Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [69]
Theophilus pulled up into the driveway of the parsonage and turned the engine off, leaving the radio on. Howlin' Wolf was singing. Mr. Jarvis, like Uncle Booker, loved him some Howlin' Wolf. Always told him that the Wolf was one Negro who could "sang an old man just right." Said he used to play himself some Howlin' Wolf whenever he had a mind to get frisky with the missus. It filled Theophilus with warmth to think about Mr. Jarvis like that, and he hoped he and Essie would feel passion all their lives, just like Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. That had to be the kind of love the Lord had always intended a man and a woman to have. But when the song ended, it was as if Mr. Jarvis had slipped away on him again. His sorrow crept right back up on him, weighing him down and making his steps heavy as he went into the house.
Essie heard Theophilus's car pull up in the driveway and finished rubbing a mixture of oil and setting lotion into her damp hair. She fluffed it up, then glanced at herself in the mirror, kind of liking the way her hair looked "natural." Recently, some of the civil rights workers had started wearing their hair that way. Unstraightened, her hair was soft and curly, with its reddish gold highlights more prominent, and it framed her face nicely, making her eyes show up even more.
Then she heard Theophilus turn the key in the lock. Something was wrong. His footsteps were slow and labored. She wondered if that had anything to do with Mr. Jarvis, and she hurried out to check on him.
When she bumped into him in the hall, he looked like he was close to tears. But he stepped back and looked at her, saying, "Essie! What have you done to your hair?"
She reached out to him, and he grabbed her, pulling her to him and kissing her forehead. She looked up at his face, wondering about the mood and what had happened with Mr. Jarvis. But she could see that he didn't want to talk right now.
He held her close, and weaving his fingers through her soft natural hair, kissed her lips. Essie could feel the sorrow in him and unconsciously pressed her body closer to his, wrapping a knee up around his thigh. He grabbed her thigh and squeezed it, kissing her and sighing deeply. He whispered, "Those drapes drawn tight in the living room?"
Essie said, "The living room?"
"Yeah, the living room. The bedroom isn't the only place for loving."
"I . . . I . . . just . . ."
Theophilus continued to weave his fingers through her natural hair, softly kissing her eyes. Then, with a tender loving look, he took her hand and led her into the living room, to a comfortable and cozy spot on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table. He sat down and pulled Essie onto his lap, shrugging off his suit coat and fumbling with his shirt and tie. Then he coaxed Essie onto the floor beside him as he unbuckled his pants and, kissing her all the while, removed his socks, undershirt, and shorts.
Essie studied the passion in her husband's face, knowing it had been triggered by the aching in his heart and that he needed this loving for comfort. She started to undress, but Theophilus stopped her and began to unbutton her blouse, slowly and teasingly. He trailed kisses down her neck and chest and stomach. He removed her clothing piece by piece. He stopped to nibble at each expanse of warm flesh he had uncovered. By the time he finished nibbling at her toes and kissed his way back up to her mouth, Essie didn't have a stitch on.
Theophilus gazed into his wife's eyes, telling her "I love you, baby" without saying a word. Essie whispered, "I love you, sugar," in his ear, and he couldn't wait another moment to become one with his beloved wife.
Theophilus reached up and, pulling the quilt off the sofa, wrapped most of it around Essie, who was glowing with the heat of their lovemaking. The sheer ecstasy of it had left