Born at Dawn Read Free Page A

Carmel. Her nonexistent relationship with God and her husband’s history with Pastor David weighed her down.
    She took a deep breath. You’re too close not to go in.
    She bent over and straightened James’s tie and wiped the corners of Keith’s mouth with her thumb, dampened by the spit of her tongue.
    â€œListen, boys, when we go in here, I want you to sit down, sit still, and be quiet. It’s different; just give it a chance, okay?”
    The boys looked up at her and stared into her eyes, which were glowing and begging them to cooperate.
    â€œYes, Mom,” they said in unison.
    â€œBut why are we here?” Keith asked.
    â€œBecause Mama needs to spend some time with Jesus, and so do you,” Cynthia replied, pinching the tip of Keith’s nose.
    The floorboards creaked as Cynthia and the boys attempted to ease into the last pew. The boys fidgeted in their seats, tugging at the mustard suits they’d worn last year to their cousin Darlene’s wedding. That was the only time they’d been in a church since they were christened. Cynthia’s mother always begged her to come to her church.
    â€œIt’s not right what you doin’ to dem boys,” Mildred had once said to her daughter as steam wafted up from her cup of tea. “It’s not right. If you and Marvin want to live like heathens you can; you’re grown and you got every right to. But dem boys shouldn’t be denied the chance to get to know their savior. Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of glory belongs to such as these.’ What do you think He’s going to do to you if you keep raising dem like there’s no God in heaven?”
    â€œYou’re right, Mama. I’m going to take them soon,” Cynthia would reassure Mildred every time she paused long enough for Cynthia to speak.
    â€œYou better be careful what you say, girl. He’s listening too.” Mildred had pointed her spindly finger at the ceiling. “You’re making a vow to the Lord, and you can’t go back on it.”
    Recalling that conversation, a tingling sensation ran up Cynthia’s arm. She looked down at the pew bench on which she was seated. The twinge of pain Cynthia felt run up her arm snatched her out of her musings on the past and into the present. James was pulling at the cuffs of his shirt, trying to stretch them to his wrists. Keith tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Knock it off. Hold still,” Cynthia leaned over and whispered to them as the choir began singing “Amazing Grace.”
    The sound of the organ behind the choir reminded Cynthia of the days when she sat beside her mother during Sunday service, sucking peppermint balls. It was easy for her to slip right back into place. By the second verse she was mouthing the song’s words along with the soloist. Tears streamed down Cynthia’s face, and she tilted her head back. She tapped her small feet as the tempo of the music picked up attempting to put the pain of the previous night behind her.
    â€œGive God some praise,” the devotional leader shouted into the microphone. “No matter what the devil has done to you, he couldn’t kill you. My God said yes and here you are today. Stand up on your feet and give God some praise.”
    Hallelujahs rang out all around Cynthia. She looked around and tried to join in on the cries of joy, but the pain that filled her aching bones held her hostage. She mumbled a weak “Thank you, Jesus” in an attempt to be polite.
    â€œGod wants to heal you. The devil couldn’t kill you, and God is waiting to heal you. But it starts with you,” the preacher said, pointing at Cynthia. “He sent his son, Jesus, to reconcile men with God. And He is ready, willing, and able to reconcile all of your relationships. Some of you haven’t spoken to your mother in years; some of you haven’t spoken to your