by Roger Bruner
Oh, great. We’d come about a problem we didn’t have much hope of solving at a time that couldn’t have been worse. From the look in Rob’s eyes, he had the same fears I had.
“We can come back later,” Rob said. Yeah, after missing tonight’s service. “But I did bring Alfredo’s letter—”
“Oh, that?” he said. “You didn’t need to make a special trip for that. Jo can give it back to Alfredo, and that will square things. She just needs to remind him she’s not permitted to mail anything for him.”
Huh?
Rob puffed up a little, and I hoped he wouldn’t say
anything rash. “We’ve been worried to death ever since we learned that Jo broke one of the rules.”
The warden waved his hands in a crisscross motion. “No need. She didn’t break that rule on purpose.” You just keep believing that, Warden Jenkins. “We all make mistakes, and Jo’s was nothing major.”
Man! Is the warden this easygoing every time one of the insiders messes up? I’ll bet those guys really like him.
“Then why all the to-do about it?” Although Rob had managed to keep his tone calm, I’d rarely seen him more aggravated. “I mean, having Thomas tell me you weren’t letting any of us come back …”
“Is that what he told you?” The warden cleared his throat. “No wonder you’re upset.” His threatening look dissolved into a smile of amusement. “If that had been the case, I would have told you myself. I don’t let my employees do my dirty work. Nor do I ask them to.”
“You mean it’s not true?” I blurted out. Very seldom had I felt like cursing since breaking the habit in Santa María, but now was one of those times.
“What did you tell him, then?” Rob asked. He didn’t appear to realize he was grinding one palm with his fist. Like he was getting ready to hit somebody. And that somebody was not the warden.
Warden Jenkins chuckled. “I thanked him for his report on the breach of the rules and said I’d ask your team to reread them.”
Rob and I looked at one another and then at the warden. “Why—?” I said.
“Why would he … bend the truth like that?” Rob said at almost the same instant.
“Your presence seems to threaten him. I think he’s afraid somebody’s going to tell you what’s going on. Or what I think is going on.”
Rob must have noticed my eyes narrowing.
“Larry, Kim doesn’t know about that.”
Warden Jenkins leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and looked into my eyes. “Are you a trustworthy young lady, Kim … Kimmy?” My eyes must have opened to the size of classroom-sized world globes, especially when he added, “And how sneaky can you be?”
You can’t possibly want me to do more than just keep an eye on Chappy, can you? Please ask me to do something safer. Like kiss a rabid possum on the nose.
I made myself maintain eye contact. “I hope I’m trustworthy.” Although I was trying to speak up, I could barely hear my own voice. “As for sneaky … I am a woman, sir.”
Aleesha would never let me hear the end of it if she found out I’d made a statement like that. Especially to a man.
“Good. Now, have you noticed anything strange going on with Chaplain Thomas?”
“Besides Chappy’s negative attitude toward us and his seeming lack of a living relationship with God through faith in Jesus Christ?” I felt like a preacher for a second there.
“Chappy?” He chuckled. “He deserves a nickname like that. You’ve made a good start. Sounds like we’re on the same wavelength.” His lingering smile dimmed and then disappeared.
“Actually, sir, I’ve noticed that he uses the worship services to speak individually with some of the insiders. I wasn’t aware of it the first night, but I’ve been watching him ever since. The men don’t seem to enjoy those private conversations. They look—how should I say it?—ill at ease. Perhaps even scared. I can’t tell if it’s worse when he calls them over or when they return to their seats.”
“Excellent observations, Kimmy.” Rob nodded in agreement. “You couldn’t have done better if you’d known
what to look for.”
I held my palms out in a “So what’s going on?” gesture.
“Won’t it hurt Kim’s objectivity if you tell her now, Larry? Power of suggestion might make her see what she’s looking for instead of what really is.”
“I’ll have to take that chance, Rob.” The warden uncrossed his legs and leaned across his desk as if he were about to confide the location of the Holy Grail. “Kimmy, we’ve become suspicious that Chaplain Thomas is abusing his position.”
I couldn’t have felt more confused.
“Let me be more specific. You’re familiar with blackmail and extortion?”
“Not personally.” I probably blushed. “I know what … I know what they are, I mean.” My twisted tongue threatened to take over. “What do they … what does that … what do those things have to do with him? And me?”
“I believe … Chappy has been using blackmail and extortion to obtain money from the insiders.” The warden’s voice was kind. He hadn’t meant to embarrass me.
“Money, sir?”
“The insiders have accounts here. Outsiders can send money for incidental expenses; the insiders also earn a pittance for the jobs they perform here.”
“Enough to make extortion worthwhile?” I couldn’t imagine such a thing.
“You’d be surprised. Don’t forget the number of men Chappy meets in his day-to-day work. He’s free to come and go as he pleases. He can interact with anyone—Christian or not. A little bit each from a number of men over a long period of time adds up. He’s probably accumulated a small fortune.”
Daddy, where are you? Can’t you protect your baby girl from learning that the adult world is just as corrupt now as it was in Noah’s day?
“If you know he’s guilty of these things, why haven’t you fired him … or arrested him or something?”
The warden hadn’t said how long this behavior had been going on other than “a long period of time.”
“We want to, but we don’t have enough evidence.”
“Then how did you learn about it?”
“An insider smuggled an unsigned note to a guard during mealtime when no one was paying attention.” He handed me a photocopy of it. I glanced back and forth between the warden and the paper. “Whoever slipped it to the guard may or may not have been the actual author. None of the insiders would want to be accused of snitching—not even on a prison employee.”
Because of the note’s size and distinctive background pattern, I gathered that the original had been written on a paper napkin. I could see wrinkles, too. As if the sender had passed it along as an inconspicuous piece of trash.
