The congregation was singing a hymn as John walked in and sat in a back pew. The woman next to him stooped slightly and gently pulled him up with her left hand. The lyrics were unfamiliar to him. Reverend Owen walked down the center aisle clapping as the congregation continued to sing.
Reverend Owen reached the altar, his waving arms stretched high. “You may be seated.”
John was relieved at being able to sit.
“Before I get on with my sermon today, I want to introduce to you a young man who was with us a few Sundays ago. John, won’t you come to the altar?”
John didn’t move. Perhaps there was another John who fit that vague description.
Reverend Owen walked to the back and pointed at him. “Come with me, John.”
John pushed himself up from the pew, pressed down his neat black trousers, and strode to the altar, anxious to get it over with.
“John, how about you tell us something about yourself?”
A blur of people stood before him. His words stood still.
He looked in her direction; she sat next to her parents. She said she wouldn’t see him again because of Roscoe, and he was trying to force his feelings for her out of his heart.
Someone shouted, “All glory be’s to God.”
Reverend Owen nodded in a show of support.
“Good morning, I’m John. All glory be to God.”
“Amen,” someone shouted.
“Where’re you from?” Reverend Owen asked.
“Richmond, Virginia.”
“You’re a long way from home,” Reverend Owen said.
While nodding, John said, “Yes, I am.”
“Well, John, the church would like for you to consider joining First Baptist. We can use a good man like you.” Reverend Owen put his arm around John, adding, “John’s being doing some good work for the colored farmers.”
Reverend Owen released his hold and John happily returned to his seat.
“Oh, I do want to mention one other thing before moving on. We can stand to use a bit of good news. As you know, Brother Riley Davis departed this earth a few weeks ago. He gave generously to the church. Even though he stopped coming, he made sure to give to the church. The new church we’re building is because of Brother Riley. Keep him in prayer.”
Riley Davis rang loudly in John’s head.
Two hours later, the sermon was over. The woman next to him nudged him. John moved out and joined the other congregants in line to shake Reverend Owen’s hand.
A burly man waiting in line touched John on the shoulder and said, “Thank you for what you doing for the colored farmers.”
“Oh, you’re welcome.”
Pony Hawkins got out of line and walked to John and said, “Excuse me.” He extended his hand and said, “I’m Pony Hawkins.”
John recognized him as the man who sat in the pew next to Tilla in the past.
“We’d like you to join,” Pony added.
John studied Pony and saw a hint in his skin color and hair that led him to believe Pony could be a colored man. By the fact that he attended a colored church, John figured Pony was colored and wanted everyone to know it. “It seems to be a good church; good people here,” John said.
Reverend Owen extended his hand, waiting for John to grasp it. “John, thanks for coming. Give it some thought.”
Riley Davis still hung in John’s mind. “Who’s Riley Davis?” John asked the reverend.
“He was a member of this church.”
“I really need to know more about him. It’s important.”
“Wait ’til I’m done greeting my people, then we talk.”
Within ten minutes, Reverend Owen escorted John to his small office in the back of the church. John looked around. The bookshelf was well stocked. A large picture of Jesus in a wood frame hung on the wall behind the rosewood-surfaced desk. Reverend Owen sat nearly erect in his desk chair across from John with his hands clasped. “What do you want to know about Riley?”
It had been six years since his mother had sent him in search of Cousin Riley. It was a stab in the dark, but he needed to know whether he was close to finding his mother’s dream. “My mama told me that if I ever made it to Mount Hope, Alabama, to look for her Cousin Riley,” John said as he looked up at the pictures of Jesus with olive skin and frizzy hair. He added: “I don’t know a last name.”
“Riley was a member of this church for many years. He and his boy used to come. Not so much after Riley’s vision and health began to fail.”
“What about a wife?” John asked. “Does he have one?”
“She died a few years ago.”
“Can you tell me what he did, where he worked?”
“I heard things; not really sure what he did.”
“Wonder if there is more than one Riley around here?”
“Probably. Seems to be a common name.”
Suddenly John thought of the scar Ann said Riley had on his face. “Mama said he had big scar on his face; came from a fishhook.”
Reverend Owen paused and scratched his head with his left index finger and said, “Come to think of it, he did have some kind of scar like that.”
John’s eyes widened and his heart beat faster.
“You may want to talk to Junior. Maybe he can be of help.”
“Who’s Junior?”
“Riley’s son. He’s named after Riley.
“He has a son,” John muttered. “What do you know about him?”
“Well, let’s see; he called on me when he father’s time was near, and I visited Riley, praying with him and for him. He had asked forgiveness for his sins; told him to talk to God about that one. A lot of it was difficult to hear—his voice was weak—but as far as I could make out his dying wish was that I’d pray for safe passage for Junior to make it to see a lady named Ann.”
Excitement now rained in John’s head as he thought of his mother. Tears welled in his eyes.
Reverend Owen handed John his white handkerchief that he removed from the breast pocket of his brown, light-tweed frock coat. “What’s wrong, John?”
