When Sunday Comes Again Read Online Free PDF Page A

in green uniforms scurried about, mowing grass, pruning trees, and coddling roses, as the limousine drove by. On Samantha’s right Hezekiah’s legacy was slowly rising from the earth. Construction of the new twenty-five-thousand-seat crystal cathedral had continued at Samantha’s insistence. Cement trucks churned along dirt roads. Scaffolding hung precariously along the side of the steel skeleton, and workers pounded, bolted, and soldered at all levels of the structure.
    The car pulled into the reserved space near the administrative wing of the building. Dino scanned the parking lot before exiting the vehicle. He stood and did a 360-degree rotation to ensure no one was near the car before he opened the rear door.
    Samantha extended her elegant Prada-clad foot from the vehicle. When she stood from the car, the morning light appeared like a pool at her feet and hovered around her head. The fiber of her mint pantsuit seemed to glow as she walked toward the building. Dino closed the car door and followed closely behind. He took a double step ahead of her and opened the door as she moved forward without altering her stride and stepped aside.
    Samantha entered the office, which was filled with staff members. Young men in dress shirts and ties and women who looked like knockoff versions of Samantha studied glowing computer screens. Ringing telephones were greeted with “Thank you for calling New Testament Cathedral. God loves you, and so do we. How may I help you?” No one looked up as Samantha crossed the room, heading toward her office. They each had been instructed on the day they were hired, “Do not make eye contact with or address Samantha Cleaveland unless she speaks to you directly.”
    Samantha entered the outer office of the suite that had three weeks earlier been occupied by her husband. Her assistant, Veronica, sat upright at her desk when she entered. She wore a neatly tailored navy blue suit over a perfectly pressed white blouse and a floral scarf was draped over her shoulders.
    â€œGood morning, Pastor Cleaveland,” the attractive young woman said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you earlier, but he was very insistent.”
    Samantha ignored the woman’s contrition and instead said, “I want my entire staff in the conference room in ten minutes. Make it happen.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    Samantha looked coldly at the woman and said, “I’ve asked you not to call me ma’am. You’re not in Mississippi anymore, and I’m not your mother. You will refer to me as Pastor Cleaveland. If ma’am slips from your lips again, consider yourself fired. Is that understood?”
    Veronica looked down at the neat desk and responded, “I understand, Pastor Cleaveland.”
    â€œGood. Now, make sure everyone is in the conference room. Let them know that whoever is not present can pick up their last paycheck in accounting.” The door to Hezekiah’s office shut behind Samantha on the last syllable.
    The large office, with antiques from around the world, overlooked the grounds of New Testament Cathedral from the fifth floor. The construction site across the street was partially visible in the corner of the window. Lush burgundy carpeting muffled the sounds of traffic below, and an oil painting of the Cleavelands hung over a fireplace encased in an ornately carved oak mantelpiece.
    The message indicator on the telephone on the desk blinked as Samantha removed the dark sunglasses and sat in the high-back leather chair. She pressed a button and heard, “Hello, Reverend Cleaveland. This is Gideon Truman. May I offer my deepest sympathies for your loss. Pastor Cleaveland was a wonderful man. I never had the opportunity to meet him but heard good things about his work over the years, and everyone I’ve spoken to who knew Hezekiah speaks very highly of him. I understand this must be a very difficult time for you, but I would like to invite you