UNTIL MONDAY

UNTIL MONDAY

Angel opened the front door and watched as Steven Murphy trotted on tipped toes out the front door.  He was yet another hopeful replacement for Emmanuel that turned out to be a disappointment.  He possessed all the material aspects, associated with the term: a good man.  He was single, held an established position at a big law firm, owned his living quarters, and drove a nice vehicle. Unfortunately he lacked personality, and through no fault of his own, he was biologically insufficient.  He was no comparison to Emmanuel. Angel feigned a smile as she stared at the balding man.

Steven asked, “I know today is your brother-in-law’s funeral, but will you call me tonight when you get home?” He gazed at her with his lips pouted.  He was fifty-one, but his behavior reminded her of a 20-year old college student.

“I sure will,” Angel answered, she ignored the over-sized pouted lips and shut the door.

She walked back up her staircase and stopped to gaze over the banister, “Forgive me Lord,” she said, as she stared down into the living room.  From where she stood, she could see the bible on the coffee table.  She felt like a great sinner. Here she was trying once again to replace Emmanuel and it was taking a spiritual toll.  Especially since Marshall, her brother-in-law had just died.  It was as if she suddenly realized that life was too short for fighting the ones you love. 

With a long sigh she walked back into her room.  She dropped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.  That’s when the phone rang. The sound irritated her. She glanced over, figured was it was Steven Murphy calling about something he’d forgotten. But when she noticed Emmanuel’s name had popped up, she jumped up and answered.

“Lovely,” he cried as he usually did when he needed help, “I just got stopped by the police, they’re running my name.”

“Not good Emmanual,” she said.

“I know. They found the shotgun in the back seat,” he said.

Angel inhaled and closed her eyes.  Since she had made him leave, he stayed in a world of trouble, it was as if the old Emmanuel, the boy that was in and out of jail, had returned.

 “Why were you stopped?

 “My windshield cracked--”

“And the gun,” Angel said.

“I went to the range yesterday and didn’t take it out of the car.  It’s on the floor in the backseat.”

“Did they see it?

“Yeah, but they didn’t take.  They asked if I had a permit and I told them my wife had a permit.”

“Not for that gun, Emmanuel.”

“I know. I know. I’m so stupid without you,” he started in a whine.

As she sat there listening to him vent, she was reminded of the time he was so intoxicated he hit a parked car.  She was in the passenger seat, but after he hit the car, they both got out and switched places without saying a word to one another.  It turned out the person Emmanuel had hit didn’t speak English and couldn’t explain to the police officer that Angel wasn’t driving.  The man became so irate, the police ended up giving him a ticket. They filed a claim with the insurance company and got their car fixed.  This is karma, Angel thought as she listened to Emmanuel’s ramble.

When the officer returned, she heard her say to Emmanuel, “When backup arrives, we’ll search the vehicle.  Are there any other weapons in the car or anything we should know about?”

“I got weed,” Emmanuel said to the officer.   “Lovely, they want to search the car.  Isn’t today Marshall’s funeral?    I’m going to miss his funeral,” there was anguish in his tone.

“You won’t miss the funeral, I’ll bail you out.  Where are you?”

“I’m at Eaton Borough,” He said.

Angel was about to ask, what he’d been doing in Eaton, the town was more than thirty minutes from Beth Aven. But she didn’t bother to ask. “I hope I get there before they take you away.”

“You probably will, this car is from Beth Aven,” he said.

Angel got up and got dressed.  Before she left out the door she said a silent prayer, but as she walked down the hall, she fell to her knees, “God, please intervene—if you see fit.”

By the time Angel reached Eaton the sun had just set.  Just as Emmanuel stated, he was still there. It was March and the smell of fresh flowers filled the air.  Emmanuel’s truck was parked on the edge of a thicket of woods.  He was handcuffed and in the back seat of one police car. Two officers stood outside of another police car pulled behind the car with Emmanuel inside. Angel pulled behind the second car.

“I’m his wife,” she said when she got out of her car and approached the officers.

“Your husband is being arrested for possession of a gun, marijuana and drug paraphernalia, he’s a felon and not allowed to carry any type of weapon,” one of the officers replied.

