31

The weather turned windy and cold again on Sunday with snow flurries predicted—the first day of spring, ha!—but I didn’t even care. The cold spell in Josh’s heart had broken last night. I could feel it in the atmosphere.

Josh had excused himself from pie the night before, but when it was time for Precious and Sabrina to go home (well, if you can call a shelter “home”), he came out of his room and offered to drive them. He still wasn’t back when we went to bed—we hadn’t set any curfew since he’d graduated from high school—but he was up early the next morning and jogged the short mile to the Howard Street Shopping Center to set up the sound board. And when we got there, I saw him talking to Rick Reilly. Interesting. Josh had blown off the youth-ministry brainstorming meeting yesterday. What now?

“We celebratin’ Stu’s birthday tonight?” Florida asked me after church.

I blinked. We’d already celebrated Stu’s birthday at our house—but that wasn’t Yada Yada. “Um, sure. Got any suggestions?”

“Stu been a good friend to Little Andy an’ me,” Becky popped in. “I’d like ta make the cake. But not one o’ them round things. Flat. In the pan.”

I laughed and gave Becky a hug. “You got it. I’ll pass the word. We meet at Chanda’s tonight. You guys want a ride?”

But when I pulled up in front of the Hickman house later that afternoon, I had to laugh. Florida, bundled in her winter coat, was sitting like a snow queen in her new wicker furniture on the porch. “Tol’ ya I was gonna sit on my porch the first day of spring, rain or shine!” she yelled. But when Becky came out with a cake pan, Flo ran for the minivan. “Turn that heater up, girl! My fingers is froze.”

Avis was already at Chanda’s house when we arrived, getting the VIP tour of Rochelle’s new bedroom and “the boys’ room,” which Conny was sharing with Chanda’s boy, Tom. Florida and I ran up the stairs to peek, too, while Becky took her cake to the kitchen.

We had a good turnout at Yada Yada that night, including Ruth, who drove herself and Yo-Yo, and didn’t let us forget it. “What? You are surprised? If I can birth two babies at my age, what’s a little ol’ driver’s license?”

Yo-Yo rolled her eyes behind Ruth’s back. “Huh. The license was easy; it’s the driving that needs a little work,” she muttered.

Our other surprise was Hoshi, who arrived with Nonyameko. “Most of the Northwestern students have gone home for spring break.” Hoshi grinned, returning our hugs. “ReJOYce Campus Club meeting was cancelled.”

“What about dat Sara?” Chanda asked, as she and Rochelle brought in a tray of coffee mugs along with a pot of good Jamaican coffee. The aroma was heavenly. “Did you bring her? Don’t she only live a couple burbs nort’ of ’ere?”

Hoshi shook her head. “She says no every time I invite her. But I told her we pray for her and are grateful for what she did, turning in those men who hurt Dr. Smith.” Hoshi’s lip suddenly trembled, and she busied herself looking for a tissue in her pocket.

Nony put an arm around Hoshi. “It is all right, my sister. God is working out His purpose in spite of what happened. One day Sara will come so we can love on her.”

“Mm-hm,” I heard Adele murmur. “So I can get my hands on that hair too.”

I gaped at Adele. “That’s it! That’s what we can do.”

Adele frowned. “Do what?” Others were looking at me, too.

“Hoshi, do you know when Sara’s birthday is? Something to celebrate. We could collect money as a gift to give her the works at Adele’s Hair and Nails—haircut, color, set, manicure, pedicure . . . you know, the works! Hoshi can tell her it’s from all of us, to let her know she doesn’t have to be afraid.”

“Dat’s a good idea.” Chanda reached for her purse. “’Ere’s a twenty to start.”

I felt like rolling my eyes. She didn’t have to announce how much. But others nodded, liking the idea. I took Chanda’s twenty. “Whatever people want to contribute. We can collect next time too.”

Just then, Becky entered with her cake in an aluminum nine-by-thirteen pan, candles flaming. “Happy birthday to Stu . . .” she warbled, and we all joined in. Estelle had brought a card “From the Whole Gang,” which we all signed. But Becky had the best idea of all.

