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Chapter 1

It was a small church, the kind of white wood frame building that always finds a home on hilly back roads, with forgotten grave markers nestled under its shadow and a steeple that towers higher than the trees surrounding it. The pews were made of the same worn wood grain as the floor, and hymnbooks and Bibles lined each row.

This was the church that had been around long enough to serve as the refuge of underpaid domestics and firstgeneration steelworkers from now ghost-like train yards. It had been the meetinghouse of civil rights activists and countless committees; the training ground where little black boys and brown-skinned young girls grew to be decent "churched" folk; the sacred ground where God met those willing to walk the straight and narrow way.

The founding members walked to the small sanctuary, some leaving their homes before sunrise to get to Sunday school on time. But on this Sunday morning, cars filled the gravel lot. And instead of the tinklings of an old, out- of-tune piano, synthesized chords from keyboards and guitars flooded out of the windows. The parishioners who came to the eleven-o'clock service walked down brandnew red-carpeted aisles and rested in cushioned seats.

Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills was not the only or oldest congregation in the area, but it was respected by many as a Bible teaching, preaching, and believing church.

And it was this respect that Anthony Murdock did not want to lose. From his seat in Pastor Green's small basement study, he could hear the lively service proceeding above him. The opening hymn, "Hold to His Hand," was echoing through the rafters. As the entire church seemed to shake under the weight of many footsteps stomping in time to the music, Anthony felt his heart pounding in his ears. He looked down again at the letter in his hands. His own neat print glared back. He had written it three weeks earlier, and carried it around just as long. This Sunday he would finally give it to him. He would not lose his nerve again. He would give him the letter after morning service. No matter what.

Anthony sat limply in the leather chair, questioning his own resolve. Six months ago, he had been celebrated for his confidence and decision-making skills as the senior marketing director at Shaw Enterprises, the fastestgrowing marketing firm in Shepherd Hills. But that was six months ago.

"You prayin'?" A little boy in a junior usher's uniform stood in the cracked doorway. "I don't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to make sure I had your introduction right." "I'm sure whatever you have is fine." Anthony smiled. He shook his head as the youngster disappeared. Anthony never did fully understand why the formal introduction always preceded his sermons every fourth Sunday morning. He had, after all, been a member of Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills his entire life, all twentynine years. Most of the people sitting above him had witnessed nearly every major milestone in his life. His walk down the church aisle to confess Christ when he was eight; his subsequent baptism; his high school then college graduation; even his marriage ceremony had been celebrated in the small reception hall in the basement of the rickety church. The evening he gave his trial sermon, the pews had been packed.

Everyone here knows me-at least they think they do. Anthony's thoughts raced again. He loosened his necktie a little as the sweat began pooling around his neck. Taking one last look at the letter, he carefully refolded it and placed it securely between the pages of his Bible. They'll all be surprised, he reflected while mopping his forehead with the handkerchief he kept in his breast pocket.

With a heaving sigh he stood up, grabbing his sermon notes. He stared blankly at the pages of his own scribbled writing, re-tucked his shirt, and headed for the stairs to make his entrance into the service.

"Lord, I guess this is it. It's all come down to this." Minister Anthony Murdock, the youth and youngadult leader of Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills, ascended the stairs and entered the main sanctuary.

The children's choir swayed in purple robes on the platform facing him, their voices and arms alive with the latest arrangement by the animated director, who clapped louder than all seventeen pairs of hands combined. "Let it shine, Let it shine, Let it shine," they sang with all the breath within them.

Anthony felt a warm flutter inside as he welcomed in the innocence. Entering the sanctuary of his home church was like walking into a grandmother's kitchen. Here, he was satisfied and comforted. Here, he was loved.

As he made his way to the front of the church, he responded to nod after nod that greeted him. Sister Kellye Porter, the assistant pastor's wife, who had taught his childhood Sunday school class. Calvin Holmes, the old deacon who beat him year after year in the annual horseshoe tournament at the church picnic. Councilman Walter Banks, the revered politician who had taken him under his wing and mentored him from his adolescence.

I would not have known success if I had not known these people. Anthony swallowed hard as he smiled at each nod. He knew that the letter tucked safely inside his Bible was the beginning of the end, and they would all be disappointed. But hadn't it all already ended with that first phone call six months ago? Before he could answer his own question, the sudden roar of applause shook him.

"Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place! We're having church today!" Pastor Green exclaimed as Anthony took his place on the pulpit.

From his seat, Anthony agreed. He could see the entire congregation. Hands were clapping, feet were tapping, all in a mesmerizing unison with the clanging cymbals of the drum and the shrill chords of the pianist. Floppy paper fans and bold feather hats dotted the sanctuary, as did the cries of "Amen" and "Thank you, Jesus" blurted out by Sister Ethel, Mother Howard, and Brother Oliver. Anthony knew that it was just a matter of time before the rest of the parishioners, most of whom were already standing and rocking along to the music, would join in the growing crescendo of praise.

The deacons sat solemn-faced in their usual front-row seats. A flurry of white prayer caps covered the heads of the missionaries sitting across the aisle from the deacon board. Anthony watched as a bag of peppermints passed back and forth between the two rows of these ladies, most of whom were considered the Mothers of the church.

He imagined for a second that his Great-Aunt Rosa was still sitting among them. He could still smell the oversized buttery biscuits she pulled out of the oven every Sunday after church. The family used to be so close, he reminisced, almost tasting the crispy fried chicken and salty collard greens Aunt Rosa put on her dining room table every week between services. He swallowed hard, remembering the series of tragedies during his teen years that seemed to claim everyone near and dear to him. By his eighteenth birthday, Aunt Rosa and his church family were all he'd had left.

"Life don't make sense sometimes," Aunt Rosa used to tell him, "but God still has plans for you. Look at Joseph in the Bible. All the sufferin' he went through was just to get him to a high place. Remember Joseph, and when you ain't got nothin' else, hold on to God and your integrity." Integrity. The word stung him even as he sat smiling on the pulpit. He had let her down. He had let them all down.

Rosa Bergenson had moved "back home" to South Carolina after Anthony married, but she was still revered as a leading matriarch of the church. A special seat in the front pew was reserved for her every Church Anniversary Weekend even though the Anniversary Committee members knew her failing health would prevent her attendance. Anthony hadn't called her in months, convinced she would somehow sense his guilt even over the telephone.

"Let the redeemed of the Lord say so! Let the people of God rejoice!" Pastor Green boomed, bringing Anthony back into the service.

The entire church was jolted by a wave of electricity as the organist set the keys of his instrument on heavenly fire. Shrieks of "Hallelujah" courted dances of worship. Some of the mothers and sisters of the church swirled around in the aisles while a few of the brothers stomped in jubilee. The senior ushers and nurses raced around frantically with fans and cups of water to assist those overcome by the Spirit.

Anthony allowed his soul to enjoy the warmth, taking in the sweetness from heaven like a dry garden swallowing long-awaited rainwater. He let his feet tap along to the one-two beat of the drum as a growing surge of living waters seemed ready to burst out of him. He stood to lift his hands higher, forgetting that his Bible and sermon notes were still in his lap.With a loud thump they fell to the floor. As he bent down to retrieve his scattered possessions, his eyes caught hold of the letter peeking out of his Bible.

Maybe it's not too late, he considered as he reorganized his papers. I haven't said anything to anybody, and those who do know would not dare expose themselves.

He glanced over at Pastor Green, who was basking in the presence of glory. His eyes, normally gentle in character, seemed ablaze in fiery joy as he nodded back at Anthony.

It's not too late! Thank you, Lord! There's got to be another way to handle this. Anthony thought of tearing the letter into small pieces right then and there. Relief rushed within him, nudging away a burden that had been growing far too long.

But then he spotted Terri in the congregation. Her ice blue suit stood out in the warm sea of worshippers. No matter what. He remembered his resolve in the study. Anthony refolded the letter, tucked it back into his Bible, and quietly sat down.

Terri Murdock wanted to shove Sister Pearl out into the center of the aisle.

"If this old bat steps on my foot one more time," she mumbled to herself, "this church will see some real laying on of hands."

With a scowl pulling at her full, berry-painted lips, she bent over to wipe the fresh scuffmarks off her new-and expensive-light blue shoes. She checked a rhinestoneand- silver clasp before sitting up and jeering at her jubilant neighbor.

"Thank you, Jesus!" Sister Pearl shouted, oblivious to Terri's rolling eyes. Four-year-old Tyreeka Oliver turned around in her seat, peeking over the edge of the wooden pew to examine Terri and the Spirit-filled, stomping Sister Pearl. Terri flashed the child a large white smile.

