Endless Chain (44 page)

The buzz grew louder. Sam spoke above it. “I know Elisa is not a murderer. She is a physician, like Luke, a healer. I know Ramon is not a murderer. He was simply a child who experienced the horror of watching the man he loved like a father shot down in front of him.”

He stepped closer and addressed the men standing there, pointing his finger. “I know that I can not permit you to enter this room and take them prisoner.”

“It didn’t have to be this way,” the man in the blue jacket said. “We could have done this quietly. That was our intention.”

“Yes, I know.”

The other men moved forward. Elisa stood. Sam had made his statement. The story would be told now. She prepared to walk down the aisle to end this, but a man several rows in front of her now beat her to it.

Early Meeks, in Christmas suspenders, his bald head shining in the candlelight, joined Sam at the back of the room. He took Sam’s hand. “This is the house of God,” he told the men. “Step away.”

Gayle Fortman got to her feet and joined them, taking Sam’s other hand. “As president of this congregation, I’m asking you to leave. This is a house of God and a house of prayer. And we have given Elisa and Ramon sanctuary.”

Others joined them, forming a chain, hand in hand, across the back of the church. Elisa hadn’t realized Helen was there. She had grumbled about attending and looked for an excuse to skip the service. But now Elisa saw her trudging down the aisle along with Dovey and Gracie Barnhardt.

The human chain was spreading around the room. Young hands clasped in old. Dark hands clasped in light. She realized Adoncia was there, holding hands with Kate Brogan. Kendra Taylor stood between one of the Fortman boys and Leon Jenkins. The choir came down from the front and joined hands with the others. In only a minute’s time the entire room was surrounded by an unbroken chain. A chain with no end and no beginning.

Andy began to sing in a high, light tenor. “Si-lent Night. Ho-ly Night.”

The others took it up. Elisa knew she was crying. Ramon put his arms around her.

Then, as she watched from her brother’s arms, one of the men in blue jackets stepped forward and wrenched Sam’s hand free from Early’s, doubled his arm behind his back and cuffed him.

Hand in hand, Elisa and Ramon stepped out into the aisle and waited their turn.

S
am had not lost his appreciation for irony. He had been arrested on Christmas Eve, and he had reported to the Federal Correctional Complex in Petersburg, Virginia, on Good Friday. Had he believed he or any man was important enough to be singled out for a lesson by the Almighty, that might have given him pause—particularly as he was strip searched, photographed, fingerprinted and interviewed by a prison official with no sense of humor.

As it was, he had spent Easter Sunday in prison relearning the ropes. How not to touch another prisoner accidentally, how to wait to join a conversation, how not to make friends until it was clear which inmates were safe to approach. He had settled into the routine quickly, and that had bothered him almost as much as the three-month sentence, because it had implied a docility he did not feel.

The judge had not been moved by Sam’s courtroom sermon on the historical role of churches as sanctuaries, beginning in medieval times and working up to the sanctuary movement of the 1980s that had aided Latin American refugees. Perhaps the dour old man might have been more inclined toward probation or house arrest had the political climate been different. But not only had Sam obstructed the work of a federal officer, he had already served time for civil disobedience. He had been lucky not to have been charged with harboring fugitives, too.

Sam was an annoyance, not a danger, and he had been sentenced to a low-security facility badly in need of renovation. The corrections officers had taken some getting used to again. Losing his freedom had taken more. For two weeks he awoke four or five times a night in a cold sweat, with the weight of the world pressing against his chest. Then, one morning in early May, he woke up in the coffinlike cubicle he shared with two other men and understood the truth he had refused to see.

Now it was June, and he was looking forward to a visit from Mack, who had told him he was bringing news of Elisa and Ramon. Their case had attracted widespread attention both in the U.S. and Guatemala. Kendra Taylor had written a detailed investigative piece for the
Washington Post
that had run in papers around the world. She had flown to Guatemala and, through an interpreter, interviewed residents who had found and helped Elisa and Ramon escape into Mexico. She had documented the abuses of Martin Avila Morales and his probable connection to the massacre in Wakk’an.