 Angel nodded her head and remained calm as she listed, “can I move his truck?”

“Yes, or we’ll have to tow it.  He’ll be taken to the Eaton Borough Police Station.”

“I can’t bail him out?”

“You can,” the officer replied, “but better do it soon, he’ll be moved to Beth Aven.”

Angel nodded her head and watched as one police car went in one direction. She stared at the one that had Emmanuel in the back seat. It sped away as if it were going to a crime scene.  It was a warm morning, but windy and inside she felt as if the world had turned on her.  Nothing mattered at that moment, except Emmanuel.  He was probably going to be in a great deal of trouble.  She decided to put up his bail and let him come home.  Hopefully she could get him out in time for Marshall’s funeral.  It was still early 7 a.m., so she had plenty of time.  Without wasting another moment.  She drove his truck to a nearby supermarket and caught a taxi back to her car. Then she called her sister, Cordelia.

“I’m almost ready,” Cordelia said when she answered the phone.

“Lier, it’s 7 o’clock in the morning.”

“Oh,” Cordelia answered and she laughed through the phone

“Good thing it’s this early because I’m not, ready,” Angel said, “I need a bails bondsman for Emmanuel.”

“Why—what happened?”

“He got locked up for having a gun and marijuana,” Angel said in a somber tone.  “I want to bail him out and get to the funeral.  Do you know a bails bondsman?”

“Now you know Jersey would know a bail bondsman,” she said, and she laughed, “crazy how our lives are changing.”

“That’s so true.  I don’t want to bother Jersey now though,” Angel said.

“I get that, Jonas knows one too—Jonas—Jonas,” Cordelia called and she dropped the phone and then returned, “try this guy, Larry Griffith,” she said and she gave Angel the number.

Angel wrote the number on a sheet of paper, “if I’m not at the church before the service is over, can you let Jersey know why?”

“Yes, I will.  Jersey’ll understand—”

“I think I’ll make it, it’s so early,” Angel replied.

“Well even if you don’t, you know how she was when Marshall got arrested, she did everything in her power to bring him home, that’s for sure. So I know she’ll understand.”

 “I know,” Angel laughed.  “That’s so true.  She put it all on the line for him.  I think I’m going to let Emmanuel come back home.”

Cordelia hesitated, then she replied, “I think that’s a good idea.  He can’t get it together without you.  Besides, we all make mistakes and when you love somebody you have to take the good with the bad.”

“That’s so true.  Honestly, I don’t even remember everything he did.   I got it written down though,” she said with assurance, “ I’ll see you at the funeral one way or another.”

“Call me if you need anything—I have a couple of dollars.”

Angel hung up and called the bail bondsman. There was no answer so she left a message with the details.  In no time he called back.  He advised her Emmanuel was moved to the county jail in Edom.

“The county? They said he was going to Beth Aven.”

“They’re probably waiting on Beth Aven, but they won’t hold him at that jail, especially since he has priors,” Larry Griffith, replied.

“Yes, I know,” Angel returned.

“His bail is set at $12,000, so it’s going to take $1200 cash to post him out.”

Angel shook her head as she listened, “Okay,” Angel said. 

It was 8 o’clock when she spoke with Larry.  Angel rushed to the bank and arrived at the county jail with the cash around 8:30am.  She hoped the process would go quickly.

Larry Griffith approached her, “Angel Knox,” he replied.  He looked so generic, just an average white guy, with a beard and glasses, dressed in jeans and a blue tee-shirt.

“Yes,” Angel said and she followed him inside the jail and took a seat.

He walked to the skewed black glass and said to the circular box in the center, Emmanuel Knox.

The voice behind the box repeated the name and then made a call over a radio.

Larry sat down next to Angel.  He explained the process to her of what would happen once he bailed Emmanuel out. 

Even though it had been almost twenty-years last Emmanuel was arrested, she knew the process well, but she listened attentively.

“He will have to report once a week and make all his court appearances,” Larry said. 

