Testimony

by Felicia Mason

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

Award-winning, #1 Blackboard best-selling author Felicia Mason delivers a soul-stirring novel of faith, family, and friendship. For 18 years Roger McKenzie has led The Triumphant Voices of Praise, a gospel singing group. But The Voices have failed to win commercial or critical success, and their close bond is deteriorating. Only by confronting the demons of their past will the singers have a chance to reach new heights.

Release date: July 28, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

“We’re already behind schedule, Roger. This isn’t a good way to launch this tour.”

Roger McKenzie stared straight ahead, his own mind unsettled as he tried to ignore the negative words coming from the man whose job it was to keep them all motivated. Roger would be the last person ever to voice the fears he had had about this trip. But there was little he could do about it at this point. He’d signed contracts, made agreements, committed the group’s time and talent. People were expecting the Voices of Triumphant Praise to teach classes, perform concerts, and live up to the hype Roger generated on the choir’s behalf.

“Vincent, it’s going to be all right,” Roger said, giving his friend the assurance he himself so desperately needed. “God’s grace is sufficient.”

Roger had leveraged so much to make this tour happen: time, money, and personal relationships. His total concentration had been on the benefits of getting this particular message out when those around him said it couldn’t be done. He, however, answered to a higher authority. And the word from on high had been to go forth.

The Reverend Vincent Hedgepeth nodded. “I believe and trust in grace, Roger. But I also know that—”

Roger held up a hand, staving off the flow of negative energy from the man everyone in the choir called Reverend Vince.

“If you want to leave now, you can,” Roger said. “I’m going forward and so is the tour.”

With that, Roger, founder and director of the Voices of Triumphant Praise Gospel Choir, got up and made his way past five rows of seats where choir members sprawled on their tour bus. Some slept; others read. Krista, arms raised, unraveled large green rollers from her hair. Roger smiled at her and she winked up at him.

“I didn’t have time to do this before we left,” she said.

“You missed one,” Roger said, lifting a strand of hair and guiding her hand to the curler.

“Thanks.”

He continued on his way. These people were his family, his way of life. They depended on him, looked up to him. And on this, their latest tour, he would be able to give back to all of them the joy they’d given him. And maybe, just maybe, they’d make a mark on the world. That, above all else, was what he hoped and what he wanted.

Roger had big dreams for this choir. With their latest CD, Spread the Word, he hoped the word would be spread about the choir as well as the love of God. Roger lived and breathed gospel music. He loved singing, directing, and writing the music. It was all he’d ever wanted to do.

He stopped at a small dining area on the custom-made bus and reached into a bag of pretzels on the table. They’d gotten the bus fully outfitted from a country-and-western singer who’d upgraded to a newer model. Getting the stench of cigarettes out of the vehicle had been harder than overhauling its engine. The bus had been a blessing though, coming at a time when he’d maxed out his credit cards trying to get the choir and their equipment from engagement to engagement every weekend in rented vans and cars.

The Voices of Triumphant Praise had been riding in high style for the past couple of years. And they’d actually outgrown the confines of the bus. All of their sound equipment and the musicians’ instruments traveled behind in a white panel truck driven by their sound technician. The money earned from this tour would allow them to get the truck painted and detailed with the choir’s logo and contact number.

But all of that was yet to come. Right now, Roger’s worries stemmed from another direction.

“Whazzup, Roger?”

He paused, leaning against the built-in shelving. “Not much. You guys all right back here?”

Glenna nodded, then jerked her head toward a seating area beyond the two restrooms. “Georgie and Tyrone have some issues. I’m worried about them.”

Roger’s gaze took in the couple: his cousin Tyrone in jeans and a Voices of Triumphant Praise sweatshirt, seated on the padded bench; and Georgie, standing above him. Georgie was always dressed up. While most of the choir and musicians had on jeans or sweats for the hours-long bus ride north, Georgie wore a cream-colored linen pantsuit and heels. She looked as if she were going out for afternoon tea. He couldn’t hear all of their words, but the whispered intensity of the exchange wasn’t lost on him.

