Sister Betty Says I Do (2 page)

Sasha then leaned back against the sofa. “So if ya ready to get off that high horse of yourn, we can get started on planning this shindig of a wedding reception.”

“Why do you want to do something that I obviously don't want you to do?” Sister Betty asked before adding, “For the last time, neither of you is invited.”

Sasha let out a loud sigh, hoping what she was about to say sounded reasonable or, better yet, truthful. “To tell the truth, I'm entering the business world,” Sasha confessed. “Perhaps with she-rilla. We're pooling our knowledge of what's trending, and planning upscale events.”

As if on cue, Bea raised her head and slowly tried to sit up straight, failing to silence the annoying cracking sound from her back. “That's right. We haven't made up our minds yet, but we're thinking about calling it A B.S. Event.” Leaning forward, she explained further, “Those are also our initials.” Falling back, she smiled a little and then continued. “We even have a slogan. ‘If somebody else plans it, then it's not B.S.' ” Bea paused and raised her pen in the air. “I need a little mo' time to work on yo guest list and get yo reception invites hand-printed and into the mail. This time I'm gonna see to it that it's done right, because I'm doing it myself and all by myself.”

With her pillbox hat leaning to the side, Sasha boasted, “I'm in charge of finding places to hold the events. That's called venue hunting.”

Sister Betty's fingers lifted her wig a little, and she began to scratch her scalp in frustration. She became mute, unable to believe Bea's crazier than normal audacity

Bea quickly dropped her head. She licked the lead tip of the pencil before she began to scribble something on a yellow legal pad. Suddenly, without warning, she lifted her head and added, “And if Trustee Noel even thinks about getting sick again, so y'all can't get married this time, I gonna whup him so bad, even the good Lord won't recognize him!”

“He was sick!” Sister Betty barked. “And if it didn't bother me none, I don't see why it's anybody's business when and how I get married. . . .”

Sister Betty's eyes moistened as she recalled when her fiance, Trustee Freddie Noel, collapsed last February. It had happened just a few days shy of their wedding day, after he'd fallen earlier in the week while trying to shovel snow, which was rare in Pelzer. He'd spent a few days in the hospital, which caused them to postpone their wedding day. Freddie had returned home with the cause of the collapse undetermined.

“Your problem is that when you ain't being too uppity, you too nice,” Sasha chimed in, interrupting Sister Betty's thoughts. “That's why me or Bea gonna plan this wedding reception for ya!”

“Tell her, Sasha!”

Sasha raised her cane. “Are you deaf or something, Bea? Didn't I just tell her?”

Sister Betty found herself fingering the cross around her neck. As she looked around the living room, her eyes finally landed upon the large red velvet-backed picture of Jesus hanging over the fireplace. All she could do was stare at His peaceful countenance and pray.
Lord, if you don't help me with these aggravating women, I'm gonna need some of your forgiveness for premeditated violence and bail money.

“At the moment we're almost finished with outlining things,” Sasha announced proudly, interrupting Sister Betty's silent prayer. “I've got some great ideas, and Bea thinks she has one or two, as well.”

“Yep, I've got it down pat. And this time it'll go off without a hitch,” Bea sneered, “despite what place this lil Smurf done thought to hold it.”

Throwing up her hands, Sister Betty gritted her teeth. “Are you two back to name-calling and wasting my time?”

“You know these are just our pet names.” Sasha winked at Sister Betty before clicking her false teeth, signaling she was lying, again. Sasha then rushed from the sofa and pressed a sheet of paper into Sister Betty's hand. “Now, all you hafta do is look over what I've written and decide which of these here venues is good enough for you. Just make it quick, because I have other things to attend to.”

“When ya finish balling up that wad of stupidity,” Bea quipped, “ya can take my suggestions and let me run with them.”