"Bless Jesus," she moaned, letting her eyes drift dreamily to the ceiling while waving both her hands. When Terri saw the plaited pigtails of the little girl bobbing in another direction, she rolled her eyes again and snatched her hands back into her lap.

"Just hurry on up with this service," she groaned. She studied the church bulletin, noting that only a quarter of the planned program had been covered. Offering had not yet been taken. The announcements still needed to be read. And Pastor Green had not even begun his morning remarks. I hope Anthony gives a short sermon today. She sighed to herself while glancing at the pulpit.

Anthony sat slouched in his seat, his eyes studying the red carpet. He looked distant and preoccupied, shuffling and reshuffling the papers in his hand. This is not the same man I met five years ago. Terri frowned.

She daydreamed about the first time she saw him. She'd just left the office of a client and was headed back to her car when she heard door chimes ringing to her right. There he was, strolling out of the Golden Touch Dry Cleaners and Tailoring in the busy downtown district. From the number and quality of suits he carried, she knew instantly that he was some type of working professional with a lot of money and a lot of class. He walked like he had jazz in his shoes, a syncopated, sure-of-yourself strut that was smooth and easy. She remembered the warm shiver she'd felt when she studied not only his strapping six-two frame, but also his luxurious brown suede overcoat flapping wildly in the wind. She was rendered speechless, and had frozen, before realizing too late that he had disappeared in the congestion.

Terri smiled to herself, thinking how good confidence and cash looked on a caramel-colored brother. Isn't that what she'd almost told him the second time she saw him, at the gym, a week after that first sighting? How she had missed a brother like that working out in her two years of regular exercise she didn't know, but she was not going to let opportunity pass by her again.

By the time they'd finished their conversation outside the locker rooms about how they had both secured their dream jobs through successful college internships and were well on their way up very lucrative career ladders, she knew she had him hooked. The man had money written all over him. Together they would read like Forbes magazine, and he knew it. Terri's smile deepened at the memories. Then she looked back up at Anthony sitting on the pulpit, and both her smile and the memories quickly faded and fizzled away.

"Ouch!" Terri hissed, rubbing her foot. "Sister Pearl needs to hurry up and sit down," she mumbled to herself. She sighed in relief as she saw some of the deacons and trustees getting the collection plates.

"At least the service is moving forward now." She rechecked her watch.

". . . And so may I present to some and introduce to others, our very own, Minister Anthony Murdock." The junior usher charged with the introduction crumpled up the index card and hurried back to his seat. A light applause and a string of Amens rippled through the congregation as Anthony took his place behind the lectern. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he stood quietly for a moment, gazing out into the faces of people who thought they knew him. He was careful to avoid Terri's blank stare. After looking up at the balcony and then letting his eyes circle the rest of the church, he began.

"Good morning, church," he started. "I'd like to first give honor to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for giving me this opportunity to stand once more before you this morning."

"Amen, amen." A deacon nodded. "And to Pastor Green, the deacon board and officials, and all the members of this great assembly." Anthony turned to each as he acknowledged them. "And last but not least, I want to give honor to the lady who keeps me going with her words of encouragement and her prayers, my wife, Terri. Won't you stand, baby?"

Anthony thought how phony his own words sounded to him as Terri Murdock quickly stood, her painted lips arched in a full beauty-pageant smile.

"And now to the business at hand." Anthony hesitated. He held on to the lectern with both hands for balance.

"Proverbs chapter four, verses twenty-six and twentyseven. This message is for the young people, but I believe that there's a word in this for all of us. The scripture says, 'Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established. Turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil.'"

"Yes, Lord!" one of the Mothers shouted. "Here are two short verses that give a lifelong message," he said. "Webster's Dictionary tells us that the word ponder means to think deeply about, to carefully consider, to weigh. And what must we be considering and weighing? Let's say it together: 'the path of thy feet.' That means that we must be deliberate in our choices. We must carefully think about where our choices will lead us."

"My, my, my." Sister Ethel shook her head. "My dear children, my church friends, where are you headed this morning? What path are you on? Where are your feet taking you? You and I must examine the road of our lives. But we can't just stop at considering where we are. No, that's not the last verse in the chapter."

The church warmed up again as echoes of "That's right" and "Tell it" and "Amen" bounced off of every wall and out of every corner.

