Dominion by Randy Alcorn Read Free Book Online

irrational thoughts plagued him like bats swarming through the attics of his mind. He braced himself as he got out of the car in the church parking lot bustling with mourners.
“Clarence, oh my Lawd, Clarence.”
“We gonna miss her so. Ohhh…”
Hugs and tears swarmed him from all directions. This wasn’t a shake hands occasion, but a time for lingering embrace. Nobody could weep like black folk— they’d had centuries of practice. Clarence waded through the sea of people to the church entrance, not even seeing some who comforted him from the sides and behind.
“Hello, Clarence. I’m terribly sorry.” This approach was different, a handshake, not a hug, surprisingly controlled. Clarence looked into the eyes of Reginald Norcoast, the popular councilman whose district included North Portland. Though he was white, he was known as a cutting-edge advocate of black concerns.
Clarence nodded to Norcoast, choosing not to say anything but wondering, What are you doing at my sister’s funeral?
Like most in North Portland, Dani had trusted Norcoast. Clarence, on the other hand, saw him as a pretentious bureaucrat, self-packaged as Mother Teresa in a business suit. Except Mother Teresa didn’t wear a Rolex, drive a Beemer, or smoke fancy cigars to celebrate political victories.
“Look at all these people whose lives your sister touched,” Norcoast said. “You should be very proud of her.”
“I am,” Clarence said.
“Councilman Norcoast!” An excited commoner greeted the royalty. Clarence watched the public servant glad-hand the crowd. Of course. The explanation was obvious. This was a campaign appearance. Norcoast, the consummate opportunist. No wonder he was already the heavy favorite for Portland’s mayoral race next year. At only forty-four and immensely popular, he had a likely future as senator or governor.
In tow behind Norcoast came his wife, Esther, a stately woman, prematurely gray but well preserved, with a few cosmetic tucks and rolls. A personal and political asset to her husband, ever graceful and elegant, she wore stunning jewelry, including the gold guardian angel pin always prominent on her ensemble.
Dani could have used a guardian angel.
Geneva turned just then and saw her. “Esther!”
“Oh, Geneva!” Esther Norcoast threw her arms around Geneva Abernathy. The two had met several times before and felt a kinship.
“How kind of you to come, Esther. Thank you.”
She came because her husband came, that’s why, and he came as a campaign tactic.
Clarence watched the two women and saw tears flow from both of them. He felt a tinge of guilt, realizing this woman might be entirely sincere after all. Perhaps he had judged both the councilman and her too harshly. Geneva always said he was cynical.
A dark-skinned, white-gloved usher in a tuxedo presented himself with aplomb and seated Clarence and his family in the front row of Ebenezer Temple.
A passionate choir, rocking back and forth, sang an old slave song—“Soon I will be donna wid da troubles of da world, da troubles of da world; I’m goin’ home to live wid God!” They built up to the chorus: “No more weepin’ and wailin’, no more weepin’ and wailin’, no more weepin’ and a wailin’, I’m goin’ to live wid God!”
“I’m goin’ to live wid God” sounded like a triumphant declaration rather than an unwilling acquiescence, and the apparent inconsistency bothered Clarence. Maybe that’s why he never really liked the slave songs Daddy always sang under his breath. He couldn’t be romantic about slavery, sharecropping, separate drinking fountains, beatings, hangings, hatred, and injustice. You don’t look for the good in things like that. Clarence wasn’t one to whine about it, never one to use it as an excuse. But he certainly wasn’t going to pretend it was all some blessing in disguise. Like the brutality of slavery itself, Dani’s death was a horrible tragedy, pure and simple. Nobody should try to make it anything