“I've had enough!” Sister Betty yelled, causing Sasha to retreat back to the sofa. “How many times I need to tell you two that this may be my first marriage, but I've known a carnal nature before, and I've been to a few weddings, too? So for the last time, you two can leave now, because I know what I want and how I want it.” Sister Betty watched Sasha, who was not one to tolerate being pushed around, pitifully try to cross her parentheses-shaped arthritic legs.

“That may be,” Sasha said coldly, “but everybody at the church knows your fiance, Freddie Noel, skinny and as yellow as a number two pencil, ain't ever had the wrapping taken off his old carnal pleasure. . . .”

“What'd you say?” Sister Betty could feel her fist take on a life of its own as it began to ball up again.

Ignoring Sister Betty again, Sasha continued. “You gonna need some advice before Trustee Freddie returns from his monthly prison ministry visits.”

“How do you know where my fiance goes?”

“I know more than you think I do,” Sasha replied. “I know another thing, too.”

“What?” The veins in Sister Betty's scalp began to pulsate. She could feel the heat rise from her head. She was hot!

Sasha was determined to finish what she thought was a blow to Sister Betty's foolish confidence in matters of a worldly nature. “I know that you know nothing about how to start a life with a man his age who's probably still a virgin. He acts like he's had very little experience in the ways of womanizing.”

Sister Betty jammed her hand inside the pocket of her nightgown and felt around for a safety pin or a nail clipper, anything to jab Sasha. “You're going too far, Sasha. I believe I got something, though, that'll bring you back.”

“Sister Betty, stop acting shy and extra saved,” Sasha snapped while pointing toward Bea, who had remained busy writing on her legal pad throughout their exchange. “At least ask Bea about such sexual matters. Low-life folks she ran with back in her day called her Bea Baby Doll. This ole heifer ran a gambling parlor and a bawdy house. Everybody knows she's done more than just a little prison time, and you know in there they learn new tricks every day. So if anyone can show you how to keep your man happy with more than just baking him a mind-crippling red velvet cake, this ole she-rilla silverback can.”

“Betty, how do you spell Becton?” Bea had suddenly turned to face Sister Betty, with her eyes twitching like a pair of Mexican jumping beans. “Is it b-a-c-k-t-u-n? And are you also taking the name Noel?”

Bea quickly dropped her head again. The front of her curly plum-colored wig moved down onto her forehead, leaving her fez slanted. She continued focusing on the legal pad in her lap, with only her dark, plump cheeks blowing in and out showing any sign of life, not acknowledging Sasha's tasteless attempt at promoting her sexual expertise and exploits from her pre- and early Christian past.

Obviously still ignoring Sister Betty's complaint, Bea began pushing her wig back into place and adjusting the fez before she spoke again. “I've been calling ya Sister Betty for more than forty years, and I ain't ever had to spell yo last name. I'm guessing, though, that you'd want it printed on the reception invites. I'm also guessing you'd want to invite them nosy next-door fake detective cousins, Joy and Patience, as well as some of your relatives, like Thurgood and Delilah Pillar from New York.”

“Just put all your angst to rest,” Sasha told Sister Betty softly, as though she'd not said a mean word in the last two minutes. Then, sitting sideways and with her pointing finger flipped at Bea, she continued. “We can get Porky and Grandma Pudding to cater it. You'll see that idea written on my venue suggestion list. And once the health department gives Porky the go-ahead to reopen the El Diablo Soul Food Shanty, we can hold the reception in the back room.” Sasha pointed at the paper in Sister Betty's hands. “You'll see it written down.”

“Have mercy” Bea raised one hand and nodded at Sister Betty. She then used her hand to circle her head, indicating what she thought of Sasha's idea. “Look, I got to go and get things started,” Bea announced suddenly, before winking at Sister Betty. “All I can say,” she added, “is that when you and Freddie show up for the reception, y'all better be wearing sunglasses, 'cause you two gonna look like stars!”

“I believe it's you two nosy, Satan-serving she-witches that'd better be wearing sunglasses to cover the black eyes I'll give you if you come anywhere near me and Betty's wedding dray!”

Sister Betty turned around fast enough to cause whiplash. “Freddie! When did you get here?”

