Come Sunday Morning by Terry E. Hill Page B

Hezekiah.” There was a pause. Then, “I don’t think you have any choice other than to step down.”
    Hezekiah sat astonished, unable to speak. At that moment life slowly began to seep from his body.

7
Tuesday
    S amantha Cleaveland lay awake in the massive oak bed as Hezekiah slept at her side. It was 7:10 on Tuesday morning. She’d been awake since 5:30 A.M ., staring out the window, watching the sun rise over the city. The bed headboard loomed above their heads like the facade of an Italian cathedral with peaks that almost reached the ceiling. Ornately carved mahogany pillars stood at the foot of the massive structure.
    The bed had belonged to her deceased mother, Florence Weaver. A few porcelain figurines and the bed were the only items belonging to Florence that Samantha felt worthy of occupying space in her home after her mother died.
    Samantha often wondered how Mama Flo, as everyone called her, could have afforded the magnificent piece of furniture. She wished her mother could have seen the bed in its opulent new home. Samantha knew that Mama Flo would have been very impressed.
    A vanity with a large oval etched mirror was perfectly positioned to catch the light from the window. The surface held expensive perfumes, which provided more evidence for discerning noses that Samantha wore only the finest of everything. Fresh flowers sat on a table between two overstuffed chairs. The mantel over the fireplace held more gold-framed pictures of the Cleavelands.
    Hezekiah jerked as he grudgingly emerged from a fitful sleep. Silk pajamas stroked his skin with each twist of his body. For a brief luxurious moment he could feel Danny nuzzling his ear and stroking his thick black hair. He slowly entered the reality of his true location as his eyes adjusted to the light and saw the oak posts standing guard at his feet.
    â€œWhat time is it?” he asked, sitting up abruptly.
    Samantha looked up and then rolled onto her side with her back to him “Seven-ten,” she curtly replied.
    â€œWhy didn’t you wake me? You know I have to meet with the contractor this morning.”
    â€œWhere were you last night?”
    â€œDon’t start, Samantha. I don’t have time for your paranoia this morning,” he snapped, and stormed into the adjoining master bathroom.
    â€œYou’re not going to put me through this again!” she shouted, jumping from the bed and throwing a pillow behind him. “I won’t stand by and let you humiliate me again!” Her rage was legendary behind closed doors in the Cleaveland house, but this time it was different.
    The image of the pistol in her purse flashed as she continued to scream and burst through the bathroom door. “You can’t do this to me again!”
    Hezekiah had already removed his pajamas and was stepping into the shower when she entered. His long, muscular body gave no hint of his divine calling. Without his clothes he didn’t look like the elegant clergyman most knew but rather like a man who could satisfy the most carnal of desires.
    On most mornings Hezekiah would meditate under the flow of hot water, but this morning his ritual was interrupted by the attack escalating beyond the glass shower door.
    â€œWho is she?” Samantha demanded. “Is she from church? Is it Catherine? I should have never let you hire that bitch!”
    â€œLeave Catherine out of this,” he sternly shouted over the shower door. “She doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
    â€œThen who is it? You’ve already fucked half the staff. Who’s left?”
    Exhausted and broken by a long year of lying, and now her tirade, Hezekiah placed his hands against the tile above his head and shouted, “It’s nobody from church, all right?”
    He began to sob into the stream of water flowing on his face as the words fell without consent from his wet lips.
    â€œI knew it. You fucking bastard. How could you do this to