Free Seductive Poison by Deborah Layton Page B

who had sat next to me during the sermon. She turned slightly on her beat-up cane and smiled at me.
    “Honey? This yur first meetin’? I saw yah lookin’ antsy an’ scared.”
    “Did I look scared? I didn’t think … Oh, I’m just visiting my brother for a couple days.”
    “Baby, you ain’t got nuttin’ to be ’fraid of and you ain’t gonna be disappointed. I guess you ain’t never been to a revival meetin’ like this ’fore now?”
    “Oh … Well … I went to Quaker meetings and …”
    “What’s you doin’ in this line, baby? You needin’ som’ healin’?”
    “No, I thought I’d introduce myself …”
    “Lordy, chile, he don’t need you tellin’ him who you is. Oh, honey, he already know’d that. No, chile, this man knows the pain you been suffered and the healin’ you need to make this body whole ’gain. Uh-huh, Uh-huh. Yes, Lordy, he know’d everythin’ ’bout each of us. God knows, he done healed me of cancer and I’s hopin’ he’ll find a way, if the spirit’s right, to rid me of this here walkin’ cane.”
    She shook her old, battered cane in the air and I looked around to see if anyone noticed. “You said somethin’ ’bout a brother?” she continued.
    “Oh, my older brother? Larry Layton? Do you know him?”
    “Any relation to Miss Carolyn Layton?”
    “Well, she was married to him …”
    “Oh, chile, she works so hard for Father. Why I seen her makin’sure he gets his water during service … No, I ain’t never seen him take any time for hisself. He always givin’ to others. Oh, chile, Jim Jones done got my grandson off heroin. I told him ’bout my heartache and he done sent his Carolyn on down to Frisco to get him. Yes, ma’am, they done brought him up to Ukiah and got him well. Yes, honey, you ain’t never gonna find a man as lovin’ as him.” She pointed toward the podium where the Reverend was ministering to a mother and small child. “Why, if it weren’t for that Miss Carolyn, Pastor Jones wouldn’t have food or drink. That’s right, honey, that man only gives. Yeah, uh-huh, she’s an angel come help him minister to us poor folk an’ hers a heart o’ gold …”
    As the line shortened and I got closer to the Reverend, I looked at his grand mahogany lectern. It stood elevated upon a blue carpeted riser with two steps up to where Jones was talking to a young boy. The child looked upset. I could not tell if there were tears on his face, but the Reverend seemed to be calming him, leaning forward and whispering to the child.
    I waited as he spoke at length with other individuals. There seemed to be no concern for time. One man talked to him for what seemed like an hour about his inability to give more money because he lived on a small pension and had barely enough to feed himself. The Reverend responded compassionately,
    “I never want you to give money. Your willingness to donate your home and yourself when we have guests in town is more than enough. No, Mr. Brown, it’s not you I am coaxing to pledge.” He sighed. “It’s those who have the means and ability to pay. They are the ones I am speaking to. My precious Mr. Brown, it is because of your good heart that I continue to do my work. It is for you that I ask for this money. God knows, if only more members felt the way you do, my job would be that much easier. It is because of you I feel the strength to carry on through the darkness. I hope you can make our Wednesday night meeting.”
    When the elderly man left the podium I noticed a lightness to his walk as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Then an even more aged, hunchbacked woman hobbled toward the Pastor. Although she spoke quietly, I could hear tiny portions of their conversation. She talked of extreme pain in her lower back and as she spoke, Jim held out his left hand and touched her gently around her neck and forehead. His hands were an olive brown and looked sturdy but not hard, his nails beautifully rounded and clean.