"See, once we consider our path and make sure that we are established in righteousness, then we must not turn in any way. We have got to get on the right path and we have got to stay on the right path. It's a constant walk. If you find your foot on the wrong path, standing in a place of evil, God's word tells you to remove it!"

Anthony stopped suddenly, awkwardly. "That's okay, son!" one of the older deacons shouted. "Preach, boy!" Another one laughed while slapping his knee. Anthony took a slow sip of water, thinking only of the letter hidden in his Bible. What will they all say? he wondered.

He said a quick prayer for strength to continue and picked up his papers again. This time he simply read the rest of his notes, being careful to inflect his voice to a higher pitch every time the audience grew excited. Together, he and the flock of Second Baptist Church of Shepherd Hills finished the sermon. When the invitation was given and the doors of the church were open, salty tears streamed down Anthony's face.

"Ain't our Jesus sweet?" a lady with a large purple hat dipping over her face shouted from the back row. She stomped both her feet on the padded carpet before jumping out of her seat and wiping the tears from her own eyes.

"Yes, He is, my sister," Anthony soberly responded. But only he and Jesus knew exactly why he was crying. Pastor Green studied Anthony from where he stood at the far edge of the pulpit. His thumb and forefinger rested on his chin as a wrinkle settled in his forehead. "Father, Father," he prayed softly.

"It's time for the benediction, church," Anthony said with outstretched hands.

"Hallelujah!" a woman shouted. Tyreeka Oliver turned around to peek over the pew once again. "Bless Jesus!" the woman behind her moaned.

Terri Murdock drummed her fingers on the passenger seat of her old Mercedes-Benz. She dropped her head into her hands with a heavy sigh as she noted the growing crowd of exiting parishioners surrounding her husband. The church door was only twenty-five feet away from where she sat waiting in the car, but it had already taken him fifteen minutes to travel only three of those feet.

"You preached today, boy," she overheard Deacon Ellis encouraging Anthony.

Terri rolled her eyes. She did not know when or if she would ever get used to this preaching thing. It was not that she minded the good-church-boy image. If anything, his spirituality, along with his clean-cut features and promising career, of course, had been the clincher in claiming him as the perfect catch-her perfect catch. But she had never expected it to get this far.

"Girl, you know this preaching business won't last long," Cherisse, her best friend and confidante, would continually assure her, twirling one of her long neat braids between two fingers. "Anthony's too proud and pretty of a man to really believe that this is what God told him to do.

He'll be calling Shaw Enterprises any day now, begging for his old job back. It's just a phase he'll grow out of real quick when he's ready to buy a new Versace suit."

Terri wholeheartedly believed that her friend was right. But six months had passed and Anthony still seemed content with his new job at a small business firm where he was earning less than a quarter of his former near-six-figure income. And he had just recently registered to take even more classes at the local Bible college.

Terri glanced down at her diamond-studded platinum watch and let out an exaggerated sigh. It's almost onethirty! I hope Anthony hurries up. She turned her eyes toward him, hoping to catch his attention, thinking that maybe he would see the boredom on her face and hurry to the car.

"My, my, my, what a word!" Mother Howard embraced Anthony. Terri dropped her head back on the car seat.

"How much longer is this going to last?' she mumbled, checking her watch again. When she finally heard footsteps approaching, she closed her eyes, hoping that Anthony would think she was tired and not stop to talk to anyone else as they pulled away from the parking lot. She sat there for a moment with her eyes closed, listening to each approaching step on the gravel lot, waiting for the driver's-side door to open. When the footsteps stopped and the door did not budge, she slowly peeked open one eye to discover Sister Kellye Porter's face smiling at her through the passenger window.

"Sister Murdock," the sixty-something-year-old wife of the assistant pastor chirped through the glass, "roll down this window so I can talk to you, honey."

The trill of Sister Porter's voice matched the pleasantness on her face. Terri groaned inside but put on her best smile while holding down the power-window button.

"How have you been, dear?" Sister Porter still smiled, a slight gap in her teeth showing through her broad grin. Her round face seemed to bounce with every word she said, causing the gray-streaked, tight curls cluttering her head to spring with every syllable.

"I've been just blessed," Terri said in a singsong voice to match Sister Porter's. The older lady's head still nodded, her smile still widening. "How is Minister Porter feeling these days?" Terri asked politely.

