Lost in Dreams (26 page)

I hadn’t considered this assignment to be dangerous … not until now.

“Male prisoners respect women of any age more than you can possibly imagine. Few men hate their own mothers. Kimmy won’t be in any danger. And if an insider should request a private talk away from the worship service, we’ll schedule it so my wife sits in on it.”

“But will anyone even ask to talk with me with Chappy present?” I said. “I mean, if he’s holding something over their heads, he’s undoubtedly watching to make sure they don’t talk at length with any of us. Especially not one-on-one.”

“Hmm. Maybe it’s time for me to tell Chaplain Thomas that he’s done a great job babysitting you folks, but you’re doing fine now and I don’t need him to keep an eye on you any longer.”

“Will he buy that?” Rob asked.

“He will when I tell him that’s an order. Direct disobedience would simplify things. Between that and the way he lied to you and purposely misrepresented me—I’ll document all of that in his personnel record—I could justify severe discipline. Read that any way you want to. But if he’s guilty of the things we suspect, I’d rather see him spend the next few years of his life as an insider.”

Boy! Was I glad this man and I were on the same side.

“Let me ask this, Kimmy. Are you free to come here during the daytime if an insider wants to talk with you then?”

I looked at Rob. “Ask my boss.” I winked at him. “He schedules my time.”

“We can spare her for something like that,” he said.

After saying our good-byes, Rob and I walked to the office

door. Warden Jenkins had one more thing to say, though.

“How’s Graham O’Reilly doing? I heard about his job at the hostel. Please give him my regards. He’s the best cook we ever had. And a great guy. If anyone ever deserved his freedom, it’s Graham.”

I
shook my head. For the hundredth time since I started giving Aleesha the report about my visit with the warden, I realized that—even if the warden hadn’t requested me to leave Jo out of the loop—I wouldn’t have had much choice. She wasn’t objective. She trusted Alfredo—way too much.

That was too bad, because she would have been the incredibly perfect person to involve in this investigation. I didn’t know enough Spanish to talk with Alfredo. But Jo did.

Alfredo would have confided in her. He wouldn’t have had to worry about anyone who didn’t speak Spanish overhearing him. She could have found out whether he had problems with the chaplain … and whether he knew of other insiders who did.

But she wouldn’t simply have asked questions. She would have told Alfredo about the warden’s suspicions, thinking she was doing something good. And he might have taken that information right back to the chaplain, enabling him to cover his back and avoid getting caught.

So the warden wanted me to try talking with him. “I barely know any Spanish at all,” I protested. “That’s okay. My wife is reasonably fluent. We’ll arrange for the three of you to meet together.”

The problem was arranging to talk with Alfredo without automatically putting him on the defensive. Warden Jenkins didn’t have any suggestions about handling that.

“Girlfriend,” Aleesha said after I finished giving her the lowdown, “what in the world have you gotten yourself mixed up in this time?” Before I could respond, she added,

“Sounds like bad TV.”

I shook my head. I’d watched more than my share of reality shows before Santa María, but now I felt like I’d gotten trapped inside one.

“Aleesha, let’s pray.”

We knelt on the drop cloth and joined hands. “Lord God,” Aleesha said, “we praise You for who You are. You know the number of hairs on our heads and the thoughts inside. You know we constantly fail You, even though You never stop loving us, and we beg Your forgiveness for each sin. But You also love each of the men in that prison. You love even the most unrepentant insiders as much as You love the two of us. We pray for the ones who already belong to You, and we pray for salvation for those who don’t.”

Aleesha’s prayer was picking up momentum, and—even though I often had trouble praying along with someone else’s prayers—my spirit was in sync with her every word. “We pray for Chaplain Thomas. Whether he’s guilty of extortion and blackmail or not, we don’t know. But You do. And You know whether he’s even one of Your children. Lord, please do whatever is best for Your kingdom, and use us in whatever way You desire to bring about a suitable solution. The solution that suits You, that is …”

When she paused, I took over.

“Father, each of these men is precious in Your sight. Help us to inspire the believers we’ve been worshipping with, and use us to reach the pretenders. It hurts us deeply to imagine that Chaplain Thomas might be abusing his position in such a harmful and illegal way. Help us to find the truth. We admit we don’t like the man, and we ask Your forgiveness for that. It’s wrong for us to hate somebody You love.”

