The Calling Dream

Chapter 4-2

I reached over and patted her knee. “I’m sorry, Momma. I guess by comparison to Teddy, I got nothing to be afraid of.”

“Ronnie, I know you will do well,” she said. “I know it, as sure as I am living, that you are going to be successful at the vocation you have been called to, and I’m going to love you as long as I live, no matter what you do. So you might as well go live your life the way you want, follow your heart, and follow your dreams.”

I realized, in that moment, that as much as Daddy had expectations of me, Momma wanted me to be happy. She wasn’t going to try to push me this way or that or try to tell me what I was supposed to do to be happy. She was going to let me discover that all on my own. It was my momma who taught me what love really is. She taught me all my life, but it was going to be a long time from that day before I would really understand.

The next day I dropped a letter in the mail to Miss Moore to let her know I would be ready to go on March 21 and that I was looking forward to meeting Mr. Clayburn. In the following weeks, I fought with myself about what I was going to preach at Evangelic Temple. I even took to just opening my Bible at random, and with eyes closed, I’d drop a finger on the page and read whatever was there in the hopes that I might begin to solidify an idea for a message. I lay in bed at night staring at the dark ceiling, imagining what it might be like to preach in a big church or to be on television. In those days, television was still pretty much a new medium. I had seen snippets of television shows on display model TVs at a*****e over in Jonesboro, but I had never actually watched a TV show from beginning to end. Just as telephones were scarce in north Arkansas in those days, so were televisions. For one thing, the closest TV stations were in Memphis and Little Rock, so if you didn’t live in the city, there wasn’t going to be much you could see anyway. Over the next five to ten years, things improved greatly. New TV stations opened; antennas got better and could pull from greater distances. After a while, TV started coming to rural communities, but at the time, I didn’t really have a clue.

When March 21 finally rolled around, I had spent the Saturday before trying to think of anything that I might need in the following two weeks. I went to Jonesboro the week before and bought myself a set of luggage as well as some new clothes. I still got a little money for preaching, but it didn’t go very far when it came to buying extras. Most of it went toward taking care of family. When I was gone, they wouldn’t even have that. I worried about Momma and Daddy, but I took Momma at her word that I needed to move on, live my own life, and answer my calling.

On the morning of the twenty-first, Brother and Sister Clark drove me over to the Black River Motor Inn. Daddy said he couldn’t because he was going to preach the service that Sunday. It seemed like, with me out of the picture, he felt more confident about going back to the pulpit. Most people forgave him for what he said at Teddy’s funeral.

Brother and Sister Clark assured me that they could have me in Pocahontas in time to meet Miss Moore at 8:00 a.m. and still have plenty of time to get back for church. When we got there that morning, Miss Moore was waiting for us in the hotel lobby. I recognized her immediately when we walked in, such a stunning woman. Her physical beauty was almost overwhelming. She was wearing a yellow floral print dress that made her blond hair seem even more brilliant. She wore a white belt around her waist that pulled the dress in to accentuate her figure. In my mind, I wondered if she was what fashion models looked like in person. I had seen pictures in magazines, and she sure looked as good as, or better than, any of those women. As soon as she saw us, she got up from her seat and strolled across the small lobby to greet us.

“Pastor Dennison.” She smiled, extending her hand as she approached. “So nice to see you again.”

I reached out to give her a traditional business handshake although I only caught her fingers in my palm. “Very good to see you again, Miss Moore,” I responded. Then I wondered if she had any idea how good it was to see her or that “good to see her” meant something bad in my mind. If I could, I would have sat there all day just looking at her. I stood there, dazed for a moment, fighting my s****l urges, when I realized I hadn’t introduced the Clarks. I turned to Brother and Sister Clark, who were standing just to the side behind me. “Ah…this is Brother and Sister Clark,” I stammered, “from our church.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Miss Moore graciously smiled as she held her hand out to shake each of theirs in turn. I watched her smile and chastised myself for wanting to kiss those full, delicious lips tinted a deep red with lipstick. Her lipstick enticed me, called to me like a Siren song to a sailor’s ears. It was not just that I rarely ever saw a woman around home wearing lipstick; it was more like an aphrodisiac. It made my libido surge just by watching those lips move when she spoke. I had a secret fascination for lipstick almost for as long as I could remember. When I was little, I thumbed through magazines staring at pictures of women in makeup, especially if they had on red lipstick. I had no idea why I had such a fascination, but I also had a sense of shame about it. I would sometimes lift magazines from waiting rooms and hide them in the barn so I could steal away to look at those pictures. I felt guilty, not only feeling like I had stolen the magazines, but also because there was something about looking at those pictures that felt like forbidden fruit. It was not like I was looking at pornography, but when I looked at those women wearing that red lipstick, it felt like I might as well have been looking at pornography. Now I was standing with a real woman with real red lipstick, and I fought the urge to let my eyes drink her like a warm glass of milk as she spoke to Brother and Sister Clark. Upon finishing her greeting with the Clarks, she turned immediately back to me and said, “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes,” I replied. “We do that pretty early in our household.”