"Oh, our God is working, child. Bernard will be out of that sickbed and back to the work of the Lord any day now, praise Him. Satan will not keep my husband down." Sister Porter was still nodding, still smiling.

"Mmmmm." Terri joined in the nod, looking away, looking for Anthony.

"Honey, I'm not going to hold you long," Sister Porter sweetly chirped. "I've been thinking about you, that's all. I still want you to come over my house some time. I'll call you with my address. Maybe one day we can get together for lunch or bake some cookies and talk, you know, ministers' wives' talk and such."

"That's an idea." Terri smiled. Anthony, where are you? she yelled in her mind.

"You remind me so much of myself in my twenties." Sister Porter grinned. Terri managed to stifle a laugh. What on earth could they possibly have in common, she wondered as she quickly studied Sister Porter's plump frame from head to toe. Her red polyester suit screamed against the black-and-gold-striped ruffled blouse and black-and-white-checked pumps she wore. She smelled of Jean Nat? and decorative soap.

"Yes, dear, we've got to get together one day while you're still free," Sister Porter continued. "Once you start having babies, it will be a different story," she said with a wink.

This time Terri could not hide her groan. She was sick of people asking her when she was going to "give that nice preacher" a baby.

"Aw, honey, I don't mean to upset you. Children are a gift from the Lord, and in His time, they will come." Sister Porter patted Terri's shoulder.

There was an uncomfortable break in the conversation. Terri twiddled her thumbs for a few moments while Sister Porter, still smiling, sighed a couple of times.

"Amen," Terri exhaled, for lack of anything better to say. Mercifully, Anthony was finally coming to the car. His shoulders slumped as he kicked at the gravel.

"Well, I'll be giving you a call soon, dear heart." Sister Porter was leaving. "Have a blessed evening."

"You do the same, and give my regards to Minister Porter."

As soon as Sister Porter's back was turned, Terri dropped her smile. "Bake some cookies?" she muttered. "Who do I look like, Betty Crocker?"

"Did you say something?" Anthony plopped into the driver's seat. He barely looked up at his wife.

"Nothing. Let's go home." Terri pressed a silver-painted fingernail on the power-window button. She collapsed back in her seat as the window whisked up with a thud.

It was only mid-September, but a biting draft was already finding its way up Anthony's coat sleeves and pant legs as he sat quietly behind the steering wheel. He usually enjoyed the drive home from church, especially in the fall when he purposely took the back roads littered with red, gold, and yellow leaves falling from the unending rows of trees.

But today the winding roads reminded him too much of every dizzying curve and zigzag his life seemed to be taking. The smell of burning leaves suffocated his nostrils as he turned back onto the beltway, joining the frenzy of motorists whizzing by familiar green-and-white traffic signs.

"Oh look, they've almost finished that Stonymill light rail extension," Terri said, pointing to a passing construction site. "I don't see why there was such a big fuss about building it."

Anthony swallowed hard but said nothing. "I heard Shaw Enterprises has an extensive marketing campaign going on for that new station," Terri stated matter-of-factly. "Imagine all the profits they're raking in from that contract," she added, glancing at her husband. Anthony was absorbed in his own thoughts, only half listening. Terri changed the subject. She began discussing her plans for the coming week, which included an important meeting with a client the next day. If the deal proved successful she would become a partner in the interior design firm for which she worked.

Anthony caught a word here and there of her one-way conversation, but his thoughts began focusing on his morning message. He wondered if anyone had noticed his awkwardness. The sermon rolled through his mind like a videotape.

He remembered feeling like he could not continue- should not continue. But he had. And in the midst of the crowd of greeters who praised him after service, he had not been able to give Pastor Green the letter.

The letter! Where was it? He panicked. Terri had grabbed his Bible and notes from him in her usual attempt to rush him out of the church. He could see his Bible now, peeking out of her large leather tote bag. What if the letter falls out? Is it still hidden in the pages? Anthony loosened his already limp necktie as he rounded a swerving exit. Terri could not see that letter under any circumstances. Not yet, anyway.

"You're not even listening to me, are you?" Terri suddenly interrupted his thoughts.

"Of course I am, baby. I'm sure the Hendricks Group will love the hanging-gardens theme for their new restaurant venture." Anthony tried to keep his voice light and airy.

