Under the Cypress Moon Read online

  Mark and T.L. took seats across the aisle and a few pews up from where Shylah and her parents sat, creating a general curiosity among the three of them. Darius was a little upset about the hole in his wall, but T.L. assured him that Mark would pay every penny of the repair and that it was an accident, though he couldn't exactly tell him why it had happened.

  "Why are them boys sittin' way up there," Darius asked of his wife, as if she had some answer that he did not.

  "Now, Darius King, do you think I'm Miss Cleo or somethin'? I don't have a clue." Mrs. King had a way about her that no matter what she said, people did not get irritated by it or get mad at her. Her husband only laughed at her remark and squeezed her arm a little, followed by an intent and loving pull by the shoulder toward him and a kiss on the top of her head.

  Shylah saw what her father did, and somehow, unbeknownst to her why, it made her want something similar, want a man that would be that loving after so long together. With a lump in her throat, Shylah realized that Mark's profession to her the previous day had gotten her thinking of him in ways that she never thought possible, almost wanting him like he wanted her. It was all strange. How did he have so much power over her and so quickly, she wondered.

  The church was abuzz as more and more people wandered in, many greeting person after person. Even Darius, comfortable as he was, soon got up from his seat to speak to several others. The place was a great mix and conflagration of people of opposite colors and all shades between. It seemed a realization of the dream spoken of by the doctor of the same name as Darius, his wife, and children.

  Mark and T.L., however, remained seated where they were. Shylah stared at Mark, wondered what must be running through his mind, wondered if he still harbored the same feelings as the day before or if her rejection had made him forget it all. A large part of her hoped that this was not the case, hoped that Mark felt exactly the same. She thought that she might have to affirm to him that it was not pointless and would not prove fruitless, display to him the possibilities before them both.

  "Who you starin' at," asked Mrs. King of her daughter.

  "Nobody, Mama."

  "Girl, don't lie. Your mouth says nobody, but your eyes say somebody. Now, either you're starin' at the minister's wife, your brother, or Mark. Which one is it?"

  Shylah thought of lying to her mother but did not want to, especially not in church. "Please drop it, Mama."

  "Oh, so you have a reason to keep from tellin' me? That means it's important. So, let me see. If it was your brother, you would probably tell me. If it's the minister's wife, she must've done somethin' to make you mad, but I cannot see Mrs. Hill doin' that. My mind tells me you've been starin' at Mark. Since you don't wanna talk about it, I say you fancy that man."

  "Mama?"

  "You think I got to be this age bein' stupid?" Mrs. King chuckled hard. She kind of liked the idea of her daughter liking Mark. She knew that there were few good men in the area, let alone the entire world, and there could not be a better one than Mark Crady, despite the horrendous and callous nature of his father. "So, tell me, Shylah, what is it about the man? Why after so long do you like him? How bad is it?"

  "Mama, please!"

  "Come on. We got a little bit until services start, and you got me curious. So, how bad is it?"

  "I don't know. He came over yesterday to go fishin' with T.L., and he came in to talk to me and told me he was in love with me, had been for a while, loved me so much he couldn't stand it. I didn't know what to say. I never really thought of him like that, but now, I can't stop thinkin' about him. I almost couldn't sleep last night!" Shylah hung her head a little after finishing, fighting tears, though one slipped by her and ran down her cheek, soon followed by another and another, both sides stained severely.

  Maybe Shylah had always loved Mark, in some way. At that moment, she felt such an incredible mix of emotions, a stirring of so many things that she could burst open at all of her seams. Shylah always knew that Mark was a very handsome guy, and there was no doubt in her mind that she thought of him in that way, that if she were the kind of girl to be able to go around having physical relationships, she could definitely have one with that man; however, she was not like that, not like some of her friends who did exactly that. Shylah was raised better, raised to honor love and kindness, raised to believe in finding a good man. She still had hope that there were a few out there, somewhere.

