by Mel Odom
“God already took His faithful,” Delroy said. “And He took His children. So I expect a lot of you are sitting around feeling mighty sorry for yourselves.” He looked around at the congregation. “It’s mighty scary sitting here knowing that the book of Revelation tells us that awful things are going to happen to all of us who have been left behind.”
“Amen,” a few people said.
“Some of you might even be thinking that God has thrown you away, that He just flat doesn’t care anymore. You know the problems you have. You know the mistakes you’ve made in your life. But you know what?”
No one spoke.
“God knows too. He knows all about them. But I’ll tell you something else.” Delroy paused. “God loves you.”
No one said anything.
Delroy struck the pulpit again. “Are you awake, brothers and sisters? I just told you that God loves you and there you sit like a bunch of knots on a log!” He felt the anger of his daddy upon him then. So much was now so clear to him. How could it not be clear to the people sitting out there? “Do you know who provided this church?”
“God did,” someone said in a timid voice.
“Yes, God did,” Delroy said. “But did you see how God put this church here? Through you.” He pointed at various people. “You and you and you and you, and all of you. None of this would have happened if you hadn’t pulled together and done what God wanted you to do.”
“Amen.”
“God brought us all together here in fellowship,” Delroy said. “And He brought us together so we would learn. So learn!”
“Amen.”
“God took all of His faithful from this world and moved them right on up into the next. Do you know what you’re supposed to do now?”
They all looked at him.
“I don’t want you to think of this place as a world anymore,” Delroy said. “In seven years, this place won’t even be here anymore. Not in the shape it’s in. It’s going to be something better. Something beautiful. And it’s going to be that way for a thousand years. Can I get an amen on that?”
“Amen!”
Delroy walked through the church the way his daddy had, making some of the congregation cringe in their pews. “I want you to think of this place by another name.” He turned his back and started back up to the front of the church. “Somebody ask me, ‘What name, Chaplain Delroy?’”
“What name, Chaplain Delroy?” Reynard Culpepper asked as he sat on the front pew.
Delroy turned and faced them again. He saw Glenda standing in the doorway. She wore her Sunday best and looked like a dream. His heart ached and he almost faltered.
But she smiled at him, and there was some of the old promise in that smile that touched him deeply.
“I want you to think of this place as Halfway,” Delroy said, growing stronger. He kept his eyes on Glenda, wondering if she was going to stay or leave. “Can you say that with me? Halfway.”
“Halfway,” the congregation responded.
“You know something about Halfway?” Delroy asked. “It’s a whole lot better than No Way. Can I get an amen?”
“Amen.”
Before he could stop himself, Delroy began to walk the length of the center aisle, and—God help him—it seemed longer than the Wasp’s flight deck. And as he walked, Glenda did too. He met her halfway, took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes.
“Chaplain Delroy?”
Turning, Delroy saw Phyllis on the front row next to Walter and Clarice Purcell. “You bring your missus right on up here where she belongs,” Phyllis said as she scooted one of her boys out of the pew and had him sit on the floor in front of her.
Holding Glenda’s hand, Delroy gently guided her to the front row. She sat by Phyllis, who patted her on the arm.
“And why do we call this place Halfway?” Delroy asked.
No one answered.
“Because God has met you halfway,” Delroy answered. “He has given us a second chance at redemption. For all of you who were doubters, you’ve now got proof that there is a God and He is alive and working in this place.”
“Amen.”
“All you have to do is look at the wonders God has wrought.” Delroy looked around, aware of Glenda sitting so close. “But Halfway means something else too, brothers and sisters. You have to take stock and figure where you’re halfway to.”
“Amen,” Reynard Culpepper bawled.
“You’re on a trip now, brothers and sisters,” Delroy said in a quieter, more intense voice. “You’re on a trip and you’re halfway. But my question to you is this: Are you halfway to heaven? Or are you halfway to hell?”
“Amen.”
“That’s the message God has put on my heart today, brothers and sisters,” Delroy said. “Are you halfway to heaven or are you halfway to hell? And if you’re halfway to hell, do you know that you can turn around and get back on the path to righteousness? Do you know what it takes, brothers and sisters? Do you know what it takes to get right with God?”
“Your daddy knew the answer to that one, Chaplain,” Reynard Culpepper called out. “He done taught it to me all them years ago. You want to get right with the Lord, why you just up an’ take one step. Just one step in the right direction.”
Delroy smiled broadly. “That’s right, Brother Reynard. You take just one step in God’s direction. Not only will He help you with all the rest of the steps, He’ll help you with that first one.”
“Amen!” Reynard yelled, throwing his hands high into the air.
A shadow darkened the church’s doorway, causing a silence to fall over the congregation.
The man standing there was old and white haired. His back was bowed from years of hard living. Scars mixed with the hard lines on his face and the map of alcohol veins. He wore jeans, a pearl-snap cowboy shirt, and cowboy boots. He carried a Stetson in his gnarled hands.
“Is that right, Preacher?” the old man asked in a dry voice brittle with age. “All it takes is one step to get back close to God?”
Walter Purcell had already stood and made his way back the side aisle to intercept the old man.