"The Hendricks Group? I was talking about my meeting tomorrow with Reginald Savant!" Terri snarled. "This is the most important account I've had in my career and you're not even paying attention! If I can secure the design plans for this hotel deal, do you know what that will mean for us? For me?"

"Baby, I-" "Don't baby me," Terri hurled, pushing his offered hand aside. "Somebody in this marriage needs to be taking their career seriously! Am I wrong?"

Anthony searched for words, surprised that she was giving him a chance to respond. Her arms were crossed, her eyes glued on his profile, waiting. But as had become the custom over the past few months, nothing but a sigh spoke for him. What's wrong with me? It seemed like six lifetimes and not six months ago when he was applauded for his quick speech in important business meetings and deals. He'd had an answer for everyone and everything back then. But these days he could barely look his wife in the eyes.

"Well?" The window was rapidly closing. Anthony concentrated on the road before him, thankful that the traffic lights were becoming fewer and the houses more spaced out. They would be on their street soon.

"Do you really think God is going to tell a man to leave a great job?" Terri was just starting. "Seriously, it's one thing to feel the need to preach, but does that mean sacrificing everything you ever worked for? You were a commanding businessman, a wonderful black-man success story! You were an ebony king with power! And what are you now? It makes more sense to me that God would want you to be a mover and a shaker in this world and not an old broke country preacher!" Her hands were clutched together so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Terri! You just don't understand!" Anthony felt the steam leaving him before he even got started. "God does want me to be a mover and a shaker, but not in the way you think." He hoped Terri hadn't caught the question mark in his voice as they rounded a sharp corner. He thought again about the letter and fell silent.

Terri glared at Anthony and threw up her hands. "You're hopeless. You have lost your mind. What am I supposed to do while you try out this preaching thing? Did you ever even think about me?" she demanded, her eyes narrow slits. "You only think about yourself!"

"Terri, baby, this isn't about me or you. This is about what God wants." Anthony did his best to sound confident, but his own concerns nagged his conscience.

They were pulling into their driveway. Anthony stared at the massive pillars along the porch of their home, the two-car garage, and the elaborate marble fountain that Terri had insisted on when she'd picked out the house in a real-estate brochure six months before. She had wanted their residence to resemble a contemporary Mediterranean palace. At the time he had been excited to entertain business partners and clients in the extravagant and ornate estate. Now he just simply wanted a house to come home to.

He sat a moment in the car as Terri slammed her door shut and listened as her high heels punched the landscaped walkway. When she disappeared through the front door, he lowered his head into his hands and rubbed his temples. I've got to get my Bible out of her bag before she does, he reminded himself. I can't take any chances.

"Sunday dinner just ain't what it used to be." Anthony looked down at his frozen dinner entr?e. For a quick second, he envisioned his Great-Aunt Rosa sitting in one of her high-backed cherrywood chairs, laughing in that loud, husky voice of hers, then gulping down her famous stewed tomatoes.

He could picture his mother and older cousin Patricewith- the-big-out-of-date-afro seated next to her, arguing over whose turn it was to check on the children, making sure they weren't tearing up the basement or the backyard. And then there was Harold, Anthony's stepfather, the only father he ever really knew, sitting in that burgundy armchair smoking his cigarettes, much to Aunt Rosa's disapproval. "Addin' another flame to your destiny, I see," she would say to him.

Anthony smiled at the memories of Sundays past while sitting alone in his study, chewing reluctantly on a tasteless turkey breast. Terri had just left to meet her longtime friend Cherisse for dinner, as had become her custom for the past several weeks. Although he was not particularly fond of Cherisse, he welcomed the couple of hours he would have to himself.

"Just fifteen minutes of normalcy, Lord. That's all I'm asking for," Anthony mumbled between bites of rubbery peas. What a prayer, he laughed to himself.

But then another thought sobered him as he eyed a ragged folder sticking out of the papers on his desk. How long is this going to last? he wondered. The large black letters printed on the tab of the folder jabbed his conscience like a steak knife. He shook his head in shame, wanting to be rid of the burden, wondering how he'd even gotten through the sermon earlier that day. He thought about Terri and the words she'd said after morning service.

"An old broke country preacher," he mumbled. "Preacher," he repeated quietly, catching a glimpse of himself in a large mirror across the room.

