The First Lady by Carl Weber Read Free Book Online Page B

the female cancer ate Mama to her grave, Daddy couldn’t bear the memories that bedroom held, so he moved into the bedroom that I had grown up in. I didn’t mind having the bigger bedroom at all. And staring at that flowered wallpaper Mama had fallen in love with at Kmart reminded me of her every day—the only good memory I had in my life.
    Once I got to my room, I immediately kicked off my house shoes and replaced them with my black pumps to match my black knee-length skirt. Perhaps I shouldn’t wear a black skirt, or a white blouse, for that matter. Seeing as how these were the required wardrobe colors that we wore in the church choir, it almost made it seem like I hadn’t bothered to change clothes after services. I did change, though. This white blouse had ruffles along the neckline and down the front, and the skirt I wore to church earlier was longer, ankle-length. But I was certain the bishop wouldn’t notice. No one besides the hens paid such close attention to me.
    After tightening the bun in my hair, Daddy’s words set in, and I wish I had also decided to change my hairstyle too. Daddy was right; I always wore my hair in its same old bun. Nobody knew that I had hair dang near down to my butt.
    “What’s taking you so long?” my eager father, sticking his head in my door, asked. “Come barefoot and naked if you got to … dang! You don’t keep a man waiting this long.” Daddy signaled with his hand for me to follow him out. He then led the way to the living room where the bishop sat waiting on the couch.
    “Here she is, Bishop,” Daddy said, introducing me like I was Miss America. He then plucked and brushed a couple of pieces of lint off my shoulder.
    “Sister Savannah,” the bishop said, rising off the couch and extending his hands to me.
    After a nudge from Daddy, I walked over and placed my hands in the bishop’s. “Good to see you again today, Bishop,” I said as we shook hands and then released. I turned and walked back toward Daddy, who had a very displeased look on his face. If he could have, he would have pushed me a little harder, right into the bishop’s arms.
    “It certainly smells good,” the bishop said with a smile. Funny thing was, I had never noticed before just how nice a smile the bishop had.
    “Savannah’s been slaving all afternoon over this meal, Bishop,” Daddy bragged. “She wanted to make sure everything was just right for you. And I took the liberty of tasting it. Girl cooks better than her mama, and you know how well Sister Doreen could cook.”
    I stood there staring at Daddy for a moment, ready to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, just in case he started to choke on that lie he just told. Not five minutes ago he was telling me how inferior my cooking was, and now he was raving as if I were the black Julia Child. I figured I had to get Daddy away from the spot he was standing in before the lightning struck, so I suggested we go sit down for dinner.
    “Dinner’s all ready, so why don’t we go eat?” I said, bound and determined to stuff something into Daddy’s mouth before he could say another word.
    Daddy asked the bishop to bless the food, but Bishop Wilson insisted that the man of the house have the honor as the head of the table. During dinner, I could barely get a word in edgewise. Seems as though Daddy was set on doing all the talking.
    “So, Bishop,” Daddy asked, “what do you think about Savannah’s outfit? She picked it out just for this evening.”
    “Nice,” the bishop managed to say before placing one of my homemade dumplings in his mouth. If it were up to my daddy, he wouldn’t have even managed to get that bite down. “But you didn’t have to do that, Sister Savannah. The skirt you had on earlier today would have been just fine.”
    He noticed?
I took a bite of chicken. It wasn’t until after dessert that I could squeeze in a word or two.
    “Did you enjoy that cobbler?” I asked the bishop.
    “Oh, did I,” the bishop said after