Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [121]
Marcel was reeling from the past twenty-four hours, still mad about Saphronia's performance at the club, worried about the money he had left with her, wondering where Precious Powers was. And now, to make matters worse, Theophilus Simmons was strutting up to the podium looking like he had just come down from a visit on a mountain with God.
He put a hand to his aching head and glanced over at Sonny to see how he was taking all of this. Sonny looked agitated and Marcel's anxiety rose by several degrees when he saw Sonny take out a handkerchief and wipe his face.
The only one who was calm and composed throughout all of this was Otis Caruthers. Unlike the others, he knew without a doubt that all this posturing in front of the pulpit had something to do with the preachers' club. Laymond had called him late last night to tell him about Marcel's fiancée and some unknown preachers who had gotten past their security system. It didn't surprise him that his enemies had found out about the club. He knew his adversaries well enough to know that they were capable of almost anything.
Even though a small part of him worried about the outcome, most of him was amused and eager to see how all this would play out. The danger of being exposed even thrilled him a little. He only regretted that he wasn't at the club when Marcel's siddity fiancée, or that "fabulous hostess girl, all dressed up in a pink dress," as the pastor from Detroit described it, had rolled all around on the floor. Otis would have paid a whole lot of money to see that dance. He couldn't, even in his wildest dreams, imagine what Saphronia Anne McComb looked like doing that dance, and he knew that the look on Marcel's face when he discovered her dancing like that must have been priceless.
Otis unzipped his robe to get a little air, sat back in his seat, and got real comfortable so that he could enjoy the show.
Bishop Jennings had moved aside so that Theophilus could take the podium.
Theophilus was as ready as he would ever be. He knew that what he had to say would be greeted with a mixture of curiosity, shock, and disbelief. He hoped that he would never regret his words when he ran off the list of crimes of the men who had so callously violated the trust of their people and the sanctity of the Negro church. He took a deep breath and looked at Essie, who smiled at him. It was just the inspiration he needed.
He placed a hand on either side of the podium, and began, in as commanding a voice as he could muster.
"Church, it grieves my heart to have to disrupt the order of this service and come to tell you what I have learned. Now, I know that so many of you good people out there are here to help set the course of the church for the next four years. Setting that direction includes selecting the men who will govern our great church, our bishops. I know that not a one of you good, Christian folks came here to support men who, in their need for money, power, and illicit pleasures, would sacrifice the soul of our church.
"Good church folks, since the conference began, two preachers and one bishop have been helping a member of this denomination run a club of ill repute right here in Richmond. And not only that, this business has been thriving because some of our bishops and many of your pastors have patronized it while attending this conference."
Uncle Booker knew how much courage it was taking for Theophilus to put himself on the line. But as he surveyed the room, he could tell that some of the people listening weren't exactly sure what he was talking about. Theophilus was going to have to spell it out in black and white, he thought, and decided to help him to get his message across. He walked to the edge of the stage and said loud enough to be heard by the