Angel nodded her head.  She signed paper after paper and gave up a copy of her pay stub and license.  Larry filled out his part, counted the cash Angel handed to him, and took all the forms back to the window.  He stuffed them under a small opening at the bottom of the glass.  After a few minutes, the voice on the other side of the glass replied, “it’ll be about thirty-minutes.  They’re just coming up from breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Larry said, once the papers came back out, he turned to Angel and smiled.  “He should be out soon, you can wait from him at the back gates, where they come out when they’re released.  I’ll show you where it is.”

Angel followed Larry out of the building, and he pointed her in the direction of the gate.  She got into her car and pulled around the back.  Parking was only available on the opposite side of the street, so she parked in a space with easy visibility to a green door. 

Eaton Borough was a poor district.  Opposite the jail was a project.  People walked about aimlessly.  An older woman stood at the bus stop with a pocketbook around her neck and kids ran around chasing one another.  It was 9:00 am at that time and she hoped they would let Emmanuel go by 10.  That would give them enough time to get home, shower, dress, and make it to the church before 11:30.   

As Angel waited she thought about the last time Emmanuel was in trouble with the law.  He was twenty when he had committed his last crime, he shot a man in the bar.  She remembered the phone call he made to her, how chilling his voice sounded.   The man didn’t die. The shooting was considered self-defense, as he tried to shoot Emmanuel.  But Emmanuel still had to serve five years in prison, because they found all kinds of drugs on him, dope, crack, pills and weed.  People testified Emmanuel had been a drug dealer. That’s what got him the five years.  His friends and family abandoned him.  Not one gave money towards bail, or a lawyer.  Angel, as poor as she was back then was the only person that didn’t give up on him. 

Five years was a relief.  He had faced twenty.  That time was like a drop in the bucket for Angel.  Emmanuel complained the entire time, but Angel knew his whereabouts and didn’t have to worry about him being shot and killed.  When he got out, he was different.  And it seemed like they had so much time to live and love and grow.  Now time was winding up—it was going quick. Too quick!  Angel thought, as she watched a group of young boys, emerge from an apartment and walk sluggishly down the street toward the bodega shop on the corner, just like they had all the time in the world.  It’s like that when you’re young—you think you have all the time in the world.

Angel looked up at the great big, blue sky and whispered beneath her breath, “please Lord,” she said beneath her breath, “let him go.”

She received a response too, as she sat there it dropped into her spirit, “I will—for now.”

It was then she noticed the green door open in the distance.  She noticed a figure emerge and although the figure was out of view, she could tell it was Emmanuel.  She was certain when he came into fuller view, she recognized his red sweatshirt and his black vest.

She got out of the car and waved her hands, the same way she did when she was that twenty-five-year-old girl, who waited for her lover.  He was thirty back then—now he was fifty-two.  When Emmanuel noticed her, his smile beamed with relief, like the sun that beams after a storm.  When he crossed over, Angel grabbed hold of him and hugged him.

“Lovely,” he said, he got in the passenger seat with a bunch of paperwork in his hand, “I’m facing some time with this one.”

Angel hesitated and then she said, “let’s go home and get dressed for the funeral, all that can wait—

The rights to the content/images on this page are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby,  and you do not  have the  right to use any of the content/images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jacqueline@dahtruth.com.  Thank you.

The Wizard of Oz

A stormy Friday night.  The pitch-black sky concealed everything but a great round moon.  Angel and her dog Maize were headed home to Parklund, and the weatherman was reporting wind gusts of 30-40 miles per hour on the radio.

 “Yah lying,” Angel screamed at the radio. 

The conditions had to be much worst.  Angel had just crossed the last bridge that connected New Bethill to Shiloh Hill.  Her eyes were focused.  The weather person had to be wrong, her Mercedes weaved about the road recklessly.  She gripped the wheel and downshifted.  The rain was mixed with ice, her tires were splotchy.  These were the times she wished Emmanuel was still part of her life.  She wished he was there to drive her home.  He would do that, come up to New Bethill where her office was and take her home, even if the weather wasn’t bad, but especially if it were bad. Whenever she did drive herself, he would call her over and over.  Sometimes he hung on the phone and talked to her till she got home.

He did other things too when it came to her car, he made sure the tires were rotated and had air.  He made sure the oil and breaks were changed and the headlights worked.  He made sure her gas tank was filled and she had windshield wiper fluid.  Angel turned the wipers on high and rolled her eyes. 