“I
've been standing in the foyer for the past ten minutes, listening to these two interfering and signifying. Dang busybodies, the both of them. Ain't their business about what should or shouldn't be going on in folks' private bedrooms.”

Trustee Freddie Noel's yellowish complexion had turned almost ashen from anger. Before Sister Betty, Sasha, or Bea could say another word, he had already crossed the carpet and stood hovering over Sasha and Bea.

With his long bony fingers waving between the two church mothers, he blasted them further. “Let me tell you two meddlesome she-demons another thing.”

Bea tried to rise up to show she wasn't afraid of Freddie. As much as she wanted to do so, all she managed was to move farther back on the sofa.

Sasha's cane kept slipping out of her hand, so she kept quiet.

“Freddie, please,” Sister Betty pleaded. “Neither of them is worth it.”

“Don't move a muscle, Honey Bee. I want you to stay right where you are!” He clasped his hands and began cracking his knuckles slowly before shuffling his feet rope-a-dope-style like Muhammad Ali. “When I'm finished with them, you can throw the leavings out into the street.”

As he turned around once more to face Bea and Sasha, Freddie's eyes began blinking, alternating between widening and narrowing. “If I catch either of you two over here again, interfering, insinuating, signifying, or bothering my sweet Betty, with so much as a howdy-do about what she and I have or haven't ever done, again—”

Sasha didn't wait for Freddie to finish. “Oh really!” she growled, trying to match his threats with as much masculinity as she could in a desperate act of intimidation. “So then what are you gonna do . . . if we do?”

Freddie bent down and now stood close enough to smell the odor of the snuff Sasha always claimed she never dipped. “I will put my foot so far up your scrawny tail that every time you open your big mouth, folks can see what color drawers you're wearing!” He stood and then added, “That is, if it's a day that you're wearing any. Everybody knows and has seen that you don't always adhere to the feminine trappings of underwear.”

It took a few moments for Sister Betty to wrap her head around what had just happened. She'd never seen that side of Freddie, although she could certainly understand Bea and Sasha pushing him to that point. “My God,” she murmured.

Without saying another word, besides a unified “Harrumph,” Bea and Sasha gathered their belongings. With Betty and Freddie walking close behind, the two stubborn old women took their time heading toward the front door.

Sister Betty knew Sasha wasn't leaving without having the last word.

No sooner had Sasha stepped outside and onto the front porch than she turned toward Freddie. She curled her lips, turned her head, and said boldly to Sister Betty, “We'll see you at Wednesday night prayer meeting.”

“That's right,” Bea finally chimed in with her own version of false bravado. She began waving her legal pad in Sister Betty's direction. “Perhaps then you'll explain to the people of God how it is that the man you ain't married to yet can come and go into your house, as well as insult good Christian-like folks with good inventions!”

“Intentions, Bea, intentions!” Sasha groaned, correcting her before shaking her head and appearing disgusted.

“Whatever!” Bea snapped. “They are doing sinful things. I just know it! I know a sinner when I see one.” Bea then turned to Sasha and quipped, “C'mon, sinner, er . . . Sasha. We gotta figure out which of those dumb ideas you have on where to hold the reception at that we're gonna toss out.”

 

It took only a short time after Sasha and Bea's visit before Freddie led Betty back into her living room. She told him about the unsettling vision she'd had the night before Bea and Sasha's visit. “I should've known God was trying to warn me so they wouldn't pluck my last praying nerve,” she said before they both fell to their knees.

Soon after saying a fervent prayer in which they repented and asked God for restoration, the couple, hand in hand, entered Sister Betty's spacious kitchen.

“I feel such peace every time we come in here together,” she sighed.

Sister Betty and Freddie had already decided to sell his home once they were married. His house was only around the corner. With that in mind, she'd had her kitchen redecorated. It seemed like a practical idea, seeing as how they both loved to cook and would need extra space. They'd had it remodeled in cherrywood, everything but the sink, stove, and refrigerator. There was also a mirrored ceiling, which reflected the shine from the speckled white marble tiles and the red and white walls. In the center of the kitchen was an island that took up most of the space.