“I just wanna say, Stu’s somethin’ else. I don’t know many folks who woulda taken me into their house, just to give me an address so I could get out on parole. I know I ain’t the easiest person ta live with—”

Stu put a hand over her mouth, hiding a grin.

“—but she took a chance on me anyhow. Now I’m in my own place, but she still workin’ the system to help me get Andy back. So on her birthday I just wanna say, I love ya, Stu girl.” Becky Wallace grabbed Stu in a bear hug while we all clapped.

Flo spoke up. “Yeah, well, Stu found Carla, when DCFS lost track of my baby. An’ she treated my man like a man, asked him ta help her move, let him know she needed him, trusted him with the job. Men like Carl, they need ta be needed. So I thank ya, too, girl.” Another big hug.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted Stu to move into the apartment above us,” I admitted. “Even though I’m older than Stu, I always felt like a little kid around her, she’s so . . . so good at everything.”

A chorus of “Hear, hear!” went up, laughter and clapping.

“But I have to say, Stu is nothing if not a loyal friend. She might make me feel like a dork”—more laughter—“but, frankly . . .” I stopped, realizing that what I was about to say was actually true. “Frankly, she’s more like the sister I never had growing up.” I stepped over to Stu and gave her a tight hug, amid more clapping. “I love you, Stu,” I whispered in her ear.

“I love you, too, Jodi,” she whispered back. She looked around at all the Yada Yadas sitting all over Chanda’s living room. “Frankly, you all have been the family I didn’t have for so many years—and you still are, even though God’s starting to give my natural family back to me. Now that God and I got honest.” She took the tissue Hoshi handed her and blew her nose.

Avis smiled. “Looks like we have a lot to give thanks for tonight. Why don’t we continue with our thanksgivings?” Her glance fell on her daughter Rochelle, perched on the arm of Chanda’s leather couch. “I want to praise God and thank Chanda for offering her home to my daughter and grandson.” Now she got teary. More tissues. “In the midst of a tough time for Rochelle, God is also pouring out His blessings. Mm!” Avis raised a hand in the air. “Thank You, Jesus! You are so good! So good!”

Rochelle smiled shyly at her mother’s spontaneous praise. “I’m thankful to Chanda too. But I also want to say I’m grateful to Nonyameko, who is helping me see that HIV isn’t something to be ashamed of. Fear and silence will only keep me from getting the help I need. Many women and children are suffering from this disease through no fault of our own. Though some people . . .” A flash of anger burned in her eyes.

Whew. That’s deep, I thought. I had never heard Rochelle speak so boldly.

The moment of anger passed. “One more thing I am thankful for. My stepfather, Peter Douglass”—Rochelle used the word deliberately, tossing a teasing smile at her mother—“is starting a Manna House Foundation to raise money to rebuild the shelter.”

I heard a gasp from Edesa. “Oh! Es verdad? It is true?”

Avis smiled. “Yes. Peter came home from the men’s breakfast at SouledOut yesterday with this great idea. The last few months, some of our husbands have been meeting before the monthly breakfast to pray for one another, that God would use them in new ways. For Peter, starting a foundation to rebuild the shelter that had taken in our own daughter seemed like a way to give back.”

“Gloria al Dios!” Delores Enriquez beamed. “Ricardo came home and told me about the foundation.” She grimaced apologetically to Edesa. “I knew you would be so happy, mi hermana. But I did not know if the news was mine yet to tell.”

Excited comments flew. I wondered if that was the news Denny had wanted to tell me. Nony clapped her hands together, then burst out laughing, like a little girl dying to tell her secret. “Has a holy fire baptized our men, sending them into the marketplace like on the day of Pentecost?”

“Hm. Don’t know about that,” Florida murmured. “Ain’t heard Carl speak in no tongues and don’t think I will.”

We joined Nony’s laughter, but Adele always could read between the lines. “You got more ‘holy fire’ to tell us about, Nony?”