I knew I was taking a chance, but I felt led to add this to my prayer, “Lord, please be with Jo. She’s lived such a

sheltered life that she’s far too susceptible to people like Alfredo. Father, please give her some of Your insight into what we see as the foolishness of her actions, and help her not to be hurt in the process.

“Heavenly Father, You know how much I treasure both Aleesha’s and Jo’s friendships, and it hurts me to see the way they avoid one another. Please unite them somehow.”

Although Aleesha didn’t release my hand, she lessened her grip until we were barely still holding hands. I must have hit a raw nerve. I wasn’t trying to, though. I just wanted God to solve a relational problem I couldn’t touch on my own.

I didn’t feel led to pray about my guilt or my nightmares, although thoughts of them had haunted me throughout the day. I’d come to California hoping that helping others would alleviate those problems, and it had done a reasonably good job on the symptoms. But it hadn’t solved any of the real problems. The guilt would come back full force when we got home again and I found myself in the midst of everything that reminded me of Mom.

Oh, no … Aleesha had begun praying again while I was off in la-la land, and she just paused. Had she been praying about her and Jo? Would I dare to ask?

“Heavenly Father,” I said, “please bless Warden Jenkins and help him in his efforts to administer Red Cedar in a Christian manner. And please help Graham to be as free in spirit now as he is in body.”

Aleesha squeezed my hand.

“In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.”

“Amen.”

Aleesha didn’t waste any time trying to satisfy her curiosity. “What’s this about Graham and freedom, girl?”

I couldn’t keep from laughing at her. She’d probably squeezed my hand to end the prayer just so she could ask that.

“Warden Jenkins didn’t say much. Just something about giving his regards to Graham and Graham being the best cook they’d ever had and Graham deserving his freedom.”

“And you didn’t ask for details?”

I hoped Aleesha was teasing. “I’m not you, you know.” I giggled. “Is that something a woman of the darker persuasion would have done?”

She started laughing, too. She knew I didn’t believe anything so silly.

“Nope. Only pushy white girls do that.”

I knew she didn’t mean that, either. Our ability to exaggerate and laugh at our racial differences never ceased to amaze me.

“Seriously, though”—her eyes pled with me to fulfill her curiosity—”that’s all he told you?”

“He didn’t ‘tell’ us anything.”

“Are you going to ask him?”

“Him? The warden? I should think not.”

“I wouldn’t, either. I meant Graham. The two of you have been getting tight. I’ve—”

“You know I don’t drink,” I said with a giggle.

“You know what I meant. I’ve been watching you and Graham. Before you know it, you’re going to be an item—another Jo and Alfredo.”

When Rob heard us laughing, he stuck his head in the door. He looked from one of us to the other. He didn’t have to say anything. Just as Dad had done a day or two earlier, he shook his head as if seeing us together was all the explanation he needed. After he left, I held up my left hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“What’s that, my dear?”

“My engagement ring. It’s made of two carrots—the edible kind—no diamonds.”

“My! One of a kind. I would have expected him to give you

an onion ring, though.”

“Ah? Onions are forever, aren’t they?”

“The smell is. So’s the aftertaste.”

I guffawed. “I know you’re right about that, girl.”

“Seriously, though,” Aleesha said, “aren’t you curious?”

I exaggerated a quizzical look.

“About Graham, not carrots and onions.”

“Of course I am. How long Graham was at Red Cedar. What he did. What his life was like in there. When he got out. All sorts of things I’d like to know.”

Aleesha nodded.

“But he deserves his privacy. No way I’d ask Graham personal questions like those. It’s none of my business.” Then I noticed Graham standing in the doorway. He slipped away before I could say anything.

T
ension had off-colored the worshipful atmosphere at the prison that evening. Among our team, anyhow. Jo resembled a paranoid fish in a very small glass bowl the way she kept looking around in every direction. She probably wanted to see who was watching her and Alfredo. And for good reason. All four of her teammates were.