  Services were about to get underway. Reverend Hill had just taken his place at the pulpit, the choir seated behind him, all of the parishioners now taking their seats, the organ's wondrous and angelic sounds now filling the entire room. After a heavenly round of "Amazing Grace" and a lengthy but determined invocation from the minister, he started right in with a sermon that seemed to speak right to Mark and Shylah.

  "Now, I wanna talk to you good folks today about love, and I'm not talkin' about the love that a man has for a woman or a woman for a man. That is a beautiful thing when two of God's children find that, but I'm talkin' about the love that God has for each and every one of us! For God so loved the world that He gave his only Begotten Son. Can you imagine that... giving your son or daughter over to the world. Now, I know a lot of you have done just that, sacrificing your children to the service of their country, fighting endless wars in faraway lands. They so love their country and love each and every one of us that they would risk their lives, a lot like Jesus did but for a different purpose. And I know that my words right now are probably upsetting my lovely wife over there. When we gave up our son, Michael, it was the hardest thing that we ever did. But it was that love that Henrietta and I had for one another that allowed our son to be in this world, a beautiful love that has lasted for nearly thirty years, and it was our love for mankind that allowed us to send our son over there to Iraq. It was that great love that allowed us to trust in the Lord that he would bring our son home safe to us. Think, every one of you, about the love that you have for your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girlfriend, your son, or your daughter, or even your mother or father. Now, picture that loved magnified times more than we can count! Imagine that love magnified so many times that it cannot be contained by the entire universe! That is the love that God so has for us that he would give up his Son to certain death so that we could all be here today and be saved!"

  Shylah heard some of this, but all that she could think about every time that the word love was mentioned was Mark, how he had professed his love for her, something that most are unable and unwilling to do for the one they desire. She thought about how she had possibly been too harsh with him, had overreacted, had sent him away saddened, broken, feeling no return on his feelings. Surely, she would have to find a way to speak to Mark after church, to at least make sure that he was alright.

  Shylah continued watching Mark throughout the service, paying little to no attention to Reverend Hill's words. The Reverend occasionally went back to speaking about love between men and women, the only parts that Shylah really caught. Today, her thoughts were completely consumed by thoughts of Mark, thoughts of finding real love. Shylah had only dated one white man before, and he treated her terribly. She knew that Mark wasn't like that, but the part that she dreaded most about dating another white man was what people would say. There was too much bigotry toward interracial couples in that neck of the country, and Shylah did not want to add to it, but, on the other hand, she almost didn't care anymore.

  It seemed that with each and every passing moment that Mark got better and better looking. Shylah knew that she either had all of a sudden begun to have immense feelings for the man, or, more likely, had always had them but had never realized them. Either way, something must be done. She knew from T.L.'s words and those of her mother that they would have no problem at all with Shylah and Mark getting together. They would likely be immeasurably happy if the whole thing progressed rapidly. They would welcome Mark as a member of the family if the time came, not like they hadn't already many years before. The only people whose feeling
s Shylah needed to sort out now were hers and those of her father, Darius.

  Everyone but Shylah seemed enwrapped in the good reverend's sermon. Shylah wanted so badly to pay more attention, to be the good Christian girl that she was brought up to be, but all of this talk about love right at the very moment that she could not stop thinking about the man that loved her so immensely got her mind racing, scattered and shattered really. It was a lot to take all at once. In one instance, her whole life was changed. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but whatever it was, it could not be erased; things could not go back to the way that they were just a day before. The only good that could come would be either in finding a way for Mark and her to be together once and for all and possibly, bring them both great joy or for Mark to forget all of his feelings and maybe even find another.

  The services seemed to fly by quickly. Before Shylah knew it, the benediction was being given, and people began to stir about. Shylah's parents got up to visit with the reverend and his wife and a great deal many others, yet Shylah remained where she was, still thinking everything over. It had not given her a single moment's peace since Mark left her house the day before, save when she finally did sleep.

