The List (63 page)

“Yes.”

“I can probably get a job at one of the hospitals in town.”

“Do you want to do that?”

“I think so.”

“I could see if one of the other law firms would take me in.”

“No, I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“I want you to write your book.”

“About the best barbecue restaurants?”

“No, that would be your second book.”

“What about?”

Jo sat up straight and looked Renny in the eye. “I think we just lived it.”

Renny nodded. “I'll start tomorrow.”

EPILOGUE

“Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto him that
sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb for ever and ever.”

R
EVELATION 5:13, KJV

T
he hall was so vast that its dimensions could not be calculated in units of measure understood on earth. Millions were present—a host on the right and a host on the left—yet the room remained mostly unfilled, waiting for the great final harvest at the end of the age to sweep the full measure of the redeemed into the place prepared for them before the foundation of the world. Then, the wedding feast could begin.

The focus of all in the room never strayed far from the One who sat on the throne. From his Presence came a light and glory that never faded in brilliance nor lost its captivating beauty. To earthly eyes, the light was blinding, but to those qualified to behold with heavenly vision, even a fleeting glimpse of the glorified Messiah was reward enough for lives lived in sacrifice for others.

Three figures, two male and one female, stepped from the throng on the left and came together in an open space. Though still recognizable to those who knew them on earth, they now possessed a pure beauty that caused worldly perceptions of attractiveness to appear cheap and tawdry. No longer bound by the earth, they reflected the light of heaven. They were overcomers. They were part of the great cloud of witnesses.

“It is finished,” the eldest said.

“Yes,” the others answered.

“Did you know the manner in which the Master would fulfill the word he gave you?” the woman asked.

“I was not shown the exact nature of the conflict the young one would face. I knew he would come forth from my lineage, but I did not know he would also be descended from one who signed the Covenant.”

“The battle was intense,” the other man said.

“He was in the crucible of good and evil. Warfare from competing generations reached its climax in his struggle.”

“Yes, but there was prayer,” the woman said.

The two men nodded in agreement. The elder spoke, “Yes, the enemy's allies and our Lord's children often make the same mistake— they both underestimate the power of prevailing prayer.”

A fourth figure, a dark-skinned man, joined them.

“She persevered, Clarence,” Katharine said.

“Yes, together with the other one, she won the victory.”

“Ah yes, the other one will join us soon,” Amos Candler said. “I saw her soul laid on the altar. She, too, has overcome.”

“And she will receive a crown on the final day,” Nathaniel Candler added.

The four figures faced the throne where they had spent uncountable seasons in worship and intercession. Of course, petitions presented in the great hall were different from those that originated on earth. Intercession by the overcomers did not focus so much on the situation or circumstance that needed divine intervention as upon the majesty of him who sits upon the throne. They knew that in him alone rested the ultimate authority and power to effect change on the earth.

Prompted by a common awareness, the four turned and watched as another figure walked gracefully toward them from the grand entrance to the hall.

Katharine stepped forward to greet her. “Welcome home, Daisy.”

Lifting their hands, the group of five faced the throne and released themselves in unhindered adoration and praise.

S
PECIAL
P
REVIEW OF
R
ObERT
W
HITLOW'S
ThE
SaCRIfICe

1

Roll, Jordan, roll. Come down to the river and be baptized.
Roll, Jordan, roll. Pass through the waters to the other side.
Roll, Jordan, roll. In dying you'll become alive.
Roll, Jordan, roll.

T
he members of Hall's Chapel weren't in a hurry. In some cases, friends and relatives had prayed and waited decades for this moment. Prodigals had come home; those wandering in the wilderness of sin had come to the edge of the promised land. The celebration of salvation was a time to be savored. The voices of the congregation gathered along Montgomery Creek flowed over the water in triumph. Refrain followed refrain in affirmation of a faith as unrelenting as the force of the current rushing past the white frame church. Tambourines joined the voices. Hands clapped in syncopated rhythm.

Dressed in white robes, the five candidates for baptism walked forward to the edge of the stream and faced the rest of the congregation. The small crowd grew quiet.

A heavyset woman in a baptismal garment lifted her hands in the air and cried out at the top of her voice, “Thank you, Jesus!”

Her declaration was greeted with a chorus of “Yes, Lord!” and “Amen!”

Bishop Moore joined the converts and introduced each one using their new first name—“brother” or “sister.” From this day forward they would be part of the larger family of God's children who had met on the banks of the creek for almost 150 years. The former slaves who founded the church took seriously the command to love one another and passed on a strong sense of community that had not been lost by subsequent generations.

