was a good kid, obedient and kind and loving. She was proud that she had raised him in the manner she did. She reasoned that he knew right from wrong, knew his parents loved him, and of course, he had learned well from her. “Smart boy,” godfather Cornelius would remark whenever he journeyed from Bruckship to Tenaboo to see his godson.
Mary shared her mixed feelings with her husband concerning Jason.
“I wonder if we’re doing the right thing sending the boy to my sister. I know it was me who suggested it. I’m really having second thoughts.”
“Well, I myself been thinking the same thing for a while. But when I consider everything, it might be the best for him.”
John sighed deeply. He pulled the sheet that covered the bottom half of his body over his naked chest.
“And besides, your sister’s expecting him tomorrow. Jason’s looking forward to going, and everything’s set. Let’s hope it works out. It’s up to him now.”
Mary clasped her hands together.
“I pray to God Jason turns out all right.”
With a gentle kiss on her cheek and a pat on the buttocks, John turned over and quickly fell asleep. Mary did not sleep that night and for many nights thereafter.
*****
“Jason, hurry up and get dressed. We are going to be late for church. This ain’t Tenaboo,” Auntie Cleo boomed.
“Auntie, I’m almost finished. I’m tying my yatins. See how they’re white like chalk.”
He knew that Auntie Cleo was a stickler for nice and clean footwear. She had hinted on his arrival, “Look, young man. People look at your feet first, then the rest of your body follow. First impression is important.”
“Good boy. Time for church.”
Jason forced a smile, placed the large Bible and hymnal under his right arm, and took his place alongside Auntie Cleo for the short walk to the public road and into the hands of Brother Simpson and the Restoration Church of the New Testament.
The Sunday service was special. It was the fifth anniversary of the church. It was a packed church, choir bedecked in flowing white robes that conjured up in Jason’s mind a band of angels sent from heaven for the occasion, and a rotund, balding Brother Simpson shouting for all to hear, “We are here to stay! Praise the Lord!”
For the most part, Jason was bored. The Sunday ritual of praise and supplications and the occasional “Praise the Lord” and “Hallelujah” that emanated from Sister Jonas, sitting in front by the altar, gave pause to a wandering mind.
*****
“Daddy, it’s Sunday. Please take me with you to help sell the bread.”
John Allicock was reluctant to have his son along on those trips.
“Don’t want people to look at you as if you’re begging them. I’m old and nothing bothers me. I don’t want that for you.” But he welcomed the company and reveled in sharing the time with his growing son.
Jason recalled that for many Sundays, together, with large jute bags filled with freshly baked, platted bread, they traveled from Tenaboo Landing, riding the crest of a going tide on the back of a sleepy Demerara. His mind traveled from the sound of paddle on water, the chirping of parakeets seated on the branches of low-hanging trees that hung over the river’s edge, to the several small settlements that dotted the banks of the river, on the journey from Tenaboo to Dalgin.
“Hallelujah! Praise his name!” shouted Sister Jonas. The reverie was broken. Jason was back again at the Restoration Church of the New Testament.
Jason displayed scant interest in most of the service; however, he liked the singing. Brother Simpson made the altar call; the organ started.
Just as I am without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me
And that thou bid’st me come to thee
O lamb of God, I come! I come….
Jason could be heard above the chorus of the choir and the screeching of Sister Jonas.
*****
“John! I think a boat is pulling into the landing.” Mary shook her still-sleeping husband. He stirred.
“I wonder who it could be this early on a Sunday morning. All week I got to leave before cock crow. Only time I get a bit more shut eye.”
“I’m going to check who it is.”
Mary rose slowly and, with a faint groan, heaved her two-hundred-pound body from the bed. Peering through the open window unto the landing, she remarked, “It’s only Mr. Cornelius.”
“Tell him I’ll be with him shortly. I got to tidy up.”
Mr. Cornelius laid his paddle down on the portico before entering the open doorway.
“Mr. Cornelius, how you do? On the run early. John’s been catching up on a bit of sleep before heading out with the bread. He’ll be out in a moment. Come in. You ain’t no stranger.”
He sauntered in and sat lazily on the rocker. His well-trimmed beard and moustache belied a face which the wind, rain, and sun had chiseled for most of his seventy years. Everyone called him Mr. Cornelius. When asked for his first name, as frequently requested, he would reply, “I am Mr. Cornelius, okay?” And that would be the end of the matter.
“Nothing coming against me. I fine as best can be expected. I making a quick run to Clemwood to pick up the money I lend that vagabond Patrick, your husband cousin. Hoping to catch him before he drink out all the money from the coal pit he sell.”
John entered. Mr. Cornelius, with a shrug of the shoulders and a raised hand of acknowledgment, continued.
“How is the boy doing? My godson must be one big man now.”
“The last we hear, he doing well. Mary’s sister doing a fine job looking after Jason. He should graduate in a couple of years. He’ll make his mother proud one day.”
Mary was all aglow. She smiled that large infectious smile, followed by a moment of uncontrollable laughter, a trait she shared with her sister.
“I hope before my eyes are closed, Jason will make his mark. I ain’t know how long I got on this earth. The damn fever’s still bothering me, and besides, I find myself coughing every now and then. I am not feeling the best. I’ve been thinking of seeing a doctor in Georgetown. Only thing, while I’m gone, the bread business is going to suffer. Heavens know we need the money. And—”
With a wave of the hand, her husband interrupted her.
“Mr. Cornelius! I tell this woman, you only got one life to live, and the confounded bread will take care of itself.”
“Better said than done,” thought Mary.
“I can handle things when she’s gone. How long could she go for? Maybe three