“Hon,” he said the last time it stormed.   He went out early that morning, he shoveled the driveway and had her car warmed and waiting when she came outside.  “Don't forget when you get to work, leave your wipers up.  It's suppose to snow again this afternoon,” he said.

She had worn the rain boots he had gotten her for her birthday, and he commented on how nice they were when she got into the car.  “Sexy,” he said, “wearing my boots.” Then after he inspected the car he walked to the edge of the driveway and directed her out.  Before she left he stopped her and gave her a kiss.

Almost a year ago, Angel thought.  She started to feel more confidence because she was only a few miles away from her house.  The radio played music, and just like that Angel realized the song was, I will Always Love you, by Whitney Houston.  She changed the station.  The last thing she wanted to do was hear a love song on a rainy, cold night. 

She slowed down as she approached the house. Her entire front yard was lit up like Christmas.  Emmanuel put motion lights on the front and if anything, or anyone was within six-feet of the front yard the lights came up.  Angel sat for a moment and glared at the massive structure.  She wanted that house so bad, did all she could to get the place because she thought that would be their final home. 

“It really is,” Angel said, “our final home, because we will never have another, not together.” With a sigh, she pulled into the driveway and got out of the car. 

Outside smelled of rain and snow. The wind was still fierce, it pounded on her back as she looked around at the trail of puddles that led to the pond next to her property.  During the summer months the sound of frogs would greet her, now it had been replaced by the sound of the rain hitting the water and the concrete.  The front gates were loose and her trash cans rolled around like tumble weeds.

“Damn,” she said, Maize jumped out the car and headed for the front door. 

Inside the house, Angel walked past her office, it was just off the front door.  The formal dining room was next, off to the right and straight ahead was the kitchen and the family room.  The windows crossed the entire back of the house and when Angel turned on the lights and glared into the dark black yard, a stroke of lightening lit up the black sky.

"Thunder and snow," Angel said.  For a moment she tried her best to remember if she had ever heard of such a thing.   

Maize rushed for the back door.  

“You would want to go out in all this,” Angel said. 

Maize, waited at the back door.  The little dog sat patiently and watched as Angel opened the frig, and poured herself a glass of wine.  Maize big, brown eyes followed her as she walked to the door. Angel patted her on the head and opened the door.

“I’ll give you five minutes, Maize,” Angel said.

The dog walked out with caution.  She peered into the darkness and after a few drops of the rain poured over her, she jumped down the steps.  The steps were iced in patches, but she followed the concrete path to the edge of the yard and jumped in the snow.  Angel returned to her wine glass and after she finished the glass, she poured another.  She went upstairs, got her rain jacket and took off the boots Emmanuel had gotten her and put on a worn-out, old and ratty pair of boots. Then she went outside to tend to Maize.

Outside the conditions were serious and Angel wasn’t sure if it was a snow storm, or a tornado.  The wind gusts were heavy, she could barely walk straight. The hail that poured out the sky prickled her face.   The shed door had opened with a bang and crashed shut.  The lights in the back were not as bright as the front, and Angel had to search in the darkness to find Maize.   She hoovered behind a tree, trembling her white fur saturated.  

Angel rushed to the dog and tried to pick her up, but Maize didn’t want that, she lifted her back leg and sprinkled.  Angel took off her rain jacket and tried to shield Maize from the elements, but her coat flopped about in the wind wildly.  She had worn a blue suit to work and was glad she had on her jacket, but after a few minutes it soaked through.  She put it back on her soaked body and glanced back at the shed.  The door started again.  It opened and closed, opened and closed and opened and closed.  The wind blew it with such force she feare the wind would catch the shed up and carry it in his grip until it landed somewhere over the rainbow.  

