadelphia, with their Gram and Poppa,” Rachelle said. She patted Yasmin’s hand when the girl’s face fell. At seven she was a year younger than Taryn, but the girls loved each other dearly. Though they were cousins, the resemblance between them was striking. Both had flowing hair like their mothers, brown sugar complexions, and prominent jaw lines. People who saw the girls together often mistook them for sisters, an error that delighted them.
They saw little of each other because of Rachelle’s infrequent visits to Jubilant, but the few times the girls had been together, they spent every waking moment bonding.
Can we call Taryn later so I can say hi? Yasmin scribbled the message on the back of her church bulletin in pink gel ink.
Rachelle smiled and nodded. She looked past Yasmin at Aunt Irene, whose lips were pursed.
Aunt Irene’s eyes darted to and fro as she scanned the pulpit. She made eye contact with Uncle Charles, who sat near the front on a pew reserved for church trustees that offered a full view of the congregation. She motioned in Rachelle’s direction with a jerk of her head.
Rachelle took it all in and frowned. Aunt Irene noticed her attentiveness and turned on a smile.
“Good to see you,” she mouthed silently to Rachelle.
The choir finished the hymn with a flourish and Rev. Taylor approached the podium. “Please bow your heads and join me in prayer,” he said.
When Rachelle opened her eyes after the “Amen,” she caught Aunt Irene peering at her again. Rachelle leaned past Yasmin so she could whisper in her aunt’s ear. “Is everything okay?”
Before Aunt Irene could respond, Pastor Taylor cleared his throat and asked for everyone’s attention.
“As St. Peter’s members know, we’ve been without a music director for some time, since Sister Hightower and her family moved to Delaware. God has blessed us with some stellar candidates for the position, and during last month’s church meeting, we voted to hire the young man who joins us today. This gentleman not only knows music inside and out and plays piano and drums, the brother can also sing, y’all!”
Rachelle chuckled along with the rest of the congregation. There was nothing like a man who could hold a tune. During her years with the Baptist Student Union Choir, she had seen many a church sister swoon over the brothers who sang solos with passion and fervor. From Pastor Taylor’s description, it appeared that might happen today.
“What makes this young man even more special is that he and I have a special bond,” Pastor Taylor said. “As I’ve previously mentioned, I met him about ten years ago, when I was pastor of a church in Milwaukee. He and his family became members, and he soon was blessing us with his gifted voice.
“The fact that he and I have reconnected, in the city where he attended college, shows you how incredible God is at bringing people together in his own timing,” Pastor Taylor said. “We’ll have him here part time to help our music department flourish, but the real reason he has come back to Jubilant is to work at his alma mater. Everson College recruited him as a fellow for the engineering department, where he’ll serve on the faculty.
“This young man is smart, he has integrity, and he loves the Lord. Everybody stand to your feet and welcome St. Peter’s new director of music, Troy Hardy!”
Rachelle’s hands froze in mid-clap. Breath flew from her body. Troy Hardy. Her Troy Hardy?
She plopped down, onto the cushioned pew, while the new church staff member received an enthusiastic welcome. Aunt Irene sat down too and leaned over to her.
“I’m sorry,” she said into Rachelle’s ear as the thunderous applause and cheers surrounded them. “I didn’t know you were coming. I was planning to tell you. You okay?”
Rachelle’s eyes were fixed on Aunt Irene, but her mind was replaying images of fourteen years earlier: that wilting bouquet of yellow roses. The thin gold band she had used her meager savings to buy. The love that overflowed from her heart to her handsome young husband—Troy Antonio Hardy.
All these years later, her long-ago choices still had the power to sting. As the men and women around her settled down, she had a clear view of him.
He was still movie-star gorgeous. Same broad smile and quiet strength. Lifting weights was clearly still a hobby, because his muscles strained to fit comfortably inside the arms of his collared shirt and blue suit jacket. His golden complexion seemed unmarred by time or life’s woes. The shaved head suited him.
Rachelle’s heart double dutched. She inhaled deeply to stifle the tears that threatened to surface. The emotion surprised her, given that she had been married to someone else for more than a decade.
But Troy would always be the first man she loved, no matter how badly Gabe, or her parents, wanted to erase him from her past. She would always be linked to him because of a series of first experiences that only he had shared with her.
Rachelle shook her head to clear her thoughts. Here she was in Jubilant, trying to get away from all that had been troubling her recently, trying to figure out what kind of life she wanted in the years to come, and she had run smack-dab into one of her lifetime regrets.
She sat facing the man who might hold the key to her happiness. He was the one person with whom she had experienced an inexplicable joy and sense of purpose. Why had she let him go?
Rachelle lowered her eyes and gazed at her left hand, at her ring finger. The four-carat diamond Gabe had given her last year for their tenth wedding anniversary sparkled. It left no room for misunderstandings. She was very married.
She looked up at Troy and sighed. People took God too seriously sometimes. The Man upstairs obviously had a sense of humor. Right now, though, laughter didn’t seem fitting.
Since traveling back in time wasn’t an option, Rachelle needed an escape plan. She had left Troy once before, against her wishes. Today, she pondered how quickly she could manage if it were her mission.