“How long have they been at it?”

“’Bout since we started,” Glenna said. “I don’t think Georgie wanted to come on this trip. Something’s up with them.”

Roger silenced the inner sigh that threatened to overcome his spirit. Is every step a struggle, Lord?

He didn’t expect, nor did he receive, an answer to the entreaty.

Glancing at his watch, Roger estimated the time it would take them to get to their hotel and then the first engagement. They were supposed to open a festival at a community college in Northern Virginia.

“We gonna be late, ain’t we?”

He nodded. They were an hour behind schedule. “I already called ahead though. They know we’re running late. Instead of being first, we’ll go on when we get there.”

Glenna nodded and reached for the pretzel bag.

A moment later, the bus lurched hard to the right, then zigzagged across the road.

Glenna yelped as she scrambled for purchase. Roger fell across the table with an “Oomph!”

The big bus lurched hard to the right, sending them both tumbling over. Roger grabbed Glenna and tried to shield her from the snack foods and cups falling all around them.

Someone in the front cried out.

The bus shuddered, and then came to a complete halt.

Seconds ticked by and no one said a word; then chaos erupted.

“My leg, Roger. You’re on my leg.”

“Sweet Jesus, is everybody okay?”

“What happened?”

Roger helped Glenna up. He brushed off his clothes and hers.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just more shocked than hurt. Go check on the others. I’ll see if Georgie and Tyrone are okay.”

After inspecting Glenna once again, Roger turned his attention to the passengers in the front of the bus.

“Is everybody okay?” he said, quickly making his way down the aisle. “Anybody hurt?”

He did a visual check and a count of all the choir members: Krista sitting by herself, Danita and Ti’Nisha sharing a seat across from Quent and Lamont, Mary and Drake together, Margaret near the front, with Calvin and Reverend Vince.

The bus driver sat in his seat, scowling out the rearview mirror.

“What happened, Jerry?” Roger asked.

“We either blew a tire or I ran over something in the road.”

“Where’s Dwayne?” someone asked.

Just then they heard knocking from the middle of the bus.

“Everybody off!” Jerry and Roger said at the same time.

Grabbing purses and carry-on satchels, the choir members hustled off the bus, even as the banging and knocking grew louder. It sounded as if something in or on the bus was about to blow up at any moment.

“Hurry up, ya’ll. I don’t think this is the day the Lord is calling me home,” Glenna said.

“I hear you, girl,” Danita said. “Get a move on.”

A couple of people chuckled at the exchange, but they all did move a little faster.

“Steer clear of the bus,” Roger called. “And somebody check on the truck to make sure Marcus and Scottie are all right.”

When everyone was off the bus, Roger and the bus driver investigated the noise. “It sounds like it’s coming from here,” Jerry said.

The knocking was louder.

“Hey, open the door!”

“It’s Dwayne.”

Roger and Jerry had to pry the bathroom door open. Dwayne stumbled out. “Man, what the heck happened? One minute I’m standing there taking care of business; the next minute I’m bouncing all over the place.”

“You’re also bleeding,” Roger said.

“Where?” Dwayne said, touching his head. It was his arm that was bloody, though. “Oh, man. I must’ve cut myself on something.”

“We’ll get you to the hospital.”

“Hospital? It’s just a scratch, Roger. I’m all right. Just a little shaken up.”

“I’d still like you to get looked at.”

Dwayne waved his other arm. “My sister’s a nurse. I’ll clean it up and have her look at it tonight when we get to D.C. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Roger said. “But everybody’s outside.”

“I’m gonna go check for damage,” Jerry said.

Dwayne followed him while Roger did a quick inspection of the rest of the vehicle’s interior.

“It’s a tire,” somebody called from outside.

A strip of black rubber on the road backed up the claim.

Glenna frowned at the folks who stood close to the road surface. “Y’all get back before somebody gets hit,” she said, waving her hand at the oncoming vehicles.

Traffic was light, but there were still cars, vans, and trucks whizzing by. The panel truck pulled up behind them. Several people went over to Marcus and Scottie, who were getting out to see what had happened.