“My Goodness,” Angel cried.  She left Maize and rushed through a row of puddles.  The smell of dirt, rain and water filled her nostrils.  Once there she forced the door shut and tried to put the hook back on, but then she noticed the hook latch had been ripped from the wood. Fortunately, there was a padlock they didn’t use because Angel could never open it with the code.   She pulled the shed door open, stepped inside and reached her hand in front on her until she found the string for the light.  It came on, but it was still dark inside and smelled of gasoline from the quads that were against the walls.  When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she reached over a shelf lined with tools and  the padlock.  That's where she had discovered the pictures--the pictures he'd kept for years and years.  Angel shook her head and grabbed the padlock

With a heave, she pushed the door shut, locked the padlock and returned to Maize.  The wind had carried her off to another tree and the dog tried her best to walk towards the back door.  Angel grabbed Maize and was about to go inside, when she remembered the front gate.  Like the shed doors the gate was forced opened by the wind.

Angel dropped her head and started for the side of the house.  She was blown around as she came around the side of the house, with Maize tucked inside her jacket.  They were both soaked.  Angel’s feet were wet and she just wanted to turn around and go inside, forget about the gate.  She was almost at the gate when she was blinded by bright lights.  The lights didn’t just come from the front yard, but were directly before her.

She hesitated.  At first, she thought the police had come to rescue her from the storm.  Maybe the conditions were far worse than she even imagined.  As she stood staring at the light, a figure walked towards her carrying the trash cans.  It was then she realized it was Emmanuel.

He was like her night and shining armor.  He’d come to the rescue. Angel wanted to run towards him, reach out and grab him, but she stopped herself.  He walked over and grabbed the gate and held it in place with a strap, and then he set the trash cans inside.  He placed boulders on top to prevent them from blowing away.  All the while she stood and watched him, her eyes were blurry from the rain that fell upon her face.  Angel could have cried, she was filled with such gratefulness.  He had come to her rescue.

“You good,” he called out.  He stood with the rain pouring over his head, but he was as handsome as ever.  Wearing his every day leather jacket, and his favorite pair of jeans, flashing his white teeth.

Angel nodded her head, she just wanted to cry.  She just wanted him to stay with her and be her husband again.  The delight was overwhelming.

 “I just stopped by to make sure things were okay over here,” he said and he walked in her direction.

“Thanks,” Angel said. She smiled when he stood face to face with her.

“It was like The Wizard of Oz back here,” he said with a laugh.

Angel agreed, “Yes.  Thank you, Emmanuel,” she said and without a second thought she put her arms around him and held him close for a long moment.

He returned the embrace.  Held the back of her head like he used to.  He smelled fresh like soap and deodorant.

After their embrace, she stared at him for a long moment.  He was really like a wizard.  She stared into his eyes and wondered was he the man she had loved and given everything too.  In that very moment, as she watched him, the superhero, she wondered who he was.  Was he the man that stood before the minister and professed his undying love, or was this the man that kept pictures of naked women, that shared intimate photos of himself without a second thought.   Was this the man that promised to protect her from hurt or harm, or was this the man dumb enough to give another woman his home address.  As much as Angel wanted to let Emmanuel inside the house, as much as she wanted to invite him in to have a glass of wine, let him stay the night.  She realized she didn’t even know who he was.

“Thanks again” Angel said.  She pulled herself away and she walked to the door.  She hesitated only to watch Emmanuel return to his truck and drive off.

The rights to the content and images on this website are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby, and you have no right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jmbeausby@aol.com. 

The Portrait

Angel walked inside the courtroom with the portrait tucked beneath her arm.  It was an image of who she thought they once were. Inside, she propped the portrait next to the bag that held the letter that destroyed their marriage.  Angel wore the same white sleeveless dress, she’d worn for the portrait.

It was a beautiful portrait:  Angel, Emmanuel, and the kids.  They were all smiles. Angel had put great effort in her selection of appropriate outfits, outfits that reflected their personality.  She wanted that painting to depict the true image of an African American Family in love:  Black king, Black ueen and their Black children. 

The portrait was painted some ten years before, but had Angel refused to hang it on the wall.  She feared, though she would have never confessed, that the painting was a lie.  A fantasy.  Until, the day her dreams came true, it was after they had moved into the big house. Then Angel was satisfied.  Her guard down, she hung it on the wall.  She had measured the size of the gold frame, measured the exact height an average eye would see when they entered the foyer. She taped the outline to match the correct dimensions and lined the portrait up exactly on the middle stud. The perfect spot, for a perfect family.

