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It’s the third Sunday in April. Zeola is in the kitchen baking biscuits, frying bacon and boiling some good
ole southern, buttered grits. The kitchen is where she spends the majority of her time preparing meals for
everyone. She and her husband Jacob had converted their large, lovely home into a boarding house after
raising their six children.
She is seven days shy of sixty-three and ‘Moses’ to her entire house and community. Her favorite article
of clothing is an old white chef apron with a big multicolored butterfly embroidered across the pocket.
The residents were gathered in the dining area sipping fresh brewed coffee, gossiping about any and
everything.
Zeola silenced them saying, “Everyone has a past. You all must remember that a diamond is at its best
when placed against a dark background.”
“Some of your backgrounds are so dark you
need a neon flashlight to see them,” Jacob said, cracking a smile. He was seated at the head of the table in
his favorite chair. Those who knew him found him to be a genuine, caring Pastor and role model. He had a
few extra pounds, and a great sense of humor with an endless wealth of knowledge.
Their meal was soon interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
“I told those folks to call the church for transportation,” Jacob growled, as he pushed himself from the
table.
“Go ahead and eat honey. I’ll get it,” Zeola said. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried towards the
door. The knock grew louder and more persistent.
“I’m coming!” she shouted. Her legs weakened, her heart skipped several beats as she opened the door to
be greeted by two handsome, uniformed Akron Police Officers.
“Ms. Brown?” he suggested.
“Yes, I’m Ms. Brown.”
“May we come in?”
“What in God’s name has happened?” Zeola rubbed her forehead.
“I’m Officer Thomas Hunt, and this is Officer Ray Curry. We regret to inform you that a young lady by
the name of Jessica Jackson was killed in a car accident last night in Chicago, Illinois. Investigators
located your name and address in her wallet.” He hung his head sorrowfully.
“Jacob!” Zeola cried. She didn’t see him standing right behind her. “Are they sure it’s Jessica? What in the
world was she doing in Chicago?” Her loving husband quizzically asked.
Officer Hunt slowly removed information from his clipboard, giving it to Jacob.
“These are directions to the hospital. You may identify the body, sign the necessary release papers and
bring the baby home with you if you so desire.” As they prepared to leave, Zeola gasped for breath and
shouted, “Baby? What baby?” She used the banister to brace herself. “What are you saying?”
“According to our records, a baby girl was delivered by cesarean section and is doing quite well.” Officer
Hunt nodded his head. “I know this is a shock to you. I’m sorry.”
As the officers departed, Jacob tried to comfort his wife. Grief stricken residents gathered in the living
room, weeping and consoling one another.
“Was anyone aware of her pregnancy?” they inquired, but apparently no one had a clue
It was obvious that no one in the house
would attend church services that morning.
They sat in the living room, recalling how Jessica sought shelter at the boarding house six months prior to
her death. She was a drifter of sorts, taking odd jobs here and there, very attractive and mysterious. She
was an accomplished dancer who looked the part. Strangely, she never mentioned having a family.
One of the residents had phoned Zeola’s eldest daughter Joyce, notifying her of the events that had taken
place.
“What on earth are we going to do with a baby at our age, Jacob?” They sat embracing one another.
“Things always work out honey, we’ll just do the best we can, with what we have.” His
voice was concerned; his humor had disappeared.
Zeola glanced across the street and saw her neighbors peering out of their windows. Bad news travels
fast. They really should mind their own business, she thought.
Within minutes their daughters Josie and Joyce arrived.
“Lord, mama I like to have jumped out of my skin,” Joyce said. Her voice cracked. “I’ve already
suggested Minister Clay take charge of the services this morning in daddy’s absence. I will drive you to
Chicago in the morning, so let’s go pack a few things.” They greeted a few nosy neighbors and fumbled
up the stairs.
“How’s mama holding up?” Josie asked her father, while looking over the travel information.
“She puts up a brave front, but she’s hurting inside. She won’t allow the infant to go into the system.
Everything’s in God’s hands.” He raised himself up from his chair. “Make sure everyone who is hungry
gets something to eat.”
It was still early and already the emotional exhaustion of the morning had taken its toll. Josie took control
of the house for the next few days. She would surprise her parents upon their return. Under her direction
the residents of the house would furnish and decorate a nursery for the baby. The theme would be the
much loved children’s character, Tweety Bird.
