9
In the week since Matthew’s beating, Shar had been inconsolable. They had traveled to Tennessee in order to take Matthew home. Once they arrived, they located several boardinghouses because Mr. Dorsey decided to stay and perform at a few of the local churches. But Shar’s heart wasn’t in it.
She had written to Landon and told him how she was feeling. She’d even told him where she would be staying in hopes that he would come see her, or at least write to her. But so far, he hadn’t done either. Tears rolled down Shar’s face as she contemplated the fact that she had stayed away from Landon too long. And he had lost interest in her, or maybe he’d even found someone else to love. Shar couldn’t blame Landon for that . . . what man would wait around for months on end for his woman to come back home?
The way she was feeling right then reminded her of how low she’d felt after being knocked out of the Miss Bronze America competition after placing in the semi-finals. Shar’s mother had spent the last bit of money they had to purchase the material for Shar’s dress. She had wanted to win that competition to pay her mama back, but instead they had fallen further behind in their bills and had to take on more day work to make ends meet. “It’s not fair,” she whispered.
“What’s not fair?” Emma Jean asked as she came into the room she shared with Shar.
Startled, Shar jumped. She then sat up in bed and pulled the cover close to her chest. “Don’t you knock?”
“We share this room, remember? Although, you do seem to be in it a lot more than I am. What’s going on, Shar? Have you been crying again?”
Shar turned her head and wiped the tears from her face.
Emma Jean sat down on the edge of the bed. Her voice was sympathetic as she said, “Look, Shar, I know that what happened with Matthew was awful, but it could have been worse.”
“How could it have been worse? Matthew’s arm is broken, and he can’t play the guitar.”
“He’s still alive and his arm will heal. In the meantime his brother, Nicoli James, has stepped in and offered to play the guitar for us.”
Shar grabbed some tissue and blew her nose. “I didn’t know Matthew had a brother.”
“He showed up last night.” A big grin spread across Emma Jean’s face as she added, “And girl, he is so handsome, I could hardly remember the words to the song we were singing for drooling over him.” Emma Jean then began fanning herself as if she needed to cool down.
Laughing as she watched Emma Jean fan herself, Shar said, “Nobody is that handsome.” Although she remembered drooling over Landon Norstrom a few times while sitting in that choir stand back home.
“You just need to get out of this bed and come see for yourself.”
The laughter stopped as Shar thought about the days that she had spent as a prisoner of the boardinghouse she was in. She’d stayed in that bed for the last three days, only getting up to use the bathroom. “I don’t know, Emma Jean. I feel bad that you all are out singing every night, and I’m stuck in here. But every time I think about leaving, I imagine all these terrible things happening to us.”
“Well, nothing has happened to us these last few days. Maybe God will provide peace for us during the rest of the tour. Just look at this nice boardinghouse we’re staying in. If God didn’t help us find this nice lady, then who did?”
“Mrs. Smith is nice to us,” Shar agreed.
“You know what I think?” Emma Jean asked.
“What?”
“I think God has placed Mrs. Smith into your life to be your angel.”
“What do you mean?”
“Open your eyes, Shar. Mrs. Smith didn’t shut the door in our faces when we asked to rent the room. Matter of fact, she seems to be waiting on you hand and foot. Bringing you breakfast and dinner when you don’t get up to get it yourself.”
“I didn’t ask her to do that.”
“That’s just what I mean. Mrs. Smith did that stuff for you, simply because she can tell that you’re hurting and wants to help.”
Shar’s eyes filled with tears again. “She has been trying to make me smile. I think she feels bad about what happened to us in Mississippi.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Mrs. Smith is white.”
“Yeah, so?”
“These is good white folks. That’s why I say she is your angel. I’m telling you, Shar, God directed us to her house.”
When Shar didn’t respond, Emma Jean said, “Come on, girl, get out of this bed and let’s go. We’re singing at a Baptist church, and you know they won’t allow our musicians to play. So we are going to need all the best voices in the choir tonight.”
Shar admired Emma Jean. She had a beautiful voice and knew why she wanted to sing: in order to bring hope to God’s people. Shar knew that her voice was beautiful also. She loved gospel music, but she couldn’t say with total conviction why she wanted to sing. Did she want to help people . . . bring them hope, like Emma Jean? Or did singing gospel music bring hope to her only? “I don’t know if I’m ready to come back to the choir tonight,” she finally said.
Emma Jean stood up. “Suit yourself. But if you keep lying in this bed, you won’t be able to sell that sheet music for Mr. Dorsey.”
Emma Jean had a point. She might not know why she had chosen to sing gospel music, but she did know why she was on this tour. “You’re right. I need to clear my mind and get back to work. Wait for me downstairs. I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”
Shar climbed out of bed. She then walked down the hall, got into the shower, and decided to forget about her troubles. However, forgetting about her troubles also meant forgetting about Landon. Because his absence in her life was troubling her more than she ever thought possible.
As the warm water caressed her body, Shar turned to the one person who she knew she could request an audience with any time of the day or night. “Dear Lord, I feel so weak right now. I don’t know what to do, and I don’t have anyone but you to turn to. I need You to help me.” As she said those words, she thought about the unanswered cry for help that she had sent to Landon. She was comforted with the knowledge that God would never ignore her.