  Shylah barely noticed as T.L. walked by, but right when Mark followed quickly behind him, Shylah jumped from the pew and raced to get behind him. She followed right on his tail, and at the moment that he started through the door at the front of the church, Shylah tapped him on the shoulder. Turning around, expecting to see Reverend Hill or maybe Darius King or just about anyone besides Shylah, Mark was truly surprised at seeing her standing there.

  "Hey, stranger," Shylah began with a huge smile.

  "Hi." Mark was not sure how exactly he was supposed to act around the woman now that he had said what he had, had given her his heart, which she metaphorically stomped on and tore to pieces.

  "Ummm... Mark?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Can we talk?"

  "We are talking, Shylah."

  "I know that. Duh!" Laughing and still smiling, Shylah could just barely maintain eye contact. She felt sheepish, shy, maybe even somewhat like Mark felt the day before. Now, she understood what Mark had gone through, only his was on a much larger scale.

  "What do you wanna talk to me about," Mark asked, very confused. What could Shylah say or ask that had not already been said or that Mark had not already thought, he wondered. There was no making things better, in his mind, at least.

  "I've been thinking about all of this a lot, a lot, a looottt! I don't know what this is or why it's doing this to me, but I can't stop thinking about what you said and about how I reacted and about how it's not a bad idea at all. I just didn't know what to say or how to handle it, and I was worried about what it might do to your relationship with T.L., ya know?" With this finished, Shylah took a deep breath and a much needed pause.

  "So why now? Why does it matter? You don't have feelings for me, Shylah, and it would be mean for me to try to make you feel somethin' you don't. Don't do this to make me feel better."

  "I'm not! Please just talk to me. Please just hear me out, Mark. I'm doing this for me. I can't get you out of my head. If this is even half of what you go through, then I'm so sorry. It's putting me through misery. If this means I don't have some kind of feelings for you, then I must be crazy, so there! " Shylah felt so agitated right then that she wanted to scream in Marks face and tell him to stop being so stupid and blind.

  Neither knew what else to say now. It seemed as though everything that could be said had been. Both wanted to say more, to do more, to make something of it all, but they both found themselves helpless, hopeless, restless.

  "I don't know what to say," Mark replied.

  "Hey! That's my line," Shylah snapped back, laughing again.

  Mark wanted so badly to share that laugh with Shylah, but how could he? He still felt slighted. He didn't hold resentment, at least, not much, toward the woman, but he was hurt, deeply hurt. He wasn't mad. He was sad; he was disappointed, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit relieved. If he succeeded in his hopes and dreams, what would there be to shoot for, and what might happen between him and his best friend? If he hurt Shylah in any way, would they all look at him the same as they had for so many years? He wondered if Shylah might be worried about the exact same things. Unbeknownst to Mark, she did.

  "Well," Mark said. "If you want, come with me, and we'll talk some more."

  "Just talk, right?" Laughing still, Shylah thought it strange that nothing she said made Mark laugh, too. For much of the time that the two knew each other, they could make the other laugh.

  "Yeah, just talk. Don't worry."

  "Who said I was worried?" Shylah smiled so big that her face could rip into pieces.

  "Well, people might talk," Mark responded, winking. He had finally worked up some nerve, some hope, some happiness.

  "Let 'em," Shylah replied.

  Walking side by side but not really saying much of anything, Mark and Shylah headed to the parking lot. When they arrived at Mark's truck, Mark opened the door and gently helped Shylah into her seat. He believed in being a gentleman as much as is humanly possible, no matter the circumstances, and that was not something that his father, Thomas, instilled in him. It came from his long dead and much cherished mother and his mother's mother.

