Lost in Dreams (30 page)

Their conversation was lively.
Y tan rápido
. And so fast. Even if I’d been perfectly fluent in Spanish, I couldn’t have followed it. Judging from Alfredo’s animated look, his friends must have asked why he’d start acting so different after a single two-hour visit to the infirmary.

Although Jo looked mildly jealous when he sat between his two buddies rather than beside her, she couldn’t have missed seeing his newfound joy or criticized him for wanting to share it with friends. I don’t know whether seeing him witnessing to

those other two guys made the trip to California worthwhile for her, but it did for me.

I was in an exceptionally worshipful mood that evening. Probably more than at any time since Santa María. The singing buoyed my spirits higher than ever, and the songs reminded me what an awesome God I served; the prayers reminded me that God was truly in our midst, and the message spoke to my needs in a special way. How could Dad have known what I needed to hear? Only the Holy Spirit could have arranged a “coincidence” like that.

Yet a shadow seemed to hang over the other worshippers. The insiders knew we’d be leaving on Monday. Maybe they were already grieving our absence the way the villagers of Santa María had done when we were preparing to go home. Yet I didn’t think our departure would be a problem for these guys. They were probably more accustomed to people coming and going than I would ever be.

I’d never asked Warden Jenkins whether Chappy held services for the men, and I couldn’t imagine what they would have been like. He seemed like the sort of man who’d purposely pick all unfamiliar hymns and preach the longest, dullest sermon possible. No way he could have drawn these men out the way the Holy Spirit had done through us. Not unless he’d been a more … righteous and caring person.

Maybe his presence was part of the problem that evening. Brother Larry probably hadn’t told him tonight would be the last of our services he’d attend. Chappy called the men out one at a time just like before. And he had the nerve to smile at me every time he did. Like he’d won a major battle and wanted to rub my nose in his victory.

No wonder our team shared a concern that our leaving probably meant handing the lambs back over to the wolf. Such precious lambs, and such a very big, very mean, very greedy wolf.

No one asked to talk with me one-on-one that evening. If I knew Chappy half as well as I thought I did—if he was like one of the bad guys on TV—I wasn’t the only person he’d tried to intimidate. He must have done an effective job of it, too. His very presence was enough to put all of the men in an
“or else”
silence.

Thank goodness, we wouldn’t have to deal with him the last two nights.

On Saturday, we finished everything that needed doing at Welcoming Arms, although I doubted that any of us felt the same sense of success and completeness about our prison ministry.

“Get in or walk,” Jo said to Aleesha when she slowed down to fasten her coat.

“What?” Aleesha said. “You can’t wait another few seconds to see
him
again?”

“Get lost,” Jo said. What kind of snake could have acted more deliberately venomous?

“Children, children.” They stared at me as if I had three eyes.

Aleesha’s attitude toward Jo really disappointed me. I’d always admired her ability to charm her way through any circumstances, but Jo seemed to bring out the worst in her. And vice versa.

But I still loved both of them oodles and bunches. And I prayed that—someday—they’d come to love each other just as much.

Everyone was unusually quiet when we got into the van for our next-to-the-last drive up Red Cedar Lane. I didn’t know why Jo, Rob, Aleesha, Dad, and Graham were so silent, but I was too caught up in prayer to waste words on small talk. We didn’t have much time left to finish disposing of an unworthy chaplain, and our hope of succeeding shrunk more with each passing second.

Although Chappy’s absence from the service would promote a more positive atmosphere than the night before, I didn’t have much hope that anyone would talk with me tonight. How I prayed I was wrong. I didn’t want to leave our new friends in worse condition than when we came.

Nobody had spoken during the ride to the prison. As we got out, Graham leaned over and whispered something in a voice I could barely hear. “No worry. Almost over.” I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about. Maybe just his way of saying we’d soon go home and put the Red Cedar experience behind us.

As if I could have done that.

As soon as we walked in, I could sense that something special was going on. The excitement stopped just short of exuberance. The insiders seemed to expect something. They reminded me of little kids on Christmas Eve.

Then I noticed Warden Jenkins waiting for us. He’d never come to one of our services. He probably didn’t want his position to interfere with our interaction with the insiders. The men acted glad to see him, though. They shook his hand as if he’d become their hero, and Rock shocked the daylights out of him with a huge brotherly hug. Unlike the last time I’d seen Warden Jenkins, he was smiling … and laughing.

What in the world had happened?

“Before these good folks lead us in worship tonight,” he said to the little congregation that had grown to nearly forty, “I need to address an issue I’ve been concerned about since I first learned of it.”

I looked around. Sure enough, the chaplain wasn’t there. I was dying to cheer about that.

He grinned at his audience. “The Red Cedar grapevine is the most efficient one of its kind in the world. It could easily replace the Internet.” I heard several chuckles. A number of

the men nodded in agreement. “Sometimes you men learn about things I’ve done before I even
decide
to do them.” The room exploded in laughter, which soon gave way to whoops and applause. “So let me tell you the facts before the grapevine distorts them.” He paused and looked around the room. “Judging by your faces, though, I think the grapevine has beaten me to it again.”

More laughter. And many additional cheers.

“The news of the hour: Chaplain Harry Thomas has been arrested on a number of serious charges. If convicted—and there’s not much of a chance he won’t be—he may join you here for much of the rest of his natural life … without pay, I hasten to add.”