A moment later, the crunch of tires and flashing blue lights got everyone’s attention. Calvin waved to get the cop’s attention, as if the big purple-and-gold bus with Voices of Triumphant Praise painted on it hadn’t already caught his eye.

The state trooper rolled up behind them and approached. One of the women handed Dwayne a moist towelette to wipe up some of the blood from the gouge on his arm.

“Howdy, folks,” the trooper said. “What seems to be the problem?”

Everybody started talking at once. It took the trooper a few minutes to sort things out. With Jerry, he inspected the tire that had blown.

The choir had been blessed. Other than Dwayne’s injury and a bump on the head from a falling carry-on, no one was the worse for wear. So, with no other damage to the bus or its passengers, and no clear evidence of any wrongdoing on Jerry’s part, the trooper didn’t cite the bus driver.

“I have a first-aid kit in the car,” the trooper told Dwayne. “I’ll get a bandage for you.”

As the officer strode back to his vehicle, Krista and Danita checked him out. “He can give me a ticket any old day,” Danita said.

“That’s the truth, girl. Look at that walk.”

“Ya’ll need to quit,” Glenna said, coming up next to them. She leaned forward with words just for their ears. “But the brother is fine.”

The three women laughed together as they admired the view.

After handing Dwayne a bandage and shaking hands with Roger and Jerry, the trooper pointed out a place across the road where they could get some assistance. Roger pressed a Spread the Word CD into his hands, and the trooper waved good-bye.

“Well, the good news is that that place right over there,” Jerry said, pointing across the way a bit, “should be able to get us up and running.”

“And the bad news?” someone asked.

“The bad news,” Roger answered. “Is that we don’t know how long it’ll take.” Or how much it’s going to cost, he thought.

Just less than two hours later, with the biggest injuries Dwayne’s arm, a bump on the head someone suffered from the carry-on bag, and a charge on Roger’s credit card, the choir was ready to get back on its way.

After prayer and cell phone calls to their motel and to the contact for their engagement that evening, the Voices of Triumphant Praise got back on their tour bus.

So far, things weren’t going very well. The anxious and suspicious sort would have taken that as a sign.

“We almost didn’t make it here tonight,” Roger said several hours later. “We got a little banged up in an accident on the way. But by the glory and grace of God we stand before you tonight, a testimony to the goodness of the Lord.”

The college-aged crowd buzzed as people carried on their conversations and milled about, mostly ignoring the acts on the stage in the student union hall. Impatient at the delays that marked what was supposed to be the kickoff of Campus Week at the community college in Northern Virginia, much of the audience had already walked out by the time the Voices of Triumphant Praise finally took the stage.

Standing before what should have been a packed room but was instead a rapidly thinning crowd, Roger lifted his right hand and snapped off a four-beat. The choir burst into song, their voices drowning out the irritated hum of the nonchalant audience.

A few people clapped along with the rhythm, but mostly the choir was ignored, much the way a lounge singer is ignored by bar patrons and customers engrossed in their own conversations and dramas.

As he directed, Roger kept glancing over his shoulder, hoping their message landed on willing and needful ears. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash. A strobe light went off on the far left side of the room and several people got up to go see what the attraction was.

Roger’s brow creased. He turned back to the choir, but half of them were also trying to see what was happening across the room.

The drummer skipped a beat. Glenna missed a cue. From offstage he saw Georgie shake her head in disgust. Margaret’s anxious, embarrassed gaze flickered between the waning audience and Roger. She shrugged, the motion a defeated gesture that summed up the night: The first day and engagement of the Spread the Word tour was a complete and total flop.

Roger himself felt defeated.

At their motel a few hours later, he remained in a foul mood. He’d gotten everyone checked in and to their assigned rooms. He’d originally planned a celebratory group dinner for their first night, but because it was so late, people just grabbed something to eat at the diner next to the motel or from KFC a few blocks down the street.