Nony nodded, pressing her hands flat together in front of her smile. “Yes . . . yes. Mark also came home from the men’s breakfast yesterday and asked me to go out for coffee so we could talk. Sisters . . .” She blinked back sudden tears, but her smile stayed fixed. “It has been many months since my husband did that. He said he had not planned to tell me yet, not wanting to disappoint me if he failed, but the brothers encouraged him to include me in his plans.”

Adele rolled her eyes. “What plans? Girlfriend, you better tell us quick.”

Nony’s smile widened. “He decided—no, we decided—we should move forward with our plans that were so viciously aborted last summer, unless God shuts the door.”

A universal gasp greeted this announcement. “Ya mean, like, you guys goin’ to South Africa again?” Yo-Yo asked bluntly.

Nony nodded. “Mark has decided to apply once more to the University of KwaZulu-Natal as guest instructor. Yes, he is afraid—afraid they will reject him because of his recent medical history. But Carl and Peter and Denny told him—how do Americans say it?—to ‘get off his duff ’ and live again.” Now the tears spilled over, but Nony lifted her face in praise. “Oh, Lord God, thank You! You are making a way out of no way, a stream in the desert, a path over the mountain!”

For several minutes, the rest of us joined Nony’s praise, which became prayers for God’s favor on Mark Smith’s application and the birth of the Manna House Foundation. But as we praised and prayed, I struggled inside. Mark Smith “getting off his duff ” was a huge answer to our prayers. But if the Sisulu-Smiths did move to South Africa, we might be saying good-bye to them for . . . for who knew how long!

Oh God! How can it be good news and hurt so much at the same time?

The Voice in my spirit nudged me. Your Yada Yada sisters are a gift, Jodi Baxter—not a possession. You know how Nony has longed to return to her homeland, how her heart aches for the suffering caused by HIV and AIDS. Would you keep her from My plans for her and Mark?

Well, of course the answer was no—but that didn’t help my feelings any.

Besides, the Voice within continued, I have plans for you, too, Jodi—but you must keep your heart and your mind open. My plans are not your plans. Be alert; My Spirit is moving. Think of the possibilities . . .

“Hey. Earth to Jodi. You collecting the money for Sara’s makeover?” Becky Wallace stood in front of me, trying to give me a wadded-up bill.

With a start, I realized the prayers were over and people were starting to leave. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks, Becky.” I stuffed the bill in my pocket along with Chanda’s twenty and started to put on my jacket.

“Sister Jodi?” Edesa pulled me aside. “Does . . . do you think Josh knows about the Manna House Foundation?”

I thought a minute. “I don’t know. He didn’t go to the men’s breakfast yesterday. Denny might have told him, but I don’t think so. The first I heard about it was tonight.” Her eyes seemed imploring. What is she really asking me? “Estelle did tell him about the advisory board. He . . . wasn’t interested. But that was before . . .” I hesitated. What happened last night was probably not my news to tell.

But she nodded. “I know. He came to my house last night.” She looked up at me, her dark eyes huge, black diamonds in her sweet mahogany face. “He asked me to forgive him for his part in the Manna House fire.”

So. That was what Josh did after taking Precious and Sabrina home! “And?” I asked gently.

“I forgave him. I was glad! You see, I had been blaming him in my heart, holding it against him. We are very traditional in my country. To me, he is a man, even though he is young. And a true man always protects the women and children, but his carelessness put us all in danger. Those women had nothing but lost everything. But . . . I, too, asked him to forgive me, for holding blame in my heart. I was not honest with him; I only held him away.”

She sniffled, and I found a clean tissue to give her. As she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, I felt a tenderness toward this young woman I’d never felt before. God’s Spirit had told me to be alert, that His Spirit was moving. That His plans were not my plans. To think of the possibilities . . .

“He loves you, you know.”

I don’t know who was more startled by my murmured words—Edesa or me. She stared at me, eyes rounded. And then her chin quivered beneath a small smile. “I know,” she whispered.