Lost in Dreams (36 page)

I shook my head.

“So here’s what you need to do, Kimmy. Get undressed after I go outside. Open the door just enough to throw your old clothes out.”

“Even my jacket?” I’d really grown attached to that coat. Actually, as cold as the temperatures had been this past week and as much as I’d depended on that jacket, it had probably grown attached to me.

“
Especially
your jacket.”

I frowned at first, but managed to emit one weak laugh before he continued.

“Combine the ingredients in the bucket using a paint paddle.” When he saw my questioning look, he held one up.

“Oh, a wooden paint-mixing thingy,” I said, trying to be cute. Acting cute while stinking so badly I couldn’t stand being around myself wasn’t the world’s easiest thing to pull off.

He shook his head and smirked.

To pay him back, I said, “I thought you said ‘a paint
palette.’
” He rolled his eyes. “Here’s a clean rag. Dip it in the solution and start sponging yourself off all over. Keep it away from your eyes, though. Personally, I’d also avoid your nose, mouth, and, uh, other sensitive body parts.”

I rolled my eyes at him that time. “And when I’m done?” “You need to leave it on for about five minutes.”
In this unheated room? Brrr
. “And when I’m done?” I repeated.

“Knock on the door and I’ll hand you a coat … Graham has a spare.”

Unless it was as big as his pajamas, it should fit fine. I just hoped it would be long enough. Long enough for a shorty like me? Now
that
was worth giggling at.

“And you think I’m going to Red Cedar this evening dressed that way?” I wasn’t going to miss that final service if I had to wear my skunk scent at 100 percent full strength.

“Calm down, Kimmy. After you treat yourself with that solution, you’ll do a thorough scrub-down in Graham’s tub.”

That’s a shower, Rob. Graham doesn’t have a tub. Men!

I didn’t like the sound of these instructions, but what choice did I have? Although some of the insiders had objectionable odors of their own, none of them smelled as horrible as I did. Would they all back away or maybe leave the room when they caught their first whiff of me? Or were they so hungry for a taste of the outside world that even a skunk scent would bring back “sweet memories”? If so, I felt sorry for them.

I followed Rob’s directions, and then I must have spent twenty minutes in the shower. It took that long under a stream of steaming hot water for me to thaw out. If I hadn’t run out of hot water, I probably would have stayed there forever. Or at least until suppertime.

When I came out of the bathroom, dressed in the cleanest of my dirty clothes—oh, no! I hadn’t gotten to do any laundry yet today—Rob took a whiff.

“Much better, Kimmy.” He came closer and took another whiff. “Tell me something, though …”

I didn’t like the look on his face, and I had a feeling I wouldn’t like what he was going to say, either. “Did you use that tomato juice concoction on your hair before washing it? It still smells a bit like skunk.”

Kim-Kimminy, Kim-Kimminy, are you having a good time on your day of leisure?

I
don’t know if God was angry at His world the day He created skunks, but I was slightly miffed at Him for protecting them in such an obnoxious way. Why couldn’t He have just dressed them in camo fur? Wouldn’t they have looked precious with those little splotches of brown and green, black and tan?

On second thought, that wouldn’t have worked. Hunters would have made them extinct by using their pelts to fashion masculine-looking fur coats. Extinct? That was the ticket.

I sighed. No, not even I would want to see those little critters become extinct …

I was going to draw the line at returning to step one and doing the tomato juice thing on my hair. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. Graham couldn’t find any more juice. Everybody would just have to tolerate a little bit of Cologne d’Heavenly Scent.

I’d gotten so much exercise in the previous five hours that every muscle in my body screamed
no!
at the prospect of more. So I don’t know why I gave in and agreed to walk to Red Cedar that night—unless to promote team unity and to keep Rob from having to lock me out of the van. His threat had sounded far too serious.

Graham offered to accompany me. His heroic rescue of my friends—I couldn’t have done it without him—hadn’t miraculously transformed him into a fluent speaker of any known human language, but I’d come to understand his way of talking far better than I used to. “Go, too” was perfectly clear.