John wiped his tears with the handkerchief. “Ann is my mama. I haven’t seen her in years.”
“Good Lord,” Reverend Owen said. “I don’t know if Junior left yet. You may want to go to his father’s house to see if he’s still there.” Reverend Owen told John that he too had a connection to Richmond. He had traveled there several years ago to meet with Reverend John Jasper of the Sixth Mount Zion Baptist Church. Large numbers of colored were drawn to Jasper’s charismatic ministry. “I was blessed to hear his sermon “De Sun Do Move.” But enough of this. Go find Junior.” Reverend Owen told John how to get to Riley’s house.
Reverend Owen stood and extended his hand to John, who in turn extended his, and they shook hands. John complimented the reverend on his natty attire and told him that the reverend was his sartorial inspiration.
John rode his favorite mixed-breed, cinnamon-colored swaybacked horse to Riley’s house. He dismounted and surveyed the surroundings.
He walked up three crooked wooden steps, took four steps on the porch to the door, then pushed open the creaky door, where he was met by a musty smell of a house that lacked sufficient ventilation.
He stood in the mostly barren living room. “Anybody here?” He walked into a small kitchen with an uneven floor. “Anybody here?”
A dirty skillet sat on top of the wood-burning stove. Rat droppings dotted the floor. As John turned around to look out of the kitchen door window, a rat with a long tail charged out of the kitchen at full speed. He stamped the floor to convince the rat he was bigger.
As he turned the white porcelain doorknob to open the back door, the knob came off and thudded to the floor. He stopped in his tracks and listened intently. He heard only the faint pitter-patter of vermin.
A cat meowed. He followed the sound. The cat was resting on a urine-stained, thin mattress in a bedroom. A small dresser and two chairs were in the room. The closet door opened a little wider and another cat moseyed out.
He gave it another try: “Anyone here?”
It was a fragile idea, but he needed to hang onto it: Junior would find Ann in Richmond. And he’d try to get to Richmond in short order to meet Junior and to see his precious mother at long last.
With his head hanging low, he walked to his swayback and retrieved a Granny Smith apple from one of the panniers hanging on its rump. He took three bites and shoved the rest in the horse’s mouth.
A whitetail hawk flew about, capturing his attention. Another one came into sight. Then another. He followed them as they flew toward the back of the shanty.
He loped toward the back but quickly slowed to avoid scattered piles of manure. Without warning his heart skipped a beat, and he stopped. When he started again, his steps were slower and guarded, the equivalent of raised eyebrows. Although he didn’t meet Cousin Riley before he died, he was floating on a wing and a prayer that he was closing in on something that had eluded him for a long time—a relative who shared his blood.
As he resumed his steps, he felt the vibrations of a dog’s growl. John’s heart skipped two beats. The canine’s bark felt like the roar of a lion; John worried whether he’d live another minute; he was defenseless and didn’t want to make the wrong move. The beast roared even louder, and the beast’s bristled hair was manifest.
John spied a long, thick tree limb three feet from him. He inched his way to it.
The salivating beast inched closer to John, cutting off his path to safety.
“Hold it right there,” a man with a gravelly voice said from behind him.
John’s heart thudded again, ready to jump out of his chest. The dog moved to within three feet of John, snout crinkled, long fangs exposed. John thought the animal was going to rip out his heart while it was still racing. The dog stared him down, seemingly waiting for the right moment to attack.
“Keep your arms in the air. Turn around real slow,” the man said as he aimed his rifle at John’s heart.
Satisfied that John was sufficiently petrified, the dog padded to the man’s side and waited for a signal to attack.
John concentrated on the rifle that could snuff out his life faster than the dog.
The rifle was long. The man holding it was shirtless. Except for possessing an older man’s steady gaze, the man was young, about John’s age. He was compact, with taut abdominal muscles. He had the look of being able to move swiftly and efficiently.
“What’re you doing here?” the man asked, swinging his rifle in the air to the right, signaling John to say something or perhaps face serious consequences.
“I’m looking for Riley’s son.”
“You must not be from around here. What do you want with him?”
Perhaps Reverend Owen’s name would make an impression. “Reverend Owen of the First Baptist Church told me I could find Riley’s son here,” John said with his arms still raised.
“He ain’t here. What do you want with him?”
“I wanted to catch him before he went to Richmond. Heard he might be headed that way to see my mama.”
“Oh, God,” the man said, his mouth gaping in disbelief. After about ten seconds, he said, “Ann’s your mama?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Junior.” Pointing to the beast, he said, “That’s Sadie.”
Junior put the rifle to his side and signaled with his head that John could put his arms down. John blew out a sigh. Sensing all danger had passed, Sadie wandered off to patrol the house and yard like a disciplined sentry dog.
“Yeah, that’s my mama’s name.”
They sat on the back steps. John told Junior about his promise six years ago to find her Cousin Riley.
“It took you six years to get here?”
John deflected the question. “You’re still going to Richmond?”
Junior looked skyward. “I think Pa won’t mind if I put it off. I gotta get to know my cousin.”