Acts of Betrayal

by Tracie Loveless-Hill

Genres: African American Christian

Synopsis

Michael and Lorece, young high school sweethearts, have a promising future ahead of them when Michael is offered a basketball scholarship to a junior college. He turns it down when Lorece becomes pregnant, taking a job at a local meat packing plant. Working himself up to supervisor within five years, he is devastated when the plant shuts down and he loses his job. When suggestions of better opportunities in another city comes along, he packs up his family and leaves the only life that they have known, only to find that life isn’t as promising as they thought. Lorece is fighting depression when the family meets the bishop of a prominent church with high standing in the community. The bishop and his wife promise the couple that they will take care of their children until they can get back on their feet. Michael and Lorece soon find out that they are in a fight for their lives—and a battle to get their children back. When God sends someone to deliver them their blessings, secrets come out about the bishop and his wife. There will be many lessons to be learned amidst acts of betrayal.

Release date: June 30, 2015

Publisher: Urban Christian

Print pages: 288

Sample

Chapter 1

Lorece

 

Like everything else in my life, we had to take baby steps toward our goal. Slow, well thought out, precise little baby steps. No spontaneous spending for us. Every dime had to be accounted for. We had agreed that there would be no extravagant or wasteful spending, only on necessities. We were on a mission and it was not going to be an easy one.

Together we had dug this hole and put our family into it, and we were not going to stop until we got our family back together, until I got my family back. I felt responsible for it all. If it had not been for the decisions that I made, then I would not be so miserable right now. Things were supposed to work out for the best. Our lives were supposed to be better. Where did they go wrong?

This morning we woke up to a beautiful late summer sun. The humidity of long July and August days were no longer lingering in the air. The sun was high and a slight breeze was allowing us to give our small room a much-needed airing out. We decided to leave all the windows open, even though we were not in the best of neighborhoods in Middleville, Iowa. I mean, goodness, we didn’t have anything worth stealing anyways.

We opted to go to the International House of Pancakes for breakfast. We also offered to treat the Moraleses, our new best friends, but they declined, wanting to sleep in.

Who could blame them? We had all been working very hard these last few weeks.

The IHOP was a busy place this particular Saturday morning. We had to wait almost twenty minutes for a table. Finally the hostess led us to a booth near the rear and that suited the both of us just fine. Michael ordered a hearty breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs with cheese sauce, hash browns, sausage patties, and coffee. I opted for the world-famous Rooty Tooty Fresh ’N Fruity. My mind was in turmoil, and I could hardly enjoy my favorite pancakes with fruit on top.

I couldn’t help but notice that a family sitting at a table near ours kept us entertained most of the morning. This poor man, along with his wife, wanted to enjoy a pleasurable outing with their two children, or at least I assumed that was what they wanted. It turned out that it was anything but enjoyable. Those little imps were the rowdiest things in the place. Nothing could satisfy those mini monsters. Michael and I felt so bad for their parents. I thought that the weary father was going to pull out the rest of his already greasy, thinning hairs at any minute. The top of the poor man’s head was as bare as a baby’s butt.

Those children wouldn’t sit still for anything. They continued to yell and throw their food; they just made a spectacle of themselves. As soon as one was settled the other one would blow. The mother would calmly ask little Bethany to sit still and she would scream a no across the whole restaurant. Then she would ask Caleb not to spit out his food and he would throw more of it in her lap.

“Can you believe that behavior?” I asked Michael. I was frustrated by the noise. “Those kids are little monsters.”

“That’s what happens when parents allow children to freely express themselves,” Michael joked.

I didn’t see anything funny about it. “That is unacceptable behavior. The only expression that needs exercising is a stern hand against their backsides.”

“Well, we are blessed to have well-behaved children,” he told me. “Our children know how to act when we take them places.” We had five children of our own. They were named Malik, age ten; Ashlee, age eight; our twins, Courtney and Cayla, age seven; and our baby, Michael, whom we called Man Man, was three years old.

“That is because I have spent a lot of time teaching them how to act,” I said. Sadly, I admitted that. “I taught them how to say ‘yes, ma’am,’ and ‘no, ma’am.’ It wasn’t easy but they know that they have limits.”

“Anyhow, they are our children and if we don’t teach them who will?” Mike smiled, sipping the last of his coffee.

I was starting to sound like my old self again, I thought: strong and confident.

“You have done a wonderful job with our children,” Michael commended me. “They couldn’t have asked for a better mother.”

I smiled at him but with sadness in my eyes. I was missing our children terribly. How could I not? They were living with complete strangers.

“Honey,” I popped out after a matter of minutes, “let’s go find our dream house.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?” Michael asked.

“We can just ride around until we find it,” I said. “When I see it I will know it and then I’ll let you know.”

“You mean to tell me that you will know the house that you want on sight?”

“Yes, I will,” I told him. “My dream house has four bedrooms, with an up- and downstairs. The boys will be in one bedroom and the girls will be in another. We will use the other room for guests or for the family room.”