How could she not see it was all a facade, as even on their good days together, Emmanuel had been unfaithful.  She laughed at herself.   So naive, she thought when she took her seat in front of the judge and told the story of the portriat.

As Angel gave the details, she glanced between the Judge and Emmanuel. The courtroom was hot and damp and wore the dank odor of truth and justice, lies and deceit.  Emmanuel stood with his chest out and held his hands behind his back, as if he were being arrested.  He smiled when Angel spoke of their family and the portrait and the years of marriage they had shared. He made faces, as if profound feelings filled him with memories of the happy home they once shared.  He appeared to be overcome with emotion and even pretended to wipe away tears.

But things shifted when Angel dug deep, she started the story of their last night together.  The night everything fell apart. Angel spoke as if it was just the two of them, with clarity, on purpose. 

“The night he left,” Angel started.

“Your Honor.  Your Honor,” Emmanuel cried. 

The Judge hit her gavel and stared at Emmanuel, “Mr. Knox, she hasn’t even began. Continue Mrs. Knox.”

Angel continued. She explained to the judge how they’d fought that night after he discovered her on the phone with one of his many girlfriends, “This woman was number, nine or ten,” Angel said.

“Lies, your honor, all lies,” Emmanuel said.

“One more time Mr. Knox,” the Judge warned.

Angel continued. She detailed to the judge the way Emmanuel behaved when he heard his girlfriends voice on speaker, “I was in the bedroom and he came in and tried to find the phone. I had it on speaker and put it under the dresser and he couldn’t find it. He looked everywhere. All the while this woman told it all. I didn’t believe her at first, but when she revealed one detail I know she was telling the truth. His birthmark,” Angel said. Then Angel revealed the obscure location of Emmanuel’s birthmark. 

“She never saw it,” Emmanuel yelled.

“Then how would she know?” Angel asked.

“I told her,” he said.

“Lier,” Angel shouted.

“Mr. Knox do not speak to the witness. Only to me.”

Angel explained how the revelation of that truth sent Emmanuel into a rage.  When he couldn’t find the phone, he backed her out the bedroom, dragged her down the steps, called her all types of names.  Angel described how she had fought him back. “I kicked him, bite him, spit at him, beat him with a broom and a bat, then I called the police to get him out. He pretended to cry, when the police came. He refused to leave.  Claimed the house was his home and he had no other place to go.”

Emmanuel yelled, “I didn’t Your Honor. I had no place to go!”

“Order,” the Judge shouted.

“But he did, Your Honor,” Angel quipped.  Then she pulled the letter out, it was her ace in the hole.  She held the wrinkled envelope out and swung it around in the air, as if it was a white flag, “his mistress begged him to come stay with her.”

Emmanuel repeated, “That’s a lie, a lie.”

Angel pointed her finger, “This is the truth,” she said meeting Emmanuel’s eyes with disdain.

 “Order,” the judge snapped.  The Judge was a black woman, with a strict tone and a stern gaze.  She warned Angel.

Angel gazed from Emmanuel, to the judge, astounded by the judges sharp rebuke.  There was silence in the courtroom.  Angel, suddenly aware, they were being recorded composed herself.  A chill fell over her and she started to shake, but she wasn’t going to give in. 

“What’s this letter?” the judge asked.  She had the bailiff get the letter from Angel.

“A letter from one of his mistresses,” Angel said with confidence.

“That’s a lie, Your Honor,” Emmanuel said in a hostile outburst. 

Angel couldn’t believe Emmanuel continued to deny the truth.  Disbelief rested on her face.  She hoped he was thinking of home. She had made sure he took with him the sweet aroma of home, the night he returned with the police to get some of his belongings.   As he walked around with the cops, she started dinner, put olive oil in a pan simmering with garlic.  He sniffed inside of closets doors and gazed at her as he went from room to room. Sadness rested on his face and Angel was reminded of the face he had in youth, but his face had changed and was wrinkled and tired. 