I assumed from the Bible he was carrying that he planned to attend tonight’s worship service. The final one. I expected it to be emotional for our team and for many of the insiders as well. As much as we’d shared together, they might not grieve our leaving, but I hoped they’d at least miss us for a while.

Larry Jenkins joined us in the meeting room. He gave both of us a big hug. “Graham.” He stopped as if reconsidering what to say. “Mr. O’Reilly …” I gathered he was trying to show respect for his elder. Or perhaps to acknowledge Graham’s well-deserved status as an outsider.

“Graham,” the old man said as he held out his hand. “Graham.”

“Only if you call me Larry,” the warden said.

Graham nodded, but he didn’t say anything. I’d rarely heard him address anyone by name—maybe never—and I couldn’t believe he’d ever even
think
of Warden Jenkins as
Larry
. He was from an older—a different, a more courteous—generation.

I couldn’t imagine how it would feel to be on friendly terms with a former jailer after so many years of incarceration, but he didn’t show any signs of nervousness or resentment. Perhaps their bond in Christ was stronger than I’d realized.

The rest of the team showed up a few minutes later. Alfredo and Jo rushed toward one another, but—spotting Larry—they slowed down and shook hands instead of hugging.

The warden smiled at them. “Maybe all you two want to do is shake hands, but I want a hug.” At that, he embraced the two of them simultaneously and then pulled away, leaving Jo and Alfredo in one another’s arms. I wish I had a picture of the astonished look on Alfredo’s face.

Warden Jenkins saw it, too. He winked at Alfredo, who then broke into the biggest grin imaginable. Alfredo whispered

something in Jo’s ear, and she started smiling, too.

At first, I was too busy watching the lovebirds to notice anybody else. But when I looked around, the number of worshippers had already grown to eighty-some—double the high attendance record of the previous night—and they were still trickling in.

Regulations required one guard per some unknown number of insiders—even in a medium-security prison—and most of them looked uncomfortable about being there. Their eyes never stopped moving—here, there, and everywhere—and I could appreciate their apprehension. Nobody in that room was going to make trouble, but the guards couldn’t safely make that assumption or—pardon the pun—let their guard down.

I saw curiosity in the eyes of several guards who hadn’t worked any of the previous services. But whether newcomers or repeat visitors, the guards were more of a captive audience than the insiders. Their presence was a job requirement. I hoped Dad’s talk would touch them.

I waved and smiled at Mr. Gray and Mr. Hudson. Gary and Ray. Rumor had it they’d traded shifts with some other guards to be with us every night. They’d sung as freely as if they hadn’t been on duty, but they kept their eyes open during prayer time. I was thrilled to see them again tonight.

When things settled down, I led in singing Christmas carols without bothering to pass out the hymnals. One of the guys who’d come for the first time last night brought a guitar with him; from the battered looks of the old Gibson, it had lived a long, hard life—probably much like its owner.

I was glad he’d brought it. Although I’d heard that Christmas carols weren’t as easy to play by ear as regular hymns, he was so good I didn’t notice any wrong chords, and I was apt to be conscious of things like that.

I asked Mr. Guitar if he wanted to do a solo, but he passed.

“These fellows have already heard everything I know. They’d start a riot if they had to listen to me again.”

At the word
riot
, the guards stood up straighter and touched the handles of their guns.

“Just joking, man,” the guitarist said to the nearest guard. “We’re here to celebrate peace with a capital P.” It took awhile for the guards to ease up again, though.

Although our routine called for prayer time next, the warden asked if he could speak to the men first. “I have more news for you.” He looked around the room. “But doggone it, put me in front of a group of people and I feel like preaching.” He paused, and a spattering of laughter filled the room.

“Preach if you want to,” Rob told him.

“You can have my time if you’d like,” Dad said. Although he’d planned a special message for tonight, he was obviously sincere about his willingness to give it up.

“Don’t mind if I do, Scott, but I won’t use all of your time.” The men eyed one another with surprise. “Some of you men have been here as long as I have.” Looking around the room, he called off a couple of first and last names. “Some of you have been here longer.” He named several more. “To you, I’ve been ‘the man’ who holds a major part of your life—the world you currently occupy—in the palm of his hands. That’s true only to an extent, though. Somebody bigger than me holds your entire life in His hands. Mine, too.”