“Well, then we had better get to looking,” Michael said.

We both started laughing as we readied to leave the IHOP. Michael paid for our breakfast and we set out to find our dream house. We rode around most of the morning. We rode through some very beautiful neighborhoods and some not so great. And although we saw some very nice houses, none of them seemed to appeal to me.

“So I take it that you haven’t seen your dream house yet,” Michael said after a couple of hours.

“No.” I sighed, lost in my own thoughts. My dream house was a vision of space for our children. We would all be back together. Life would be good again.

“We have seen some nice areas, Lorece.”

“Yeah.” I sighed once more. The day didn’t turn out on a high note like I had wanted. Michael convinced me that we would find our home in due time. Patience is a virtue and I’d learned that when we wait upon the Lord, things work out for the better. After a few seconds of staring out of the passenger’s side window, I turned to Michael and smiled in agreement.

“You’re right, Michael. I have to keep reminding myself of that. Patience is something that I have never had much of.”

After that statement we rode in silence until Michael realized that we were in the Highland Hills area. Without a word we found ourselves driving onto familiar streets, looking at familiar houses until he was parked once again in front of 743 Hillcrest Circle. This was the house where our babies were being held hostage. Unfortunately, we couldn’t go to the police because we had voluntarily placed them with the bishop and his wife. At first, we had thought this was a good deal, but now we understood that things were not what they had seemed. What were we to do?

“You know that she is going to make up some half-butt excuse for why we cannot see our babies.” My voice cracked as I stared sadly at the huge house.

“Well, then we will just keep coming until she gets the message that we are going to see our kids when we want,” he said with determination in his eyes. “We will just have to catch her with her guard down.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” I swung my whole body around to look him in the face.

“I don’t know that yet,” he said.

I now stared at him skeptically.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on doing anything illegal.” He took a deep breath. “Come on. Let’s see if he will have Bertha, that bulldog of a woman, guarding the door again.”

We carefully climbed out of the van so as not to make any noise. Slowly we walked up the circular driveway toward the front door. Once again we could hear singing, except this time it wasn’t coming from inside of the house. It seemed to be coming from outside the house, from the garage.

We could hear three, maybe four, distinct voices singing in the most beautiful harmony. Voices of what sounded like little angels melodiously emitting the words of a gospel song that caught Michael and me off-guard. It was soul stirring and it was beautiful, tranquil, and welcoming. Michael and I stood in place, paralyzed. We were void of any movement until the angelic voices paused.

“Are those our children?” I asked in amazement. I was breathless and terrified at the same time.

Michael could only shake his head. No words would come. Shortly we could hear the chords of an electric keyboard chime. And once again the voices blended together in angelic harmony. This time it was the words of a beautiful song that Mike said he used to love to hear his mother sing when he was a little boy: “This Little Light of Mine.”

My heart began to flutter wildly and he was having trouble catching his breath. When Mike was able to gather his thoughts, he saw that I was heading around the side of the three-car garage.

“Wait,” he whispered loud enough for me to hear.

He stepped quickly to catch up with me. We walked around to the side of the garage, stopping at the side door. Both of us were nervous and anxious, not knowing what would greet us on the other side. Michael slowly turned the knob to discover that the door was unlocked. He held the knob in that position until he was able to catch his breath. He swallowed and took a deep breath. Quickly, he pushed the door open, ceasing the activities taking place inside.

The music stopped as we stepped into the garage. One by one the voices ceased, full attention on him and me.

Our children held their positions in front of the electric keyboard. Bishop Jaspers was sitting at it with huge drops of perspiration dripping from his face and neck, making his dark complexion look like black shiny leather. The dark circles around his eyes made them appear redder than fire. The heat was apparent. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show the thick hairs on his chest. He had sweated clear through his shirt in the air-conditioned garage.

Mother Jaspers was sitting comfortably in a lounge chair across from them doing what she did best: giving orders. My baby boy, Man Man, sat on her lap.

“Children, stand still,” she commanded giving us an evil leer.

The entire garage was at a standstill.

“Malik, Ashlee, Courtney, and Cayla”—my voice broke—“Man Man, don’t you have a hug for your momma?” I began to cry.

Tears streamed down my face like a flood. Malik, with fear in his eyes, looked at Mother Jaspers for permission. No one said anything. This made me sob a little harder, my body jerking as I moved closer to my children.

Taking them one at a time into my arms, I was pulling them to my chest, hugging them as hard as I could. Glancing over at Man Man, who was still perched on Mother Jaspers’s lap, made me hold on to the children even tighter before breaking down. Michael walked over to them hugging them and trying his hardest to comfort me simultaneously.

“Man Man,” Michael said, “come on over here, son, and give your daddy a hug.”

He looked down at the floor. After a few seconds I heard Mother Jaspers whisper for him to go ahead. He slowly climbed down and walked over to where we were kneeling.