Others had come forward. Human rights advocates who had collected evidence on Gabrio’s murder. Courageous government officials who had done investigations on their own and found that genuine evidence against Elisa and Ramon was nonexistent.

The U.S. government itself, unwilling to turn over two of its citizens unless the facts were in place, had, for the time being, declined to discuss extradition. Perceived to be flight risks, Elisa and Ramon had been placed in the Shenandoah County Jail until a decision could be made whether to move them into a federal facility. Until his own prison term began, Sam had been able to visit occasionally, sit behind a glass window and talk to them on visitation phones.

“Hey, Rev, you almost done with those weeds? We got to get this mulch spread all the way to China before we get to do any visiting.”

Sam smiled at James, a young African-American who would not be so young after his sentence was served. Sam was assigned to the landscaping crew, and the hard physical labor helped him sleep better at night. He also found the work an interesting catalyst to conversation and reflection. One by one, although he had not suggested it, the other men were coming to him to discuss their spiritual concerns. As time passed, he had stopped being Sam. Now he was simply “Rev.”

“I’ll shovel, you spread.” At James’s side, Sam trekked to the mulch pile that steamed at the end of the parking lot and filled his wheelbarrow; then the two men trundled their loads back to the row of evergreens that was a demarcation, of sorts, of the prison boundaries.

“Who’s coming to see you?” Sam asked as he shoveled the mulch into clumps under the evergreens so James could spread it.

“My girl. And she’s bringing the baby.”

“The baby have a name?”

“Taneesha. She’s so fat we call her Roly Poly.”

Sam wondered how long the baby’s mother would continue to come and what James would do when the visits stopped. Because they probably would. Unless parole was once again introduced into the federal system, James, who had been convicted of conspiracy to distribute marijuana, would be a guest of Uncle Sam for the next eleven years.

“Baby girl needs a father,” James said.

“Have you thought of ways you can be a father to her?” Sam asked. “While you’re here?”

“I’m trying to get my diploma.”

“That’s a good start.” Sam stood tall, stretched and, for this display of self-indulgence, earned a frown from the officer who was their supervisor.

He bent back to his task and shoveled mulch until his wheelbarrow was empty; then he started on the load James had brought. James stayed with him, patting and raking the shredded pine bark into submission as Sam dumped it. The guard passed on, satisfied Sam was earning his twenty-three cents an hour, the starting rate for prisoner labor. Had he been invited to stay in prison longer, he might have worked his way up to a dollar and some spare change.

“So what do you think I ought to do?” James demanded. “You got something in mind?”

Minutes had passed since the original question. “It’s not what I think that matters,” Sam said. “Getting the diploma is a great idea.”

“What else can I do? I’m thinking I could sell my life story, you know, maybe to Spike Lee? Make me a million or two and save half for her. You thinking something like that?”

Sam knew James was joking, although grandiose thinking was the reason a lot of the inmates had ended up at Petersburg.

“I was thinking you might want to start writing letters to her,” Sam said. “Get in the habit, you know? Ask your girl to keep them somewhere safe until she’s old enough to read them. You can tell her your life story, at least the parts she should hear. Maybe you won’t get a million for the letters, but they’d be worth more to Taneesha.”

“Man, you always thinking about something other people need to do. You ever just unwind, kick back and do nothing at all?”

Sam tried to remember.

“I might write a letter or two,” James said. “Nothing much to do at nights.”

Sam had plenty to do with his. He spent his nights thinking about Elisa, and praying for her safety and Ramon’s. When he wasn’t praying, he was studying a Spanish textbook, dreaming and remembering.

They finished, cleaned up and went to lunch. In the cafeteria, he sat with James and two others in his unit. Mack was due at two, and Sam was anxious. He had hoped to be able to coordinate phone calls between the county jail and prison, but so far his petitions had not borne fruit. The letters he received were thoughtful and upbeat, but he needed to hear Elisa’s voice to know how she was really feeling.

“Hey, Rev, aren’t you going to bless the food?” Tyler asked as Sam picked up his fork. He was a squat man with no hair and the body of a weight lifter. He and Sam had ongoing conversations about the nature of God as they did push-ups together.

