Free Heaven Forbid by Lutishia Lovely Page B

like music in my ear,
    The sweetest Name on earth.
    People began fanning even though it was forty degrees outside and no elbows showed. A few children giggled and were quickly shushed by stern looks and a couple open palms meeting chubby cheeks. The choir, such as it was, joined in with the chorus:
    Oh, how I love Jesus,
    Oh how I love Jesus
    Oh, how I love Jesus,
    Because He first loved me.
    Mama Max almost smiled when she saw her husband rise from his chair and gesture for the microphone. I knew he wasn’t going to let them butcher one of his favorite songs. Then she remembered who was in the audience…watching. Humph. Sucka probably just showing off.
    It tells me of a Savior’s love,
    Who died to set me free;
    It tells me of His precious blood,
    The sinner’s perfect plea.
    There was no denying Obadiah’s powerful voice. A few parishioners stood and raised their arms toward heaven. Nettie joined in with her vibrant alto, and soon Mama Max was swaying and singing along with the rest of the crowd. They’d almost gotten through all of the verses, when a strong, pulsating soprano rose above the rest of the voices:
    It bids my trembling heart rejoice,
    It dries each rising tear,
    It tells me, in a still small voice, to trust and never fear.
    Mama Max gritted her teeth, resentment and jealousy jumping into her heart before she could stop it. She remembered the woman who’d chased her man in Dallas: tall, buxom, with long, thick black hair, plush red lips, and velvety light skin. And that voice. It was as strong and melodious as it had sounded forty years ago, as if an angel had come down from heaven to serenade. Mama Max could feel the presence of the Spirit, even through her annoyance. Bless your enemies. Do good to them that persecute you. Mama Max gave her head a little shake, trying to tune out the voice of God. She needs your forgiveness. Give it to her.
    As Dorothea continued to sing, Mama Max slowly turned her head toward the sound, along with the others. Her eyes widened briefly before she forced a neutral expression on her face. There, standing in the last row of the church, was Dorothea Noble Bates, a shadow of her former, beautiful self. The thick, shiny black hair that was once the envy of females was now white and thinning, pulled back in a sharp bun. Her face was sallow, with wrinkles and bags that hinted to a story of a difficult life. Dorothea had always been slender, but now she looked almost anorexic, her collarbone protruding from the neck of her dress in a grotesque fashion. But her voice was clear, pitch-perfect. And as she sang the last verse, she opened her eyes, looked directly at Mama Max, and then moved forward to the front of the church. Dorothea looked at Obadiah, whose voice matched hers perfectly, and at that moment, it was as if the two sang only to each other.
    And there with all the blood-bought throng, from sin and sorrow free,
    I’ll sing the new eternal song of Jesus’s love for me.
    Oh how I love Jesus, oh how I love Jesus, oh how I love Jesus
    Because he first loved me.
    Mama Max lowered her head, as if to hide behind the wide-brimmed, bright orange felt hat she wore. But there was not enough lace in Palestine, let alone on the front of this headpiece, to shield her from what was in her own heart. The temporary pity she’d felt for Dorothea Bates had been replaced with intense anger, and she envisioned a scene that included her giving this nervy songbird a good thrashing. How dare that hussy come to this church and take over the service like I’m not here! Dorothea sang her heart out, and tears rolled down her eyes as she stood in front of the church. Obadiah remained in the pulpit and finally tore his eyes away from Dorothea to aim them toward heaven. Mama Max would never have admitted it, but the duet was beautiful, and many in the congregation were heartily enjoying Obadiah and Dorothea’s blatant worship of God, and subtle worship of each other.
    The last note hung in the air,