The men whistled, hooted, and hollered. They clapped, and they stomped, and I was as loud and enthusiastic as any of them.

Warden Jenkins looked embarrassed. Or perhaps mildly bothered. I couldn’t tell which. Maybe he hadn’t expected a group of Christian inmates to cheer over somebody’s arrest. Or maybe he felt frustrated that someone in his position couldn’t properly join in the cheering. He must have been dying to.

“I’m not 100 percent sure who your next chaplain is going to be, but I have an idea. I promise you he’ll be a Christian, though. I’ll make sure of that personally.” Man! That was a strong statement. Before the men could start cheering again, he continued. “When I look at all of you, I thank God that these good people”—he pointed to each of our team members—”have done such a wonderful job of ministering to you. I intend to keep these services going. Not every night like this, but on a regular basis. If I can’t find any people from my church who’re willing to make the sacrifice of time and gas, I’ll do it by myself.”

Now the men were on their feet, moving forward as one humongous tidal wave and clapping him on the shoulder. The guards uncrossed their arms and instinctively touched the handles of their pistols, but they crossed their arms again almost as quickly. If this was a prison riot, it was a first-of-its-kind—a desirable one.

“Men, I hate to interrupt this wonderful adulation, but I think these folks want to begin a worship service.”

As I headed for the podium, a hymnbook in my hand, Graham touched my arm. “Over now. Said no worry.”

How could he have known?

Act 3

I
t
was late when we got back to the hostel that night. I’d fallen asleep in the van. “Girl,” Aleesha said as she shook me, “Mr. Rob and I carried you in from the bus at Santa María and put you in your new sleeping bag, but you’ve gained weight here. Get up and get inside.”

She was right about the weight. I’d done some hog-wild eating between the time of my unexpected instant recovery and our departure for California. Enough to gain back what I’d lost while I was sick. I’d probably gained six or eight new pounds eating Graham’s cooking. Pounds that repulsed me almost as much as my memory of Chaplain Thomas.

One unfortunate aspect of having a small build—aka, being skinny—was the inability to be selective about where extra weight ended up. I’d never found the paunchy look to be very flattering, and I’d seen enough rotund, bare midriffs to have something to base my opinion on.

But I’d never expected to end up looking that way myself. Oh, well. I wouldn’t get to enjoy Graham’s cooking much longer. Or Aleesha’s, for that matter. I’d lose that weight fast when I started eating my own cooking. I hoped I wouldn’t kill Dad with it, though.

Kill Dad …? Uh, not funny.

When I woke up the next morning—was it Sunday already?—sunlight was streaming through the windows I’d done my best to clean the day before and still left streaky. If Aleesha had let

me sleep in again and made me miss breakfast, I was going to give her what-for when I caught up with her.

But when I unzipped my sleeping bag and sat up, I saw body-sized bulges in the other two sleeping bags. Huh? I was awake before Aleesha? I’d never let her live that down.

The memory of bedtime the night before was a distant patch of fog in my less-than-wakeful condition, but I vaguely remembered Rob saying we wouldn’t need to get up at any given time. He was rewarding us for getting the hostel ready for the building inspection by not planning any Sunday activities. Not even an informal Bible study or a worship service. We’d hold one at Red Cedar tonight, and he said that would be good enough. He knew how truly tired we were, although our fatigue was probably more emotional than physical.

He’d also mentioned something about going to church in town with Larry and Laurie. The round-trip would take about two hours. So he’d be gone almost all day.

We probably disappointed him by declining the invitation to keep him company. Not even Dad wanted to go, and that must have seemed strange. Those two men had grown almost inseparable during the course of the week.

Oh, and hadn’t Rob said something about Graham having ham-and-cheese quiche in the fridge, ready for us to microwave when we got hungry?

Yum. Let’s try for pound seven. Or will it be pound nine?

Graham must have been getting used to us girls. Just before supper the day before, he’d invited us to move back into his spare room (I cleaned his windows in appreciation). I think he was concerned about us continuing to camp in an unheated unit, although—truth be told—we’d been quite comfy in our sleeping bags. Nonetheless, having easy access to the shower and being within scenting range of food cooking made his offer one we couldn’t refuse.

I slipped into the cleanest of my grungy work clothes. Graham had a small washer and dryer, and I was planning to use them once everyone was awake. Otherwise, I’d be plenty stinky and dirty flying home the next day. Filth had never been a normal part of my feminine charm.

I hoped the sound of the microwave dinging itself off wouldn’t wake Aleesha or Jo. I wasn’t worried about Graham. He’d undoubtedly gotten up at dawn to watch the sunrise. Not a bad habit for someone who didn’t mind getting up that early, but I still couldn’t understand why it meant so much to him. I’d probably never find out.

I knew what Jo planned to do later. She’d been after me to climb Tabletop Mountain with her, and last night I declined what I hoped would be her final persistent invitation.

I was an outdoor girl when it came to riding in my convertible with the top down and sunning at the pool or the beach, but I didn’t believe in voluntary physical exertion if I could avoid it.

Worthy projects like the litter cleanup campaign in Santa María and cleaning and painting the hostel were rare exceptions, yet I’d taken on both projects willingly and cheerfully.