Sam looked down at his tray. A hamburger cooked so long it had shrunk to the size of a coat button. Rice glued kernel to kernel. Watery spinach that tinted the edges of the rice green. Half a slice of canned pineapple.

“Lord,” he said, closing his eyes, “we ask that this food be given to those who truly deserve it, those prosecutors and judges who are far more worthy than we, your humblest of servants.” Then, as the other men laughed, he smiled and began to eat.

Elisa was nervous. Mack had given her a long list of instructions about what to do and not to do before visiting Sam. She wore a knit dress that hung from a yoke just above her breasts and fell well below her knees. Tessa had bought it for her last week, while she was still in jail, and the subtle black-and-red check suited her without attracting attention.

The dress had short sleeves and revealed no cleavage, for which she could be turned away. Since there was always the possibility of a false positive with the drug detection machine, she had been careful not to wash her hands with perfumed soap or handle money after scrubbing them for the last time, or use hand lotion. She had made sure her bra had no underwire so she wouldn’t set off the metal detector. She wore her hair loose to avoid a metal clip for the same reason—and because she knew Sam liked it that way.

She was ready.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come in with me?” she asked Mack, who had accompanied her to Petersburg. After six months in jail, she was a little shaky behind the wheel and hadn’t wanted to drive.

“I’m not going to waste Sam’s time today. I’ll come with you tomorrow.” Mack reached over and touched her arm. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.” She hesitated. “No. Of course not.”

He laughed. “They aren’t going to keep you. I promise.”

“I think the worst prison in Virginia is probably better than what was waiting in Guatemala.”

“I’m glad we’ll never know.”

She gave a short nod, along with a brief, tense smile; then she waited as Mack thoughtfully got out to open her car door and walk her to the gates.

“You’ve got the coin purse and change?”

The coin purse, with money for the visiting room vending machines, had to be clear plastic, so she couldn’t smuggle anything in. Tessa had found that for her, too. For months and months Tessa and Mack had done far more than their share to help her and her brother.

“And the folder,” she said.

“There’s no guarantee they’ll let you give the folder to him. Nothing’s ever a sure thing.”

“I hope they will.”

He kissed her cheek. “Good luck. I’ll be waiting when they boot you out of there. Just remember, he only has another month. You’ll make it.”

She hugged him, then began her journey inside. It seemed to take forever. She filled out a form, removed her shoes, braved the metal detector and wiped her hands with a cloth pad when instructed so the pad could be checked for drug residue. She showed her brand-new ID—the first with her real name in more than three years—had her hand stamped, and finally waited to be ushered into the visiting room, minus the folder she had hoped to give Sam. She had made it, but the folder had not, and that saddened her.

The visiting room was much louder than she had expected. There were children and grandmothers and wives sitting at tables with men in tan trousers and short-sleeved shirts. There was a festive air, but beneath it she could feel an undercurrent of desperation. Each person was basking in this intimacy, while at the same time sadly contemplating its abrupt end and the return to separate lives.

She searched the room for Sam and saw him in the corner talking to another inmate, a young black man who gave her the once-over appreciatively before he returned to their conversation.

She pointed. “There he is.” She tried a little humor. “The one in khaki.”

The officer who had brought her in told her to wait, then went to get Sam. He was clearly annoyed that Sam hadn’t come right to the door, but Elisa hadn’t explained that her visit was a surprise. This was the kind of place where surprises were suspect.

She watched, breath held, as the officer tapped Sam on the shoulder and pointed in her direction. When elation animated Sam’s features, she released her breath slowly and smiled.

Almost immediately he was in front of her. He took her in his arms for a kiss that quickly became a tearful homecoming.

“Elisa…” He hugged her hard, then, regretfully, let her go. “One kiss now. And one at the end. There’s a rule here for everything.”

She smiled through her tears. “I was afraid I wouldn’t even be allowed to touch you.”

“The feds are so enlightened, you wouldn’t believe it.”

The officer motioned them to a table across the room with two chairs. Sam pulled hers out, then he pulled his beside her so their hips were touching.