Free Guilty of Love by Pat Simmons

and
driving-while-Black patrol,” Charlotte reminded him. “You forget
churches are positioned at every corner to help guide each player
toward the ultimate goal.”
    “ You’re stirring the pot
now. Set the date.” They laughed. She agreed to let him know before
Parke disconnected.
    Those ethnic games influenced Parke to
major in African-American studies at Lincoln University in
Jefferson City, Missouri. Former slave James Milton Turner founded
the state’s first historically Black college. On campus, Parke
thrived in the Black history classes, participated in African
cultural events, and was committed to Black history preservation,
but his choice of a major had infuriated his parents.
    “ It’s good to know who
you are and where you came from, but White folks only want to hear
so much about Roots, the slave ship, and breeding slave
women like cattle, son. Take some business courses and focus on
economic empowerment,” his father had strongly advised with an
underlying threat.
    Of course his parents had been right.
So six years earlier, Parke had graduated cum laude with a B.S. in
business and a minor in history. He wanted to teach in a college
setting, if nothing but a weekly night class, but local
universities didn’t see the need for an African-American history
curriculum. So he became a traveling one room school house to bring
the past to life. Otherwise, hundreds of thousands of slave
narratives’ testimonies wouldn’t be heard. Parke couldn’t allow
that to happen.
    He took a position in the business
world to feed his stomach while his passion for history fed his
starving soul. He believed his ancestors spoke to him through his
dreams, and guided him through his financial
transactions.
    The spirits also spoke of his future
mate—a strong woman disguised by her outer appearance. Malcolm and
others thought his choice of dates crazy, but he was searching.
Parke knew his bride was living “uncover” but her grand entrance
was nigh.
     
    ***
     
    A detour past Cheney’s house became a
part of Parke’s new route. Her nonchalant attitude bugged him.
Somehow Cheney was one of only a few women who didn’t respond to
the Jamieson charm. Parke cringed just conjuring up her
“heaven-kissing” height. Normally it was a turnoff, but her saucy
attitude was entertaining.
    Yet, Parke could sniff out a cover-up.
Cheney had something buried, either physical or mental, and he
sensed she dared anyone to find the key. Why the facade? Parke
tapped his brakes at the same time realization hit. Wait a
minute , Cheney Reynolds? Nah. What Parke saw was what he
wasn’t getting. He didn’t want. It must’ve been the spicy hot
links I gobbled down at lunch because my imagination is running
wild, he consoled himself.
     

Chapter Six
     
     
    A week later
     
    Cheney’s arms refused to move. Her
knees couldn’t. Finally, her body obeyed her command and stood. It
demanded a break from applying grout to her kitchen floor.
Massaging her back while rolling her head, she admitted she’d taken
on too big of a task.
    But it was her home . Stepping
into her living room, she admired the newly installed oak shutters
in one of twin bay windows.
    “ They’re beautiful,” Cheney
complimented Mr. Harrison, the owner of Harrison’s Custom
Windows.
    The man who looked like he had skipped
too many breakfasts, lunches, and dinners stood back and viewed his
handiwork. “Yeah, I think so, too, Miss Reynolds. They’ll give your
room a relaxed feel with sunrises and sunsets.”
    “ I like the sound of that.”
Cheney arched her back then touched her toes. She tilted from side
to side like windshield wipers; she could feel the blood
circulating again. When Mr. Harrison stared at her with amused
curiosity, Cheney stopped. “Sorry about that. I’m a little stiff.
Now, let me get a better look.” She walked closer and let her
finger dance across the smooth wood grain. “They’re adding
character already. I can’t wait to get furniture.