Order Your Copy of "Zeola" Today! Click here!
ole southern, buttered grits. The kitchen is where she spends the majority of her time preparing meals for
everyone. She and her husband Jacob had converted their large, lovely home into a boarding house after
raising their six children.
She is seven days shy of sixty-three and ‘Moses’ to her entire house and community. Her favorite article
of clothing is an old white chef apron with a big multicolored butterfly embroidered across the pocket.
The residents were gathered in the dining area sipping fresh brewed coffee, gossiping about any and
everything.
Zeola silenced them saying, “Everyone has a past. You all must remember that a diamond is at its best
when placed against a dark background.”
“Some of your backgrounds are so dark you
need a neon flashlight to see them,” Jacob said, cracking a smile. He was seated at the head of the table in
his favorite chair. Those who knew him found him to be a genuine, caring Pastor and role model. He had a
few extra pounds, and a great sense of humor with an endless wealth of knowledge.
Their meal was soon interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
“I told those folks to call the church for transportation,” Jacob growled, as he pushed himself from the
table.
“Go ahead and eat honey. I’ll get it,” Zeola said. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried towards the
door. The knock grew louder and more persistent.
“I’m coming!” she shouted. Her legs weakened, her heart skipped several beats as she opened the door to
be greeted by two handsome, uniformed Akron Police Officers.
“Ms. Brown?” he suggested.
“Yes, I’m Ms. Brown.”
“May we come in?”
“What in God’s name has happened?” Zeola rubbed her forehead.
“I’m Officer Thomas Hunt, and this is Officer Ray Curry. We regret to inform you that a young lady by
the name of Jessica Jackson was killed in a car accident last night in Chicago, Illinois. Investigators
located your name and address in her wallet.” He hung his head sorrowfully.
“Jacob!” Zeola cried. She didn’t see him standing right behind her. “Are they sure it’s Jessica? What in the
world was she doing in Chicago?” Her loving husband quizzically asked.
Officer Hunt slowly removed information from his clipboard, giving it to Jacob.
“These are directions to the hospital. You may identify the body, sign the necessary release papers and
bring the baby home with you if you so desire.” As they prepared to leave, Zeola gasped for breath and
shouted, “Baby? What baby?” She used the banister to brace herself. “What are you saying?”
“According to our records, a baby girl was delivered by cesarean section and is doing quite well.” Officer
Hunt nodded his head. “I know this is a shock to you. I’m sorry.”
As the officers departed, Jacob tried to comfort his wife. Grief stricken residents gathered in the living
room, weeping and consoling one another.
“Was anyone aware of her pregnancy?” they inquired, but apparently no one had a clue
It was obvious that no one in the house
would attend church services that morning.
They sat in the living room, recalling how Jessica sought shelter at the boarding house six months prior to
her death. She was a drifter of sorts, taking odd jobs here and there, very attractive and mysterious. She
was an accomplished dancer who looked the part. Strangely, she never mentioned having a family.
One of the residents had phoned Zeola’s eldest daughter Joyce, notifying her of the events that had taken
place.
“What on earth are we going to do with a baby at our age, Jacob?” They sat embracing one another.
“Things always work out honey, we’ll just do the best we can, with what we have.” His
voice was concerned; his humor had disappeared.
Zeola glanced across the street and saw her neighbors peering out of their windows. Bad news travels
fast. They really should mind their own business, she thought.
Within minutes their daughters Josie and Joyce arrived.
“Lord, mama I like to have jumped out of my skin,” Joyce said. Her voice cracked. “I’ve already
suggested Minister Clay take charge of the services this morning in daddy’s absence. I will drive you to
Chicago in the morning, so let’s go pack a few things.” They greeted a few nosy neighbors and fumbled
up the stairs.
“How’s mama holding up?” Josie asked her father, while looking over the travel information.
“She puts up a brave front, but she’s hurting inside. She won’t allow the infant to go into the system.
Everything’s in God’s hands.” He raised himself up from his chair. “Make sure everyone who is hungry
gets something to eat.”
It was still early and already the emotional exhaustion of the morning had taken its toll. Josie took control
of the house for the next few days. She would surprise her parents upon their return. Under her direction
the residents of the house would furnish and decorate a nursery for the baby. The theme would be the
much loved children’s character, Tweety Bird.
Order Your Copy of "Zeola" Today! Click here!
| Excerpt from Zeola |