Every eye focused on Warden Jenkins. I could tell from their nods and smiles that a number of insiders in that room knew exactly what he meant. Perhaps most of them.

“That ‘person’ is God.”

“Amen!”

“You tell ‘em, brother.” “Praise the Lord!” “I know that’s right.”

Once the affirmations calmed down, he continued. He talked a lot about sin and breaking God’s laws and Jesus being the ultimate forgiver. He said Jesus was the ultimate innocent victim, too. He’d been arrested on trumped-up charges even though He’d never committed even the smallest sin, much less an actual crime. And He’d received the death penalty without the pretense of a fair trial.

Oh, man. How was Dad ever going to preach after an address like this one? He’d spent hours trying to pack all the ammunition he could into this final message. But what could he hope to accomplish now?

After a few more key points, the warden sounded like he might be winding down. “I mentioned that God holds me in His hands. He knows how this prison affects me. Sure, I’m free. I can leave here every night and go home. But I’m not free to leave my concerns about you at the gate.”

Although he looked wearier than I’d noticed at first, he smiled as he removed his hands from the podium and straightened up to full height.

“Men, I’ve tried to run this prison by Christian principles. But the State of California—and I’m not criticizing the government—doesn’t permit me to do everything I’d like to do.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Brother Scott, you said you didn’t mind me preaching, but you’ve probably changed your mind by now.”

Dad smiled and shook his head.

“Sometimes my long-ago seminary studies take hold of me like wind in a sail, and I keep on navigating across a rather large ocean instead of returning to port.”

“No problem,” Dad said. He must have recognized that the men needed to hear a sermon like that—from someone who understood them and their circumstances far better than he did.

The warden smiled like a farm boy bringing the cows in for the night. “The truth is …” He hesitated, touched the podium for several seconds, and then removed his tie with an awkward jerk. “The truth is I didn’t come here to preach tonight. I came to make a resignation speech.”

Loud murmurs reverberated throughout the room. I was as shocked as anyone.

“I’ve resigned as warden, but I’m not leaving Red Cedar.” Every forehead furrowed as one. I held my breath. “Did you fellows know I started my career in the prison system as a chaplain?”

Many of the men looked at one another with “Did
you know that?” “No, did you?”
written all over their faces. I probably did, too.

“I promised that your new chaplain would be a Christian.”

I’d expected to hear more choruses of “Amen!” “Praise the Lord!” and “I know that’s right.” But the men were still too much in shock. I think we all knew what might be coming; yet until he actually said it, nobody dared to assume it. Or to hope for it.

“I figured the best way to keep that promise was to transfer into Harry Thomas’s position. I just received the approval before coming in here. Men, I’m your new chaplain, although I’ll have to serve double duty for the next few weeks.”

Cheers broke out all over, along with whooping, hollering, and stomping. Men jumped to their feet, and a number of them bounded to the front of the room to give their new chaplain a clap on the back and a hug of approval.

The guards touched their gun handles again. They couldn’t have looked much more befuddled. What was going on? They’d probably never witnessed a nonviolent prison riot before.

P
rayer time was extraordinary. Alfredo’s prayer meant more to me than any of the others. Not because it was elegant. It wasn’t.

But what a contrast between this prayer and the one he’d faked earlier in the week before becoming a believer. Tonight’s prayer couldn’t have been more genuine and heartfelt. And it wasn’t the least selfish in words or tone.

I prayed for Jo while Alfredo prayed. Despite the fact that his English was better than most of the insiders realized, he must have felt more comfortable praying in Spanish. Jo appeared to have an unusual amount of difficulty keeping up with the translation. Maybe because his prayer moved her. Or maybe because she knew she wouldn’t see him again after tonight.

How my attitude toward Alfredo had changed. Just as he himself had changed. No matter how critical I’d been of Jo’s attachment to him before, my concerns had finally melted away like snow in bright sunshine.

Had she been smart? Probably not. Had she been human? Very much so. Had she demonstrated the finest of Christian love toward Alfredo? Absolutely.