Getting out of the shower, Shar put on her best dress and headed downstairs. Emma Jean was waiting for her by the kitchen because they were not allowed to sit in the living room. Nor were they allowed to enter or leave out of the front door of the home of these good white folks. She and Emma Jean left out of the back door and walked the two miles to the church they were singing at that afternoon.
By the time they made it to Marsdale Baptist Church, Sallie looked like she was about to lose her mind from worry. When Shar walked through the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank God. Gal, I was hoping that you’d get your act together and show up here tonight.”
“I hope I’m not too late, Mrs. Sallie. I didn’t think you’d be selling the sheet music until after service.”
“Don’t worry about the sheet music. Mahalia is stuck in Chicago. She won’t be able to sing tonight, so Mr. Dorsey wants you to sing. I was just getting ready to send someone after you.”
Shar couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had traveled from city to city, state to state with this tour for over a year and had not once been allowed to lead a song. And then on the night that she had all but decided to stay in bed and cry her eyes out, she gets the opportunity to lead a song that Mahalia Jackson was supposed to sing. “Will I be singing ‘Never Turn Back’?” Shar asked with excitement in her voice.
Sallie laughed, “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t know enough about life to sing that song?”
“B-but that’s the one I had been practicing.”
“Now you can practice this one.” Sallie handed her the sheet music and then said, “And hurry up. You’ve got an hour.”
Shar looked down at the sheet music and was astounded to see that the song she was supposed to lead was “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.” This was the song Mr. Dorsey wrote after his wife and newborn died within days of one another. Mr. Dorsey had been in St. Louis when he received the telegram about his wife dying in childbirth. He rushed home only to discover that the baby had died also. As the rumor went, Mr. Dorsey locked himself in the house and almost had a nervous breakdown. But while he was alone, pouring out his heart to God, he wrote the song “Precious Lord, Take My Hand.”
Mr. Dorsey was in the sanctuary with the rest of the choir rehearsing the songs. Shar didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of him and the choir by trying to lead a song she had never practiced before, so she rushed outside. She stood behind the church and began to sing . . .
Precious Lord, take my hand.
Lead me on, help me stand.
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.
As she sang the words, Shar realized that either Mr. Dorsey or Mrs. Sallie knew exactly how she had been feeling these last few days . . . tired, weak, and worn. She had even just prayed and told God that she was weak and needed help. She was feeling this song, like it was a part of her soul. Tears streamed down her face as she opened her mouth and belted out . . .
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light,
Take my hand, precious Lord
Lead me home.
“Bravo, bravo,” a man said while clapping his hands and walking toward her.
Shar had closed her eyes as she sung the last verses of the song. She hadn’t seen anyone standing behind the church building and was startled when he started clapping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was coming back here.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I was the one listening in on your performance.”
Shar wiped the tears from her eyes. As she did that she was able to clearly see the man walking toward her. He was gorgeous. High yellow with shiny black hair that had been parted down the middle and slicked back. With that thin, trim mustache he looked like a colored Clark Gable.
He stuck his hand out to her, “I’m Nicoli James, Matthew’s brother.”
She shook his hand and said, “I’m Shar Gracey.” Oh my God, Emma Jean was right. This man is too fine. Shar normally didn’t go for high yellow men. They were much too pretty for her taste, but something in Nicoli’s dark eyes mesmerized her.
“Well, Miss Shar Gracey, you sing like an angel. I almost raised my hands and shouted hallelujah.”
He was still holding her hand. She slid it out of his grip and stepped around him. “I guess I’d better get back in there. I need to practice this song with the choir.”
“Honey, trust me, you don’t need no practice. Even Mahalia Jackson, on her best day, never sounded as good as you do singing that song.”
“I don’t think Mr. Dorsey feels that way. He rather likes the sound of Mahalia’s voice. When she sings, I sell twice the number of sheet music than I do on any other night,” Shar told him with conviction. She thought he was kind to compliment her so, but she didn’t need him lying to her about sounding better than Mahalia.
“All right, you go on in. I’ll be listening for your sweet voice once the program gets going.”
As Shar turned to walk away, she wondered why Nicoli wasn’t headed back into the church with her. No one else was behind the church building, and Nicoli wasn’t practicing his guitar; he didn’t even have it with him. Besides, Marsdale Baptist wouldn’t allow him to play it today anyway. But she didn’t know him well enough to butt into his business, so she didn’t ask any questions.
Shar went into the sanctuary with the rest of the choir members and began practicing the songs with everyone else. When she added her voice with the others, Mr. Dorsey suddenly held up his hands and stopped the choir from singing. He turned to Shar and said, “Now I know what has been missing these last few days. Nice to have you back, Miss Gracey.”
Wow! Did he just say that her voice made the difference in his choir? Shar was truly humbled to hear Mr. Dorsey say that, since she hadn’t heard a word of praise from him in months. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be back.”
“All right, now let’s finish this rehearsal before the members start showing up for the afternoon service,” Thomas Dorsey said.
They rehearsed three more songs and then broke for prayer. Nicoli walked into the sanctuary as they were getting ready to hold hands and bow their heads. He came and stood next to Shar and grabbed her hand just as Mr. Dorsey began the prayer. Shar had to admit that she didn’t hear a word of Mr. Dorsey’s prayer because she could hear nothing over the loud flutter of her heart as Nicoli squeezed her hand.