The long center counter was Freddie's idea. He'd said he wanted to look into the saintly eyes of his beautiful Honey Bee each time they cooked.

The night before Bea and Sasha had barged in, Sister Betty had made a pitcher of his favorite lemon-flavored green tea. After pouring the tea they sat for a moment in silence, sipping slowly, while Freddie smiled and embraced her with the gleam in his eyes.

Sister Betty soon rose and began busying herself about the kitchen. “Take this bowl and snap the beans for supper,” she told Freddie. “It'll give you something to do. You're making me blush looking at me. I'm not used to that,” she teased.

Freddie laughed and replied, “I guess beans will do as a substitute since I couldn't snap Bea's and Sasha's necks.”

Sister Betty didn't join in the laughter, as she normally would have. Instead, she silently prayed for wisdom. Despite his praying earlier, she wasn't convinced his overhearing Bea's and Sasha's assaults on his manhood, particularly his possible lack of a lot of female contact, hadn't humiliated him. The way he'd reacted had taken her completely by surprise. Threatening Bea and Sasha in such a manner wasn't how she had expected her shy fiance to respond.

Deep in thought and prayer, she almost pulled the kitchen drawer out of the cabinet while trying to get at the utensils to ice the cake she'd baked the night before.
Heavenly Father, I need some of your wisdom
, she thought prayerfully. She would one day soon become his wife, and now was as good a time as any to learn how to make him feel more comfortable and manly.

“Freddie,” Sister Betty murmured sweetly while placing the cover on the cake plate.

Lifting his head, which he kept down while he snapped the beans, he replied, “Yes, honey?”

Sister Betty wiped her hands on a towel, walked over, and stood behind him. Her slender fingers began instinctively massaging his slightly stooped shoulders, as though she'd done so for many years.

“I know we've gone before the Lord and worked it out with Him, but you made me proud standing up for me and battling those two old, nosy she-demons.” She hoped that bringing it back up wouldn't make him feel bad, since she intended on making him feel better. She needed him to know that she felt safe, protected. It didn't matter how much or when was the last time he'd had carnal knowledge. After all, it wasn't like she thought about or cared whether he ever took home the gold from the sex Olympics when she accepted his proposal.

Freddie gently removed her hands and turned to face her. “I know I said it already, but I'll say it again. I'm sorry, Honey Bee. The last thing I wanted to do when I saw your side door open was to walk in here and find those two old crows mouthing off. The truth is that I just need to pray more.”

“Well, since we're being truthful,” she replied with a strong laugh that caused her shoulders to heave, “one of the last things I'd wanted was for you to walk in here and catch my wig all lopsided.”

“Come to think of it,” he replied, smiling as he looked her up and down, “you could be completely bald, honey, and it still wouldn't matter.”

“Well, since you put it that way, I won't hold that or your anger at those two meddlesome women against you. Fact is, I'd been up since the break of dawn, trying to get the most out of the last day of my prayer fast, when they came by without being invited.”

“Well, we won't let them ruin what's left of the day. By the way, isn't that lovely lawyer cousin of yours, Sharvon, returning to Pelzer today?” A smile blanketed Freddie's face, where moments before tired lines had connected his brow to his cheekbones. “It's good she's coming back to stay awhile. Having young folks around can sometimes put more pep in your step.”

“I know what you mean. I never thought I'd feel this way about some of my kinfolks, but I just love having her around. I'm just happy that this time she'll be here for more than a few weeks. She may join this big law office. But don't say nothing, because I'm not supposed to jinx it. At least, that's what she believes.”

“Young people say the craziest things.” His words were followed by a smile. “But I say if it's God's will, then she'll get the partnership.” Freddie checked his watch and added, “What time is Sharvon's plane landing?”

