Divine Timing

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CHAPTER twelve Divine Timing The Montgomery Estate was uncharacteristically quiet. Geneva stood at the breakfast bar, dressed in a silk robe thrown over her gown, and a steaming mug of black coffee clutched in one hand. Her phone buzzed twice. Then again. And again. She finally glanced at the screen. A string of messages from the church's media team. The PR assistant and two deacons. Subject lines blurred together. Did you see this? Urgent. Please advise before statement release image circulating online. Confirmation needed. She opened the image. The breath caught in her throat. Elise on a balcony. Accepting a proposal from Alique, the ring visible, their kiss unmistakable. Well, I'll be Geneva murmured. She didn't have time to react before her front door opened without a knock. Geneva? Elder Townsend's deep voice boomed through the foyer. One of the longest serving board members Townsend had known Bishop Elijah since seminary. And now, like a self appointed watchdog, he often showed up without invitation. She didn't flinch. In here, he stepped into the kitchen with a copy of the Charisma News article pulled up on his tablet. I take it you've seen this just now. You authorize this? he asked, already sure she hadn't. Geneva placed her mug down. If I had, you'd be sipping champagne with me right now. She's overseas with that boy, and now the whole world thinks she's getting married in the middle of a scandal. Geneva turned to face him fully. That boy just may have saved your precious installation. You think the public wants a statement about leaked videos or a public romance they can root for? Townsend grunted, not quite agreeing but not arguing either. Just then Geneva's phone lit up again, this time with a call from Kira, the church publicist. She put it on speaker. Kira, we're here. The young woman's voice buzzed through the line, breathless. Good morning, first lady, Elder Townsend. Sorry for the early call, but I just wanted to give you a heads up before it spreads too far. We've seen it, Geneva said. The proposal Right. Well, everyone has. It's gone viral in twelve hours. Every black faith outlet has picked it up. Even Essence reposted it. The narrative is overwhelmingly positive. Positive? Townsend raised a brow. Kira continued. Yes, sir. They're calling it a powerful moment of grace after grief. It's being framed as the bishop's daughter finding love abroad after a year of transition. Some people are saying it's what the church needed, a modern love story in the midst of legacy. Townsend folded his arms but said nothing. Should we release a statement? Kira asked. Or lean into the momentum. Geneva's lips curled slowly into a calculating smile. Lean. Full weight, let this be the headline. There was a pause. Geneva's tone sharpened. And the other video? Kira didn't miss a beat. What about it? We have our attorneys working to scrub it now. It's probably a thing of the past. But remember, all things work together for the good of those who love him, right? Her voice softened slightly. It was a catalyst. And the proposal? That was perfect timing. The call ended. Geneva looked up at Townsend, voice smooth as oil. Sometimes the spirit moves differently than we'd planned. He studied her, unconvinced. You sure this isn't just a distraction? She picked up her mug again. Oh, I'm sure. A distraction would have lasted a news cycle. This is legacy, if she plays it right. Elise awoke to the scent of warm pastries, and the faint clink of coffee being poured. Her lashes fluttered open to find Malik sitting at their breakfast nook of their suite, scrolling his phone, smiling to himself. You're up, he said, looking over. I am, she croaked, voice husky from sleep. He walked over and kissed her forehead. You might want to check your phone. We're trending. Her brows lifted. She reached over to the nightstand, squinted at the screen, and froze. Elise Montgomery accepts proposal on historic Portugal retreat, black church royalty, and modern love collide. She said yes. The internet reacts. There were screenshots, videos, think pieces already posted. Malik, this is good, he interrupted softly. It's good. She sat up, stunned. You're not overwhelmed? He knelt in front of her. Overwhelmed, maybe. But I'm also exactly where I want to be. With you. If the world sees that before we plan, so be it. Her heart softened. Before she could respond, her phone buzzed again. Daddy, she answered quickly. Hey, Daddy. Superstar, Bishop Montgomery's voice crackled through the speaker, warm and full despite its wear. I saw it. Your mama showed me. I cried like a fool. Her eyes welled instantly. You did? I sure did. You looked like your mamma when I proposed to her. And that young man, he looked proud. He looked like a man who knows what he's holding. Elise bit her lip, her hand trembling slightly. You taught me how to spot that. Well, I'm glad to know I taught you something other than scriptures and how to shut up a deacon. He chuckled, then coughed. The sound was harsh and lingering. She blinked away the emotion tightening in her chest. You taught me everything, Daddy. He grew quiet, then voiced gentler. Don't let the weight of legacy steal your joy, superstar. You hear me? Love him. Don't just build ministry, build your life too. She nodded, tears finally spilling. I will. I'm proud of you. Always have been. Always will be. There was a pause. Then a second voice entered the line. Her mother. Well, Geneva said briskly, congratulations are in order, Pastor Elise. Thank you, mamma. And as for the other thing, her voice dropped, almost imperceptibly. It's handled. Kira's on it. Elise wiped her face. I figured, Geneva's tone softened. Enjoy this moment. We'll deal with the rest. Your father doesn't need to know. I know. I mean it, Elise. Protect his peace. I will. There was a quiet click. The call ended. Elise lowered the phone and exhaled deeply. Malik stood behind her now, arms slipping around her waist. She leaned back into him, letting herself feel held. She loves you, he said. I know. And your dad. She turned to face him, gave me the only blessing I needed, dust particles dancing like fading hallelujahs between worlds. Geneva sat quietly in the armchair by the bishop's bed, hands folded in her lap, a tablet balanced on the side table beside her, still glowing with Elise's name and a headline she couldn't bring herself to open. Hospice nurses moved quietly in and out now. They didn't speak much. The bishop slept most of the day, but this afternoon his eyes were open. She's still in Portugal, he asked, voice gravelly but steady, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Geneva nodded. A few days