After the judge took the time to read the letter, she looked up at Angel and Emmanuel.  Her face wore an exasperated expression, that struck Angel as disappointed.  The judge sat back in her seat and called the court to order.  Before she gave the verdict, she gazed at them both, with an expression that said, no one wins these type of cases.

“Sometimes in a marriage,” the Judge said, “the demonstration of true love is allowing the dismantling of the marriage when things are askew.  There are times when the dismantling can act like a bandage, able to heal and bind things back together.  Perhaps that will happen in this case.”

Emmanuel dropped his head onto his chest so hard, it seemed as if he would take the rest of his body with him.  He wobbled, but didn’t go down.  Angel was aware this action put the dagger in the coffin and there was a single second where she considered turning back, but she couldn’t.  Not now.

“I’m going to order,” the judge continued, “You, Mr. Knox be removed from the premises for a period of 12 months.  You are to have no contact with, Mrs. Angel Knox, and will only be allowed back to the premises once, escorted by a police officer, to pick up the remainder of your belongings.”

Angel sighed.  She felt as if she’d dropped a heavy load, it was finished.  She only glanced at Emmanuel once when they shuffled out the court room, but she knew he had no intention of letting her leave that courthouse without a private word.  It didn’t surprise her when he grabbed her hand.

“Can I at least have that?” Emmanuel asked.

Angel glanced in the directions of his fingers and handed him the portrait.

---

The rights to the content and images on this website are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby, and you have no right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jmbeausby@aol.com. 

At The Cross

Praise and Worship was over, the Sermon made, the benediction had already been given and the church of God and Christ was near empty, but Angel remained inside the sanctuary, standing in the third pew.  She stared at the large cross on the wall, wishing God would give her a chance to speak with her mother.  Angel was at a crossroad in her life and needed direction.  She felt like people didn't understand the meaning of a crossroad, it wasn’t a single road.   There were at least eight directions any one could take and none of them guaranteed the right answer.  Divorcing Emanuel was a road she was certain she would take, but Angel questioned is she should take that road.

She had tried her best to hold on to love and marriage.  Tried to make it work.  When that failed she sought justice, returned his infidelities with those of her own.  She learned from her wrong doings.  She stopped—not worth the giving of her soul.  But his affairs continued, year after year, one affair after another, like worms in a can.  Six affairs over a 9-year stretch was too much, Angel was done trying to make it work, over trying to change Emmanuel into a faithful husband.  

The church was clearing out, only a few people remained.  They stood around talking about the sermon.  It was from the book of Hosea.  The pastor had spoken about forgiveness.  Angel had concluded she was going to be a sinner, her sin obvious, she would never forgive, or forget, or take Emmanuel back.  She knew to forgive was the "Christian," thing to do, but forgive the man that had stolen so much from her and was trying to take all the things she invested so much of her time and money into, was out of the question. 

It was just like Emanuel to have her standing before the Lord questioning her own salvation. They’ll do that to you.   Angel was thinking when an Evangelist Crawford approached.

Evangelist Regina Crawford, was a tall woman with a strange appearance.  She dressed like a monk, in home-made gowns with long trains that she draped around her arms.  She always covered her dread-locked hair with a hat, or a doily and walked about in loud modesty.   This morning the modest acting evangelist, wore a brown dashiki like dress and extra-long earrings.  Her  hair was pulled back off her face and her doily crowned her head.  She cast sincere eyes on Angel, that were supposed to speak of her devotion to the Lord.

“Good day Sister,” Evangelist Crawford said quietly when she approached Angel. 

 “Hello,” Angel returned.  Angel smiled, but she was annoyed at the intrusion on her privacy, but she didn’t let the irritation spill out. “I was just leaving,” Angel said, and she started to head for the doors.

“I hope not on my account,” Evangelist Crawford said, unmoved.  “It looked as if you were in deep thought.  Are things okay, do you need prayer?”

Always polite, Angel put on her calm face. She didn’t want prayer from an Evangelist, she could pray for herself, “No, I was just leaving.”  Angel picked up her black wool-coat and her bag and attempted to leave again, but the Evangelist continued to speak.

“Are you sure you don’t need prayer, my sister?”  she asked in a way that suggested the good Lord gave her direction.