Betty turned to look at the kitchen clock. “Oh my. If it's on time, then I've less than an hour to get to the Greenville-Spartanburg airport.”

“I'd go with you, but it's my turn to gather books and stamps for the prison ministry.”

“I know you would if you could. God's always got a ram in the bush.”

“And we thank Him for that,” Freddie told her. “So you'd better put a move on before your spiritual son, Reverend Tom, arrives before you're ready.”

When Sister Betty returned about fifteen minutes later, she quietly laid her Bible on the counter. “Ahem. Praise the Lord, son.”

The thirtysomething reverend Leotis Tom, all six feet five inches of him, laid down the fork he held in midair, cake crumbs falling down. “Praise Him, Sister Betty.” Leotis rose and wiped cake crumbs from his mouth with a napkin. “As usual, you've put your foot in this cake and made it beyond scrumptious. I don't care if it's healthy or not.”

“I probably should've told him not to touch that cake.” Freddie winked at Leotis, while at the same time pushing aside his own saucer littered with cake crumbs.

Leotis turned toward Freddie, returning the wink. “Trustee Noel, here it is you've gotten me in trouble again with my spiritual mama. How many times are you going to make me have to apologize to her?”

Sister Betty said nothing, preferring to pretend that she was very disappointed that they'd cut the cake by shaking her head hard enough to cause her sun hat to slide a little.

Despite the supposed annoyed look on her face, Leotis walked over and kissed her on her cheek before returning to his seat.

“Don't bother trying to soften me up.” Sister Betty looked him up and down as though for the first time before she broke out in a smile. “Look at you. I see you're out of uniform today.”

There was no turned-around collar or dark-colored clothing, his usual preacher's wardrobe, which often hid the results of a healthy lifestyle, namely, running track and engaging in constant workouts. Instead, he wore a red shirt with short sleeves that seemed to burst at the seams from his huge muscles, along with matching trousers, which were not quite as tight yet revealed chiseled thighs and legs. His dark, curly hair was damp around the edges from perspiration, and there was just a hint of moisture on his caramel-complexioned face and playfulness in his hazel eyes.

“First, you come in here and cut my chocolate cake without asking, and now you standing here, looking at me like I'm Betty dum-dum,” she teased. “You see, my fiance, who's still in trouble, won't stand for that.”

“That's right,” Freddie chimed in. “Don't let me hafta get someone else to lay hands on ya. I'd do it . . . but I need these paws to lift another forkful of cake.”

All three broke out in laughter. It was their ritual. They loved one another just as much as if they had more than just the
blood
of Jesus between them.

“Come on, Mrs. Soon-to-Be Noel,” Leotis said, laughing. “Let's go get that gorgeous cousin of yours. I'm sure she's missed you.”

“Yeah,” Freddie added with a wink, “and I'm sure there's someone in this kitchen who, if
he
tells the truth, will admit he's missed Sharvon, too—and I don't mean in a sisterly fashion, as he claims.”

“I know what you're hinting about, but you just worry about getting this one to the altar,” Leotis said as he pointed to Sister Betty. “When God sends me the right woman, I'll know it.”

“And how will you know it's the right one?” Sister Betty asked as she folded her arms across her chest, staring at him hard, daring him to be more specific.

Leotis folded his massive arms across his chest likewise. Without flinching or giving an inch in tone, he replied, “I'll know because there'll be not just one to choose from, but two.” His voice suddenly became more serious in tone. “I'll know because just like King Solomon wisely thought of a way to tell the real mother of the baby in question, God will show me the right choice to make whenever the time comes.”

“Good thing you ain't preaching that nonsense to the good people at Crossing Over Sanctuary,” Sister Betty teased. “We'd have nothing but bachelors and men trying to get out of marriages. And you know the women would be cranky about it.”

Leotis laughed. “I guess they would at that. And speaking of cranky women, I had a call from Mother Pray Onn just as I was leaving.”

A look of guilt spread between Sister Betty and Freddie, as though they were expecting a reprimand from their pastor.