She had returned the letter to Alfredo, but—judging by his unperturbed look—she didn’t tell him about the conflict it had created. He looked cool and calm about the whole thing—like Jo’s failure to get away with mailing it didn’t surprise him. But when she wasn’t watching, I saw him tear it into tiny pieces and sprinkle them on the floor.

Aleesha seemed to keep her eyes glued to Jo and Alfredo from the instant they greeted one another until the moment he left to return to his cell. Her distrust of those two was probably as obvious to everyone else as it was to me.

Not that I blamed her. But her attitude was an ongoing reminder that our team had serious relational problems again. I was afraid nothing short of a Red Sea miracle would make things right.

Although Rob seemed to be watching Jo or the chaplain most of the time, I periodically caught him looking at me.

“Kimmy,”
his eyes seemed to say,
“you asked Larry to let the chaplain attend one more service so you could pay more attention to which insiders he talked to. You thought that might give you a chance to single a couple of them out and inquire casually about their talks with Chaplain Thomas. I’m

praying for you, girl. “

Chappy started with Rock that evening. Ten minutes. Rock looked tense when called over. He was scowling when he returned to his seat.

Then Hi, the fellow with a woman’s singing voice. He looked scared at first. Terrified at the end. Twelve minutes.

But I thought I was seeing things when he called Alfredo over.

Did that mean Chappy was sufficiently fluent in Spanish to communicate with Alfredo? Or was Alfredo’s English less limited than we thought?

Inadequate English was the reason he hadn’t attended the first service. Although his friend wouldn’t have had any reason to lie about that, I could easily imagine somebody like Alfredo keeping his English fluency a secret. What an advantage to be able to understand the other men without their knowing it.

Oh, man. Now I understood why Rob expressed a concern about my seeing things. Just because I expected to.

Come on, Kim. You’re here to help lead in worship. And tonight you’re supposed to share your testimony with these thirty-some insiders. You can keep an eye on Chaplain Thomas without straying totally out of a worshipful mood, can’t you? Ha! I guess not. You’d have to get in a reverent mood first
.

“Kimmy wants to share with you now,” Rob said from the podium.

Whoops. That time already?
Lord, I’m counting on You
. “Hello, fellows.”

A robust variety of greetings came at me like handfuls of confetti from every part of the room. I heard one lone wolf whistle, followed by a painful “Uhhh!” Somebody must have given the whistler a good jab in the ribs.

“That Kimmy is a lady.” Loud amens followed Rock’s

comment. He didn’t need to add,
“So treat her like one.”
Although he appeared to be addressing the fellow next to him—I got the impression he was a newcomer—he didn’t drop his volume when he continued. “You haven’t been here so long you’ve forgotten what a lady is, have you?”

He shook that basketball-sized fist in the air as a warning for all the men to treat me with respect. Those super-sized arm muscles looked bigger than ever. Then he looked around as if daring someone to disagree with him.

Once the clamor of agreement settled down, Rock looked at me. “Miss Kimmy, the floor is yours again.”

“Thanks, Rock, and thank you all, men.”

Although I was eager to start, my carefully planned testimony no longer seemed appropriate.

Lord, please give me the right words …

“When I asked for a chance to tell you what Jesus means to me, I planned on talking about how I used to be a spoiled, self-centered, middle-class girl who grew up in a Christian home, became a Christian a few years ago, and has done a lot of growing up—spiritually, anyhow—during the past six months.”

I gasped for air. “My word! Did I really say all of that in one breath?” Light laughter.

“But now that I’ve just told you that much about myself, let me tell you what God is doing in my life right now.” Murmurs of approval.

“Wow!” I said. “I haven’t had this much attention from a fine collection of men since”—I scrunched my nose—”uh, since ever.”

The men cheered. They seemed to accept and appreciate my sincerity. They
were
fine men. They hadn’t lost that quality just because they’d made bad decisions that landed them at Red Cedar. From what I’d seen of this group, I couldn’t imagine that any of them would become repeat offenders when they got out.

Not any of the real believers, anyhow. I had my suspicions about which of the men might be goats trying to pass themselves off as sheep, but I couldn’t be sure. I lacked a God’s-eye-view of their hearts.