now. Her last event went well. The press is saying she's glowing. She will be home later today. He smiled at that, just faintly. She didn't want to go. No, Geneva said. She called the morning of the flight, said it felt wrong leaving. She was right, he murmured. Still had to go. He turned his head toward her, his body barely shifting under the old quilt. She's walking in it now. In what? The oil the weight. The thing that crushed me. She'll carry it with grace. If they let her Geneva inhaled slowly. They may not. Then don't let 'em. She blinked. She's not perfect, Clarence. He gave a tired chuckle, the kind that used to come after hard truths in sermons. Neither was David or Peter, or me. I don't need her perfect, Jenny. I need her true. Geneva folded her arms across her chest like armor. She's complicated. I know you see her strength, but I see her cracks. And God can use both, he said. Don't let the church crucify her in the name of image. Don't let the guise of pretended perfection take her down. Geneva was quiet. The nurses had stepped out. The birds outside the window were singing something slow and unfinished. You proud of her? He didn't hesitate. I'm in awe of her. They sat in the stillness a moment longer before he closed his eyes and spoke softer. If I don't wake up this evening, tell her this. Own your story before they try to rewrite it. You were called, not crafted, and tell it before anyone else do. Cause you gone tell it better. They smiled. Geneva leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. I'll tell her, he exhaled. Then I can rest. The hum of the jet engine had lulled Elise into a shallow rest. Her head leaned against Malik's shoulder, her fingers loosely laced with his. The Portugal sky faded behind them, traded for the evening skies and the quiet anticipation of what was waiting at home. Malik brushed his thumb across her knuckles. You okay? she stirred. Mm hmm. Just tired. I feel like the second we land everything changes. Maybe. But not everything has to be heavy, he replied. Some things get lighter. Elise nodded, but her spirit felt a weight creeping back in. As the plane taxied down the runway in Atlanta, Elise noticed the unusual number of black cars near the terminal's private access point. Her heart sank before she could make sense of it. The flight attendant approached quietly. Pastor Montgomery, your mother is waiting just outside the gate. Elise's pulse quickened. She came to the airport? Yes, ma'am, and she asked us to let you off first. Something was wrong. The door opened, and there she was. First Lady Geneva Montgomery stood still and composed, dressed in black slacks and a structured coat. Her eyes were red, no makeup, no camera face, just grief. Elise froze halfway down the stairs. Mamma? Geneva didn't say anything at first. She simply opened her arms. Malik stepped down beside Elise, sensing the shift in her body before she even moved. Elise, Geneva finally whispered, her voice low but steady. He's gone. The words didn't register at first. What? Daddy passed early this morning, peacefully in his sleep. And then everything collapsed. Elise's legs gave out from under her, her knees buckling. The tarmac hit differently when it was pain that brought you down. Malik caught her mid fall, scooped her into his arms without hesitation. No cameras, Geneva barked at the gathering press nearby, her voice firm and cutting. Give her space. But it was too late. Shutters clicked, flashes fired. The story was writing itself, grief, grace, and the air to the pulpit. Malik shielded Elise with his body as best he could, guiding her into the waiting car. She wept in his arms, inconsolable, wordless. Inside the vehicle Geneva climbed into the front. We'll handle the official announcement tonight, but the board is already on alert. Elise looked up, eyes swollen. What do you mean? There will be an emergency session following the funeral, Geneva said firmly. The public will want leadership, and the board will expect clarity. Your father made his wishes clear. You are his successor. It's time. But I'm not ready. No one ever is, Geneva cut in gently. But you've been prepared. Malik didn't let go of her, just kissed the top of her head and said Whatever you need, I'm here. When they pulled into Elise's gated condo, it was worse than the airport. News vans, cameras, onlookers with phones. Elise swallowed hard. Her sanctuary had become a stage. This isn't grief, she whispered to herself. It's theater. Malik turned to her. Then let's rewrite the ending. They avoided the main entrance. Geneva gave instructions to security to use the service access around the back of the building. Malik followed the lead vehicle, winding through a side gate and pulling discreetly into the underground garage beneath Elise's high rise. The elevator ride up was silent, save for Elise's muffled breaths against Malik's chest. She hadn't spoken a full sentence since the tarmac. She didn't need to. Her body did all the talking, limp, broken, shaking quietly against the only safe space she could find. He carried her across the threshold like a man shielding treasure from a storm. The lights in her condo flicked on automatically as they entered. Soft amber hues filled the space, but everything felt too bright, too sharp, too alive for what she'd just lost. Malik didn't ask where to put her. He walked straight to her bedroom, past the kitchen where wine glasses from two weeks ago still sat on the counter, past the hallway lined with photos of her and her father at church dedications, retreats, and her seminary graduation. He laid her on the bed gently, like glass, but she didn't let him go. When he tried to step back her hand found his wrist. Don't, she whispered. Please don't leave. I'm not going anywhere. He kicked off his shoes and slid in beside her, fully clothed, wrapping his arms around her like he was the thing holding her together. And maybe he was. She curled into his chest, and the dam finally broke. Malik held her through the soundless sobs and the loud ones, through the gasps and the shaking, through the incoherent pieces of prayers and memories and guilt. He didn't say a word, didn't try to fix it. He just stayed. At one point, sometime after midnight, she whispered through swollen lips. I didn't get to say goodbye. You did, he said softly, in your own way, and he heard you. They lay like that until dawn, Elise cocooned in grief, Malik anchoring her with silence and strength. The world outside buzzed with headlines and speculation, but inside those walls she was just a daughter, and he, a man quietly falling deeper in love. You've just listened to chapter twelve of the Bishop's Daughter by Lee Franklin. Thanks for listening.