Delroy knew the old man in an instant. He tried not to let his hurt, anger, and confusion spill over. “That’s right,” Delroy answered.
The old man rubbed his face. “Do you know who I am?”
Delroy nodded. “I know you.”
“Name me,” the old man challenged.
“Clarence Floyd,” Delroy said in a hoarse whisper.
Whispers rose in the congregation. Evidently several people knew who Clarence Floyd was.
The old man nodded. “A lot of people say I killed your daddy all them years ago.”
“What do you say?” Delroy asked.
Floyd hesitated. “He was sassin’ me. Talkin’ down to me like I didn’t know nothin’. Makin’ me out like I was stupid. Some kind of moron. Him black as the ace of spades talkin’ like that to a white man in front of other white men.”
Indignation ran through the church. Several men stood up, ready to fight.
Delroy raised his hands and froze them in their places. “I don’t want any slurs in this church.”
“Weren’t no slur,” Floyd said. “Didn’t intend no slur. Just tellin’ you how it was. It was awful hard comin’ here today, Preacher.” He looked around. “I heard about the church, though, an’ somethin’ told me I just had to come. I wasn’t hearin’ voices. Been through some of that in my life too, but this weren’t nothin’ like that.” He worked his jaw. “Just knew I had to be here.”
“Why?” Delroy asked.
Floyd sucked air through his teeth. “Because I hear the world’s comin’ to an end. An’ I believe it.” He took a deep breath. “When I was a child, I used to believe in Jesus an’ God. But I got away from it. Fell in with some bad men an’ some evil women, an’ got me a taste for whiskey.” He shrugged. “Women are harder to come by these days, but I can still afford the whiskey. Doc said it’s gonna kill me one day, but it ain’t yet.”
“Couldn’t stay away,” Floyd said. “Been thinkin’ about what’s goin’ on in the world. To me, even the first day, it was plain as the nose on your face. Had to be the hand of God what took them people up.” He grinned, but there was no mirth there, only anger and sadness. “An’ in all that gatherin’, He done up an’ missed me. Can you believe it?”
“You’re interrupting my service,” Delroy said.
“I reckon I am.” Floyd made no move to walk away, just stood there looking like death in a Renaissance painting.
Delroy walked back toward him, watching Walter tense up. “Why are you here?”
“I had to come see you,” Floyd said. “Heard it was you. Heard you were Pastor Harte’s get.”
“I am.”
Floyd wiped his face with a hand. Tears watered in his pale blue eyes. “I killed your daddy, Preacher. Shot him stone-cold dead all them years ago. Watched him die right out there on the porch of this church.”
Startled exclamations ran through the congregation.
Anger burned through Delroy, violent and hot.
“I had to come here an’ tell you that,” Floyd said.
“Why?” Delroy’s voice was so tight it turned the word into a dry whisper.
“Because you’re the onliest man I can meet face-to-face that could possibly hate me as much as God must after ever’thin’ I done,” Floyd announced. “So I figured I’d come to you, tell you what I done, an’ let you tell me to go straight to hell or kill me where I stand because I just don’t care no more.” He wiped at his face and tears ran into the scars and wrinkles. “I know God hates me. But He don’t answer an’ I knew you would. An’ if you, a man of God, cain’t forgive me, I know God ain’t goin’ to.”
Delroy stared at the man who had taken his father away, who had brought so much pain into his life. He didn’t know what to say.
After a long, tense moment, Clarence Floyd turned, clapped his hat back on his head, and walked out the door.
“Clarence Floyd,” Delroy called, stepping out onto the porch where his father had been shot down.
Floyd froze, then slowly turned around.
“I can’t promise that I’ll ever forgive you,” Delroy said. “I’m just a man. A struggling man. But I’ll tell you one thing I know for sure.”
Tears continued to run down Floyd’s seamed face. He looked so out of place, a withered scarecrow cowboy at a nearly all-black church.
“If you believe Jesus Christ died for your sins,” Delroy said, “and you ask God to forgive you of your sins, you will be saved.”
Floyd nodded. Then he licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was dry and hoarse, but it was with the pain of a child. “I cain’t pray. I’ve tried. I’ve tried for years. I don’t remember how.”
Delroy hesitated. Then he left the porch, approached the old man, and held out his hands.
Floyd didn’t know what to do for a moment; then he offered his hands to Delroy.
“Kneel with me,” Delroy said. “I’ll pray with you. Just repeat after me.”
They knelt there in the churchyard, where faith had started to grow again, a murderer and a broken chaplain who’d lost his faith and found it in a church that had once come to the end of its days. Delroy Harte, despite holding on to his own prejudice and hate and hurt, delivered one more soul to God.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1439 Hours
As they waited on the verdict, Megan stood behind the defendant’s table and stretched, aware that everyone in the courtroom was still watching her.
After the videotape presentation, Colonel Erickson had ordered a fifteen-minute recess. Penny Gillespie had disappeared, presumably to tape a live segment of what had just happened. Benbow had taken Megan back to the small conference room and waited. Neither of them had talked much. Megan supposed both of them were more than a little overcome by what the tape had revealed and by how strong the reactions of the jury and crowd were.