“What’s up, little man.” His father greeted his namesake into his arms. He held his head down, resting it on his shoulder.

A villainous grin spread across Mother Jaspers’s face.

“What are you doing to our children?” Michael yelled at her. “They aren’t even happy to see us.”

“I feel that they are pleased to see you, Brother Michael,” she said. “Once again you have caught us at a bad time. As you can see we were right in the middle of rehearsals.”

“And if we hadn’t just walked right in here I’m sure that you would have found some reason for us not to see them,” he shot back angrily.

“Brother Michael, you surely can’t mean what you are saying.” She cheaply grinned. “I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Bullshi . . .” He stopped himself. “Bull. The last couple of times you wouldn’t even let us . . .” He stopped himself once more.

“Brother Michael, it is quite evident that you are upset about something. Maybe we should discuss this when the children aren’t present.” Her voice was grinding against my nerves, giving me a headache.

“Yes, maybe we should,” Michael said through clenched teeth.

Mother Jaspers peered over at the bishop, giving him some sort of silent signal, which he obeyed. He turned off the keyboard and went over to join her in another chair. After he was settled, she offered us a seat.

“No, thank you,” Michael returned, still furious with her nonchalant attitude dealing with this situation.

“I will have Bertha retrieve the children. It is almost lunchtime anyways,” she said. This was when I noticed that all of them were similarly dressed in white tops and tan shorts or skirts.

“No!” I cried out. “I want my babies.”

“There is no need to carry on so, child.” Mother Jaspers shook her head as she continued to sit smugly in her chair with a grin like the Cheshire cat’s on her face. “The children are right here. Don’t they look like they are well taken care of?” she asked proudly.

“You are trying to stop us from seeing them,” I shot back.

“Tsk tsk, child. I am doing no such thing. I did tell you that this was going to be a very trying experience for us all. And, that in order for the children to adjust well, it would have been a good idea if maybe you didn’t try to see them as much. I knew that things could turn out exactly like this.” She continued to sit with a contented look on her smug face. When we first moved to town and were living in a rundown motel, it had seemed like a good idea to place the children with the bishop and his wife.

“Like what?” Michael asked. “It’s only been a couple of months and our own children act like they couldn’t care less about us.”

Placing both hands in her lap and sitting as straight as her big breasts would allow her she cleared her throat. “I’ve already explained that you just happened to catch us at a bad time. Now I am going to ask the both of you to calm yourselves in my home as not to upset my . . . the children.”

“We did not agree to this.” Michael shook his head. “You promised that this was going to benefit all of us. It seems to me that the only one benefiting is you, Mother Jaspers.” He angrily spit her name out of his mouth. She had promised we could see the children whenever we wanted and that nothing would change. Obviously, she had lied.

“What?” She touched her chest, acting surprised.

“Are you trying to take my babies?” he asked. He didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Why are you doing this? Is it because you couldn’t have any of your own?” Her bulbous eyes grew larger. “Is that what is going on here?” he asked.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I understand, Brother Michael, that you are very upset right now and you are taking it out on me. I know that you do not mean any of the nonsense that you are saying.”

Taking another deep breath and releasing it through flared nostrils, she continued, “Now I will overlook this little slip of the tongue, just this once.” She paused and gave him a stern look. “Because I will not allow any man to disrespect me in my own home. I would suggest that you remember that, Michael Moreland. I want to help you. I have opened up my heart and my home to these children to help you. I am doing what the Lord has requested of me,” she said, her voice rising at this point. “And I will not tolerate any evil talk in my home.” She stared into his eyes with the calm rage of an insane person. “Is that clear?” she asked defiantly.

Her husband sat quietly, letting her do all the talking. Michael didn’t respond. He glanced over at the bishop, who was sitting next to his wife like an obedient child.

“I will take that to mean that it is,” she said. “The bishop and I will leave you to enjoy as much time as you would like with the children now. To show you we are not trying to keep the children from you, I will send Bertha down with some sandwiches and lemonade shortly.” Hoisting her huge torso out of the chair with the aid of her husband, she huffed and puffed her way toward the doorway, never looking back.

She was good and upset but hers was no match for the way that we were feeling at that time. We wanted to take our children right then and there back to the dingy room with us. But we also had to think about it. They were in school now and we were working new jobs at the factory. This was something that we would have to think through.

The visit was quite uncomfortable. Our children were beginning to act and even speak differently. They pronounced their words differently. They had affected manners. Worst of all, they didn’t show a natural affection for us anymore. It was heartbreaking for the both of us. It was like they were someone else’s children, not the same children we had raised.

After Bertha brought the refreshments, which neither one of us even touched, she hung around wiping and dusting the same pieces of unimportant, discarded furniture. On the orders of Mother Jaspers, no doubt. The children ate in uncomfortable silence.

It was getting late and she suddenly reappeared in the doorway. “Ahem.” She cleared he. . .