  Both women taught Mark a lot about how to treat a woman properly, and he felt it his duty, not only to women in general, but to the good teachings and wishes of his matriarchs, to do exactly as they instructed. Perhaps, that was largely why Mark always had such an incredible bond with his mother and grandmother. He had, maybe, an even stronger relationship with both of his grandfathers, however. All of his grandparents, and his mother, were dead, leaving Mark with just Thomas, Sir Thomas, as some called him, and Mark called him mockingly.

  Mark and Shylah seemed a natural match, at least to Mark, somewhat to T.L., to Mrs. King, and to quite a few others. Right before Mark's paternal grandmother, Agnes Crady, passed away, she brought up exactly that subject to her grandson.

  "You dote on that girl, don't you?"

  "What do you mean, Grandma? What girl?"

  "Don't play coy with me, Marcus Crady. I have known you since the day you came into this world. Don't think that your ol' grandma can't see what's plain as day. That's the great thing about us old folks. We know what we know cuz it's plain truth." With that, the old woman smiled and walked away. Unlike her son, Thomas, Agnes saw no problem with Mark and Shylah being together. In fact, the idea tickled her, made her a little giddy. She liked the Kings a great deal, even if her son thought them to be poor trash and "damned niggers."

  It was the first time that Mark came to realize that he and Shylah might actually make a good couple and that not everyone would be bothered by it. Until that time, it had only been a slight notion, a fantasy that never seemed available to make reality. Now, it was not only something to seriously consider but was sanctioned by one of the people that Mark most respected, that nearly everyone in the entire three county area knew well and respected, for that matter.

  Mark never thought it a possibility, hiding his feelings for three years, even dating a handful of other women in hopes of ridding himself of such foolish thoughts. But now, it had all grown too strong, too much to handle, too overwhelming. Knowing that T.L. supported the idea, Mark was finally o.k. with it. He sure did not expect for Shylah to find him after church, however, and profess that she, too, was having feelings, stirrings, jarrings, whatever they may be called.

  Mark drove several miles out of town before anything was said. The day was very clear, quite warm, breathtaking really. Occasionally, there was a glance shot from one to the other and a big smile, but nothing more. Shylah felt a little uneasy because of how everything had gone lately, but she wanted this. She wanted more. She saw that Mark, unlike most men, was capable of real love and real romance. He would do things for her that no other man would dare try. He would treat her with respect and devotion. It was
all so different, but it was wonderful, she thought.

  Finally, knowing that they could not spend the rest of the day silent, Shylah broke up the monotony. "Beautiful day, wouldn't you say?"

  "Very, but not even half as beautiful as you are."

  Shylah could not help but blush deeply. Mark was displaying his generally sweet nature. It was a breath of fresh air, fresher than the air being sucked in through the open truck window.

  "Mark, you are too sweet for your own good."

  "I just call it like I see it, Shylah."

  "Well, you might have to stop it... or don't. I don't know." Shylah couldn't help but lose herself in uncontrollable laughter. For almost exactly a day, Mark had had some strange and mystical power over Shylah's entire being.

  "You know," Shylah began. "I always thought you were handsome."

  "Really," Mark asked, dubious of Shylah's words.

  "Truth, God's honest truth. I used to think that you were one of the best lookin' men I'd ever seen in my whole life. When you and T.L. were in high school, and I was still in junior high, I had a bit of a crush."

  "You did not," Mark snapped back, laughing hard in order to cover his disbelief and shy uneasiness.

  "I swear. I thought you were so handsome that it was hard to be around you. I guess that all kind of just faded away eventually, but there for a long time, you were the man of my dreams... well, you and Denzel Washington."

  "Denzel Washington, huh," Mark asked, a little bit relieved at taking some of the pressure off of himself.

  "Yep," Shylah shot back. "I was going to be Mrs. Denzel Washington if you didn't get to me first."

  "Oh, so if I'd asked you to marry me back then, you would've said yes, huh?"

  "I probably would've," Shylah replied, laughing even more than usual. The whole idea of it, though funny, was closer to the truth than the jokiness of it allowed.