“I never should have doubted you,” Benbow had said at one point. “I knew you were innocent of the dereliction-of-duty charges—”
“I was derelict,” Megan pointed out.
“For good reason,” Benbow said. “We just can’t prove it. What I’m talking about is the Rapture. My mother and my grandmother raised me in the church. I guess I just didn’t listen close enough. Like I didn’t listen to you close enough. I’m going to have to work on that.”
“We all are,” Megan had said.
By the time they had returned to the courtroom, the story of the tape had spread. Media people crammed the foyers and waiting rooms. Several of them called out to Megan to get interviews. However, no one new was allowed into the courtroom.
Megan ignored them all. She still didn’t know if she was going to be free when the court case was resolved. Quite frankly, Benbow was irritated that Colonel Erickson didn’t throw the whole case out, but the problem was that Arthur Flynn waited in the wings, ready to pick over the bones of whatever was thrown his way.
Upon their return, Penny had slipped back into the courtroom, and Trimble offered a mediocre closing argument. Benbow had stated that the evidence, and Mrs. Gander, had spoken plainly enough and anything he added to that would only dilute it.
Then the colonel had given the jury their final orders and sent them on their way.
“Relax,” Benbow said.
“I’m trying,” Megan replied in a low voice. “I feel like I’ve been left hanging here. I don’t know how Goose is. I don’t know where Joey is. I don’t know if Jenny’s all right.”
Benbow was silent for a short time. “Megan, all those things will come. Just give it time. What you’ve been given here today—” he shook his head—“I think it’s just the beginning of a wonderful gift.”
“No,” Megan said. “Do you even know what the next seven years are going to be like? All the lies and deceits and treacheries that are going to take place?” She took a deep breath as images of all those things—of wars and famines and plagues—swept through her mind. “What we’ve seen so far—those people disappearing, the suicides and murders—they’re nothing compared to what’s coming.”
“This has made a difference, Megan. I swear to you, I really think it has.”
Megan glanced at Trimble and caught him looking at her. He quickly turned away.
“I hope so,” she said. “So many people are going to be lost if they don’t start listening.”
“Try to sit down and relax. I’ll bet we don’t hear from the jury again today and they cut us loose at four-thirty.”
At that moment, the door near the judge’s bench opened and Colonel Erickson’s MP entered. “All rise,” the big man said.
“What’s going on?” Megan said.
Benbow looked totally surprised. “If the colonel’s coming back, that can only mean that the jury’s on its way back.” He glanced at his watch. “Seven minutes. I’ve never heard of a return that fast.”
“What does it mean?”
“They made up their minds really quick,” Benbow said. “Could be either good or bad, but it definitely means there’s no hung jury on this one.”
Colonel Erickson took his seat. “Be seated,” he said.
Another MP opened the jury door and let them file back into the room. They took their seats to Megan’s immediate right.
Staring at the impassive faces of the men and women of the jury, Megan couldn’t tell which way the vote had gone. Her stomach rolled sickeningly. God? God, are You with me?
There was no answer.
Megan forced herself to remain calm.
Benbow reached over to her and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “We’re going to be okay,” he said.
“Captain Seaver,” Colonel Erickson said, “has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes, sir,” Seaver replied. He was compact and tanned, an easygoing man with an air of comma
nd.
“What is your vote?”
“Sir,” Seaver said, “we decided that we all feel so strongly about this that we want our individual votes counted.”
The colonel looked surprised. “You do have a unanimous decision?”
“We do, Colonel. But we want our votes and our statements made part of the court record, part of the public record of this trial and of our findings.”
Erickson hesitated. “All right.”
“Is that normal?” Megan asked.
“Not normal,” Benbow whispered. “But it happens. ‘Rare as hen’s teeth’ as my grandmother used to say.” His own interest was evident.
“Will the defendant please rise and face the jury?” Erickson said.
Megan stood and faced the jury. Benbow stood at her side.
“All right, Captain Seaver,” Erickson said, “you may begin.”
“Captain Merle Seaver.” The man saluted Megan. “In the matter of dereliction of duty, I find the defendant, Mrs. Megan Gander … not guilty. I believe she was following a moral code higher than the one in the military handbook for which she was held accountable, with no disrespect intended to the service that I love and honor and will give my life for should that need ever arise. We are Rangers, and we serve God and country, and I believe there is a reason for that rank designation.” He took a deep breath. “I also want the record to reflect that I believe there is a God, and He is alive and doing well, Colonel Erickson. I believe He chose wisely when he pulled this woman to Him to work as she did for Gerry Fletcher.”
Megan felt like the floor had opened up beneath her. Her legs trembled and she almost fell, but Benbow was there to shore her up. He held her as, one after the other, the remaining eleven members of the jury all echoed the captain’s statement, changing only their rank and name.
There is a God, and He is alive and doing well. The message grew stronger and gathered momentum as each juror recited the verdict, and the audience picked up on those words till it became a litany each time, a prayer shared with the other members of the trial. There is a God, and He is alive and doing well.
Operation Run Dry
26 Klicks South-Southwest of Sanliurfa, Turkey