Following their spat in the car, the tension between the two had only gripped them more tightly when they arrived home. Terri had gone straight to her private sitting area to make several phone calls to her friends. Anthony was sure that he heard his name more than once in her whispered conversations.

But he was by himself now. Anthony was determined to let go of the gnawing frustration he felt. He was especially relieved to see that Terri had left her tote bag with his Bible still inside in her sitting room. He decided to finish eating before retrieving the letter. I've got to get that letter to Pastor Green as soon as possible, he reminded himself, his eyes falling on the ragged folder again.

When he finished clearing his plate he headed to his planned destination, stopping only once to water some dying plants sitting near the deck. He walked quickly through the hallways, haunted by his echoing footsteps on the golden beige ceramic floor.

When he reached the french doors sealing off Terri's sitting room, he paused for a second. Terri regarded this area as her own personal sanctuary. He had only been in there twice, both times to help Terri move some furniture. He opened the doors, almost expecting an alarm to go off, laughing at himself when none did.

Nearly everything in the room was a shade of orange, from the heavy damask curtains to the oversized leather lounger and the sculptured floor lamp with furry-looking fringes dangling from its shade. Abstract artwork and a collection of ceramic tigers decorated the peach-painted walls and tables. The tamest item in the room was an oblong animal-print rug lying in the middle of the floor.

He picked up a jewel-encrusted picture frame sitting on an end table and studied the lone figure smiling back at him. It was a portrait of Terri, taken shortly after they began dating five years ago, given to him from her as an engagement gift a year later.

"I'm going to make your life so rich," she'd murmured in his ear as she handed him the photograph encased in the two-hundred-fifty-dollar onyx-and-silver frame. Aunt Rosa must have heard her words because she'd been quick with a remark about a man being rich whose treasure was the Lord.

"And it wouldn't do a woman bad to be rich in Him also," she said, smacking her lips on some smoked salmon at their engagement party. Anthony recalled how her comment had frozen the entire room for a second. He had not missed the quiet nods and concerned faces that surrounded her words. He had not missed them, but he chose to ignore them. They did not know Terri like he did, he had assured himself. A woman of intelligence, self-motivated, who was eager to attend Sunday morning service with him during those pre-marriage days, he was sure she had the makings of an excellent wife.

Anthony ran his fingers along the eight-by-ten photo, studying Terri's slender five-foot-three frame, remembering how easy it was to fall for her smile, the way her hips bounced with her quick steps, the silky, long relaxed curls that flowed past her shoulders back then. She had the kind of beauty that left him forgetting to breathe. He was holding his breath at that moment.

This woman is so fine, he thought to himself, shaking his head.

But does she know Me? The thought caught him off guard. It was always the same question. Anthony put the picture back down on the table. He only wanted to answer one question right then: Where is the letter?

Anthony sat down on the upholstered bench where Terri had tossed her bag. He felt a wave of relief as he took out his Bible and began flipping through the thin goldtrimmed pages. But as he kept flipping and no white envelope surfaced, an alarm went off somewhere between his heart and his stomach.

"No! Oh, no!" Anthony groaned as he checked and rechecked to make sure he was not missing it. He turned the Bible upside down and emptied the contents of Terri's bag onto the floor. He searched the rest of her sitting room, but the truth remained. The letter was nowhere to be found. "Lord Jesus, what do I do?" Anthony cried while rubbing his temples. "Forget the letter," he told himself while picking up the telephone. He dialed and hung up twice before letting the receiving end ring.

"Praise the Lord," a kind, assuring voice answered. "P-p-pastor Green?" Anthony stammered.

"Anthony, is that you? Is everything all right?" Pastor Green sounded concerned.

"Yes, yes." Anthony paused. "Well, no. I mean, I-I need to talk to you."

Anthony paused again. I'm not ready for this, not yet, he contemplated. Pastor Green voiced further concern.

"Anthony, you have been coming into my mind lately. I have been praying for you. Is everything okay?"

"Pastor Green, if you are available, I would like to meet with you sometime tomorrow. There's something you need to know."

They made plans to meet at the church the next evening. Before hanging up, Pastor Green encouraged Anthony.

"You know there is nothing happening in your life that Jesus can't handle. He already knows the beginning and the end. Just stay with Him, Anthony. Just stay with Him." Anthony hung up the phone and hit the wall with his hand.

"Lord, please don't let Terri find that letter! Please, Lord!"

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