Roger and Reverend Vince shared a room this leg of the trip. Later on, Vincent would meet with some of his seminary buddies, and his wife planned to join them in Philadelphia. While Roger unpacked, Vince sat at the desk, his notebook and study Bible open to the first book of Corinthians.

“The Devil set a trap and we walked straight into it,” Roger said, stomping from the suitcase to the closet.

“You sure it was the Devil? He gets blamed for a lot of stuff we put on ourselves.” Vincent Hedgepeth, in his early fifties and graying a bit at the temples, liked to think of himself as Roger’s older, wiser brother, though their relationship more often took the role of father to son. Since the Reverend Hedgepeth and his wife didn’t have any children, Vincent didn’t mind the father-figure role. Right now, though, Roger seemed to need more than a father; he needed a friend to offer an objective perspective.

“We were off tonight,” Roger said. “The musicians were a half beat behind and acting like they were playing some other gig. Georgie had attitude written all over her face. And what was that off in that corner, a step show or something? Those college kids were the rudest bunch I’ve ever seen. We were an ineffective witness.”

“We were three hours late,” Vincent pointed out.

Roger reached for a vest in his bag, unfolded it, then threw it on his bed.

“I’m going to call a rehearsal.” He reached for the phone on the desk near Vince, but Vince grabbed the receiver and held it away from him.

“And what’s a rehearsal going to do? Between the late start and the accident, everybody’s already tired and irritable. We had a rough day. A good night’s rest is what everybody needs right now. Especially you. We’ll start off fresh and right tomorrow morning with prayer and Bible study. I think Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth about not focusing on God’s plan is where we’ll begin.”

The not-so-subtle barb hit home.

“All right, Vincent. Just out with it. You’ve been itching for this fight. What’s on your mind?”

Vincent pulled his reading glasses off and leaned back in the straight chair, folding his arms over the slight paunch at his waist. As spiritual adviser to the choir and to Roger, Vincent took his ministerial and counseling duties seriously. “I’m not trying to fight with you, Roger. You asked me to come on this trip to be a counselor. Well, I’m counseling now.”

“I meant to the choir members.”

“Hmm,” Vincent said as he replaced the telephone receiver and pushed the phone out of the way. “So, you’re saying you’re so perfect you don’t need any guidance?”

Roger sighed. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes. “It has been a long day, Hedgepeth. And I still have music I need to go over. What’s your sermon tonight?”

Facing Roger, Vincent braced his elbows on his thighs and steepled his hands. “It’s not a sermon,” he said. “I’m worried about you, Roger. You’ve been running yourself ragged for months now. It’s like you’re being chased by a demon the rest of us can’t see, and you’re making everybody in the group run right along with you.”

Trying to ignore Vince, Roger unzipped the long leather bag that protected his keyboard. He pulled the stand out and quickly set it up.

“We got a late start this morning because you overslept,” Vince said.

“I had a rough night the night before. I apologized to everyone. . . .”

“It’s not about an apology, Roger. It’s about listening to your body. At the rate you’re going, you’re gonna have a heart attack from stress. You’re what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

“I’m thirty-one,” Roger said.

“Well, I’ve got more than twenty years on you and I can see when somebody needs to slow it down. You push yourself and push yourself. When are you gonna rest?”

Roger sat on the edge of his bed as he wiped down the keyboard. “I don’t have time to rest,” he said. “I have goals. We have commitments. The choir—”

“The choir knows all of the music, has worked long and hard to make this tour happen, and everybody knows what’s on the line. Riding people like a dictator isn’t going to make them inclined to perform at their peak, particularly after the kind of day we’ve had. It makes them cranky. You can’t make success happen, Roger.”

Roger didn’t believe that for a minute. But he also wasn’t in the mood to listen to one of Vincent’s sermons, either, not when he had a thousand things to do before his head could finally hit the pillow. That he was actually avoiding sleep was something he didn’t want to face.

“Look,” he said, snatching up the vest he’d tossed on the bed and hanging it in the closet. “We’re gonna be on the road for seven days. Let’s make the most of it. I don’t want any more nights like this one at that college. We have a demanding sche. . .