profane part of that Southern saying. “This isn’t the place for that.”
The silence was nothing short of mind-blowing. Slowly, murmurs became
whispers. Those whispers became a collective voice. That collective voice
became a roar of discontent so loud it might have been a scream that could
break the stained-glass windows.
Kari Kimbrough’s heart rate sped up to the point of nearly bursting out of her
chest. She brushed a hand down her thighs to smooth out the lavender silk dress
that draped her curvaceous frame. She glanced at her husband in the pulpit,
noticing that he quickly sheltered his shock as he stood and moved to the edge
of the dais.
His hand went up. Voices trickled back down to whispers, then silence slowly
descended once again.
“And you’re saying this in front of the entire congregation hoping to achieve
what, Minister Henderson?” Pastor Kimbrough challenged, his sun-kissed
complexion flamed with angry color. “To somehow make me ashamed of my
wife?”
For a split second, the confidence that had been so evident in Henderson’s
arrogant demeanor slipped. But only for a second. Because the church’s board
and deacons suddenly rounded him in what seemed to be a show of support.
Kari keyed into their solemn expressions that didn’t show one ounce of surprise.
This was planned. Evidently a long time in the making.
The fire in Pastor Kimbrough’s dark brown eyes would normally be enough to
quell the most disruptive of people. But not Terrance Henderson. Ever since he’d
been ordained to preach by some still yet to be identified pastor in California
where he once lived, the ambitious minister had his sights on being the pastor
of the church founded by his great-great grandfather, the good Reverend Jacob
Lee Henderson. The position of pastor had been held for four generations of
Naleighna Kai Literary Cafe Magazine July/August 2017 73