Each new believer stepped into the edge of the water and gave a brief testimony of the journey that had brought him or her to the river of God's forgiveness. The stories were similar, yet each one unique.

When it was her turn, the woman who had cried out shed a few tears that fell warm from her dark cheeks into the cool water at her bare feet. Some who knew her had doubted she would ever let go of the bitterness and unforgivingness that had dominated her life for more than twenty-five years, but the chains had been broken, the captive set free. Other testimonies followed until all five confirmed their faith in the presence of the gathered witnesses.

Bishop Moore waded into the water. Much of the stream bottom in the valley was covered with smooth rocks that made footing treacherous for the trout fishermen who crowded the stream each April, but the church deacons had cleared away the rocks and made a safe path to the small pool where Bishop Moore waited for the first candidate. A teenage boy walked gingerly forward into the cold water that inched up his legs to his waist. His family looked on with joy.

Bishop Moore held up his right hand and said in a loud voice, “Michael Lindale Wallace, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

Then, putting his hand over Mike's face, the bishop laid the young man back into the water. Bishop Moore didn't do a quick baptism. He wanted people to remember their moment under the water, so he went deep and stayed long. The five had been cautioned by the lady who gave them their robes to take a deep breath.

After several seconds, the bishop lifted Mike out of the water and proclaimed, “Buried in likeness to his death in baptism; raised to walk in newness of resurrection life.”

The sputtering boy managed a big smile. His father shouted, “Hallelujah!”

Mike splashed through the water toward the shore. The next in line was the woman who had shed the tears. She stepped deeper into the water.

The first shot didn't cause a stir. One of the elders later told the police detective, “I thought it was a firecracker.”

The second shot knifed through the water about three feet from the woman wading toward the bishop. The bullet left a line of bubbles before disappearing into the sandy bottom.

The third shot shattered the windshield of a car parked next to the sanctuary. At the sound of the splintering glass, pandemonium broke out. The air was filled with screams. People began running away from the water. Some ran toward the sanctuary. Others hid behind cars and trucks. Several children who were not standing near their parents froze, unsure what to do.

The fourth shot passed through the bottom of the new dress Alisha Mason was wearing. At that moment, the teenager didn't know how close she'd come to serious injury. (It was several days before she took out the dress and saw the place where the bullet almost nicked her left calf.) She hid behind a tree.

The fifth shot hit the church above the front door. It was the only bullet recovered by the sheriff 's department.

Hurriedly glancing over his shoulder, Bishop Moore scrambled toward the bank as quickly as his aging legs could carry him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure running downstream through the dense underbrush on the other side of the stream.

Papers from a real-estate development contract were neatly stacked in rows across the wooden surface of Scott Ellis's desk. He ran his fingers through his short brown hair as he searched for a paragraph that he wanted to move from one section of the document to another. Stocky and muscular, the young lawyer had taken off his coat and hung it on a wooden hanger on the inside of his office door. The phone on a small, antique table beside his desk buzzed.

“Harold Garrison on line four,” the receptionist said.

Scott didn't recognize the name. “Did he say what it was about?”

“No. Mr. Humphrey talked to him and told me to forward the call to you.”

“Okay, I'll take it.”

Scott knew from the receptionist's response that Mr. Garrison was a potential client referred down the line from the firm's senior partner. He couldn't dodge the call. Leland Humphrey would ask him about it later. He punched the flashing button.

“Scott Ellis, here.”

“Yeah, this here is Harold Garrison. My son is in trouble with the law, and I have to talk to someone today.”

Scott looked at his calendar. “What kind of trouble?”

“He's locked up at the jail for teenagers.”

“The youth detention center?”

“Yeah. The police picked him up this past weekend. I'm leaving town tonight and need to see a lawyer before I get on the road.”

“What are the charges?” Scott asked.

“Uh, the summons from the juvenile court said he's unruly and delinquent.”

“That could mean a lot of things. Did anyone at the detention center tell you anything more specific?”

“Yeah, a guy wrote it down on a piece of paper.” The phone was quiet for a few seconds. “It says ‘assault with a deadly weapon with intent to inflict serious injury, assaulting by pointing a gun, and criminal damage to property.'”

“Those are serious charges.”

“Lester says it's a big mistake. He ain't never been in any kind of trouble before.”

“Lester is your son?”