Angel glanced between the cross and the lady.  Emanuel was still on her mind.   She’d gone to Emanuel’s part-time job at the bakery and cut up.  She threw rolls at him, went behind the counter and nearly attacked him.  His boss held her back and then called the police, she got out before they arrived.  All things considered, Angel figured prayer wouldn't hurt.

“Sure,” Angel said.  She didn't want to be mean. There was no harm in a sister going before God on her behalf.  

“Any particular thing you would like to bring to the Lord?”

“Yes, my husband," she began, "you see we're go to court tomorrow…” 

“Say no more, dear Sister,” the Evangelist said.  She lifted a single finger to silence Angel, and then the evangelist proceeded, to perform her Godly duties.  She retrieved a bottle of oil from a small red bag, and placed a tiny amount in the sign of the cross on Angel's forehead.  Then with a smile she grabbed Angel by the hand and began to pray.

Angel bent her head down, but before she closed her eyes, she noticed the Evangelist wore a pair of red-bottom pumps and she smelled of incense and weed. Angel was a little taken aback, but it was too late to run, the Evangelist had begun.

“Lord,” Evangelist Crawford started, “you know our black men are at war with the devil."

Surprised, Angel popped open an eye and raised a brow as the Evangelist continued.  

"War with drugs and alcohol.   Demon spirits trying to kill, steal and destroy our black men--take down our families.  I pray you send a spirit of protection around this child and her husband. I pray against the spirit of drug addiction and lies.  I pray the judge sees things in his favor…”

Angel opened both her eyes.   The Evangelist had her eyes shut tight and was in the midst of her deep prayer.  Sweat formed on her top lip and she started to move up and down.  Angel  wanted to yell out No!  Wanted to stop her, but then Evangelist Crawford started to prophesy.  

“The children Lord, protect their Children,” she said.  “God is going to move the spirit of addiction from your husband.  He's going to win his court case. The Lord wants you to know he’s going to be the judge in the courtroom. This battle is not yours.”

Stunned Angel wanted to laugh.  She just nodded her head.  Evangelist Crawford was just about to come to a close, when she opened her eyes, and threw Angel an intense stare and spoke in some in  tongues, and then she said, “He’s going to deliver him from his addiction.  The Lord told me to let you know, if he’s sentenced it will be for his own good, so don’t lose courage.   Like Daniel in the fire, he won’t be alone.  Touch not my anointed.  Father we ask all these things and by faith believe in your words, In Jesus Name.  In Jesus Name.” She repeated.

Angel wanted to let Evangelist Crawford know that she was the Manager of a HR Department for a pharmaceutical company, and that her husband, a habitual cheater was pressing assault charges against her.  Wanted to let the Evangelist know she had it all wrong.  Angel wanted to tell her, because of her husband, her job was on the line, the house they just built was on the line and her family was being torn apart because of it all,  but she didn't bother.  

“Thank you,” Angel said.

“No sister, thank you.  Believe things will turn out in your favor," Evangelist Crawford said, wiping  the sweat that poured beneath her doily and down to her brow.  "My husband has been incarcerated for almost ten-years, but he'll be home soon.  My journey maybe over, but I'm here if you need to speak or if you need prayer." 

With that Evangelist Crawford handed Angel a card that had her name and number on the front, the back listed the cost for her counseling services.

Angel took the card and rushed outside the sanctuary and into the brightness of the day. She glanced up at the clouds.  The sky was bright and blue, and calm.   “Lord I don’t know what that was," Angel said, and she dropped her head and buttoned her coat, "You know I gotta win this court case.  I pray you watch over Emmanuel, but I can’t lose the house and I can’t have a domestic charge on my record.  I'll admit my wrong. All I can ask for is forgiveness.  I need you to walk with me in the courtroom tomorrow.”  After she said those words Angel looked around the church parking lot, there were still a bunch of cars, a few people stood outside talking.   No one paid her any attention, she got into her car and drove away, still speaking as if God Himself sat in the seat next to her.

The rights to the content and images on this website are owned by Jacqueline Session Ausby, and you have no right to use any of the content / images without her expressed permission.  If you would like to contact Jacqueline Ausby, please email jmbeausby@aol.com.