“Good,” she said. “Then I assume you are ready to go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I responded.

“Good, let’s get your luggage loaded in my car, and we will be on our way.” She marched promptly to the door. I closed my eyes for a moment because I no sooner watched her sway toward the door than the lust hit my groin like a wolf on prey. Then I opened my eyes and followed her. Brother and Sister Clark tagged along behind me.

When she got to the door, she asked, over her shoulder, “Where are you parked?”

I wondered if there would be any way I could run into her from behind and then pretend it was an accident, but I feared if I did, she would be too aware of my building erection. I fumbled to button my jacket to hide it. I should have known in those first few moments that I would be fighting with my libido all the way to Nashville. Miss Moore swung those hips gracefully to her car as though they were on some type of rhythmic timer designed to make each move back like a pendulum. She was parked just outside the door, but I hadn’t even noticed as we entered. She leaned over to open the ample trunk of that big black 1953 Cadillac Eldorado, and I battled the desire to walk up to those hips and wrap my arms around her from behind.

Brother Clark blurted out, “I’ll get your luggage, Brother Ronnie. Be right back.”

His words shocked me from my daze, and I went trotting after him, “No, that’s too much for you to carry by yourself,” I called.

There were only two bags, and he could have gotten it on his own, but it was my luggage, and the Clarks had already done a great deal for me. We each took a bag, carried it over to the Eldorado, and placed it in the trunk. Miss Moore closed the trunk, and I turned to see Sister Clark grinning at me like I was the prize she just won at the county fair.

“Oh!” she exhaled. “You are going to do so well, Brother Ronnie. We are going to miss you around here.” She reached out and hugged me into that huge bosom of hers. I felt like a little boy, and I knew there was a part of her that thought of me as a little boy, almost like one of her own. Brother Clark extended his hand to give me a firm and piston-like handshake and said, “I’m proud of you, Brother Ronnie.”

“You both are acting like I’m already some big wig,” I said. “This is just an audition. I may be home in two weeks with my tail between my legs.”

“Oh, but the Lord knows better!” Sister Clark exclaimed joyfully. “The Lord does know better.”

I tilted my head toward the pavement in humility. “Thank you for your confidence, Sister Clark,” I said. “I will do my best to live up to it.” Miss Moore walked around to the driver’s side of her car and opened the door. I took this as my hint and said, “Goodbye now. Thank you for checking in on Momma and Daddy.”

“Happy to,” said Brother Clark. Then they turned back toward their truck.

I opened the passenger side door and sat down on the lush seats of the Eldorado. “Wow!” I heard myself exclaim as I ran my hand across the seat and over the dash. Miss Moore had just reached the key to the ignition when I said this.

“I love my car,” she said as she turned the key. “It’s very nice, isn’t it?”

“Forgive me, Miss Moore,” I said, somewhat embarrassed. “I have just never seen anything quite like this before.”

“First of all,” she announced firmly, before she began to back out of the parking space, “my name is Wanda, not Miss Moore, and you are welcome to call me Wanda. Second of all, it’s just a car, and if you are half as successful as I think you are going to be, a car like this is just for starters.”

I didn’t know what to say. “I…ah…well, I’m very glad to be going to Nashville with you…Wanda,” I said rather uncomfortably.

The next thing I knew we were on Highway 67 to Jonesboro, and it didn’t take long for Wanda to say, “So tell me a little more about yourself, Pastor Dennison.”