“Chaplain … extortion … our money.” I read aloud. “That’s not much to go on, is it?” Anybody with a grudge against the chaplain could have written a note like that. Especially a non-Christian or a member of some group that opposes Christianity.
Warden Jenkins touched the Bible that occupied the left front corner of his desk and traced the printing with his index finger. I hadn’t noticed before that he was left-handed.
“I take matters like this quite seriously, and I’ve done everything within my power to verify this accusation. Or to refute it. I’m not assuming Chaplain Thomas’s guilt. This is still America, but—unfortunately—this accusation makes sense.”
Rob eyed me with an “Are you okay, Kim?” look. I let my eyes respond, “I don’t know.”
“I’ve tried to become friends with the Christian insiders,” Warden Jenkins said, “but they won’t talk to me. Not except in a superficial way. I can’t blame them. Even though they accept
me as a Christian brother, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still the warden.”
“So what do you want Kim to do?” Rob said. “She and her friends are leaving next Monday, so there isn’t much time.”
“We’ll leave even sooner if I have another nightmare.”
I couldn’t keep the inner pressure from exploding into spoken words. What a brilliant red my face must have turned when I realized how silly my outburst had probably sounded. “Uh, don’t ask, Warden. But please pray I don’t have another nightmare while I’m here. Seriously.”
“Of course, Kimmy. That’s the least I can do for you.” He jotted something down on his desk calendar and put a big asterisk beside it. “I won’t forget.”
Peace I hadn’t known since before my father delivered his ultimatum about going home bathed my soul and body. Had Warden Jenkins just prayed for me? That wouldn’t have surprised me. The Bible said the prayers of a righteous man accomplish much, and he struck me as a righteous man who did an excellent job of serving God in a very unrighteous atmosphere.
“About helping …” He scratched his head. I wondered if his job had given him all those gray hairs. “At prayer time, why don’t you pray out loud, too? Ask God to deal with any situations at Red Cedar that aren’t Christlike. Maybe that will get some of the insiders thinking.”
“Thinking and maybe ready to talk?” That sounded easy enough. But who would they be willing to talk to?
“Maybe express an interest in learning more about the men. Say something like, ‘If you want someone besides your cellmate to talk to for a few minutes, just let me know … ‘“
Our team had talked with the insiders quite a bit, but always in groups.
“You think I’m qualified to help that way?”
“You seem to be a good listener, Kimmy.”
“But is that safe, Larry?” Rob said. He sounded concerned. “I know this would still be within sight of the group, but …”
I hadn’t considered this assignment to be dangerous … not until now.
“Male prisoners respect women of any age more than you can possibly imagine. Few men hate their own mothers. Kimmy won’t be in any danger. And if an insider should request a private talk away from the worship service, we’ll schedule it so my wife sits in on it.”
“But will anyone even ask to talk with me with Chappy present?” I said. “I mean, if he’s holding something over their heads, he’s undoubtedly watching to make sure they don’t talk at length with any of us. Especially not one-on-one.”
“Hmm. Maybe it’s time for me to tell Chaplain Thomas that he’s done a great job babysitting you folks, but you’re doing fine now and I don’t need him to keep an eye on you any longer.”
“Will he buy that?” Rob asked.
“He will when I tell him that’s an order. Direct disobedience would simplify things. Between that and the way he lied to you and purposely misrepresented me—I’ll document all of that in his personnel record—I could justify severe discipline. Read that any way you want to. But if he’s guilty of the things we suspect, I’d rather see him spend the next few years of his life as an insider.”
Boy! Was I glad this man and I were on the same side.
“Let me ask this, Kimmy. Are you free to come here during the daytime if an insider wants to talk with you then?”
I looked at Rob. “Ask my boss.” I winked at him. “He schedules my time.”
“We can spare her for something like that,” he said.
After saying our good-byes, Rob and I walked to the office
door. Warden Jenkins had one more thing to say, though.
“How’s Graham O’Reilly doing? I heard about his job at the hostel. Please give him my regards. He’s the best cook we ever had. And a great guy. If anyone ever deserved his freedom, it’s Graham.”
chapter forty-three
I shook my head. For the hundredth time since I started giving Aleesha the report about my visit with the warden, I realized that—even if the warden hadn’t requested me to leave Jo out of the loop—I wouldn’t have had much choice. She wasn’t objective. She trusted Alfredo—way too much.
That was too bad, because she would have been the incredibly perfect person to involve in this investigation. I didn’t know enough Spanish to talk with Alfredo. But Jo did.
Alfredo would have confided in her. He wouldn’t have had to worry about anyone who didn’t speak Spanish overhearing him. She could have found out whether he had problems with the chaplain … and whether he knew of other insiders who did.
But she wouldn’t simply have asked questions. She would have told Alfredo about the warden’s suspicions, thinking she was doing something good. And he might have taken that information right back to the chaplain, enabling him to cover his back and avoid getting caught.
So the warden wanted me to try talking with him. “I barely know any Spanish at all,” I protested. “That’s okay. My wife is reasonably fluent. We’ll arrange for the three of you to meet together.”
The problem was arranging to talk with Alfredo without automatically putting him on the defensive. Warden Jenkins didn’t have any suggestions about handling that.
“Girlfriend,” Aleesha said after I finished giving her the lowdown, “what in the world have you gotten yourself mixed up in this time?” Before I could respond, she added,
“Sounds like bad TV.”
I shook my head. I’d watched more than my share of reality shows before Santa María, but now I felt like I’d gotten trapped inside one.
“Aleesha, let’s pray.”
We knelt on the drop cloth and joined hands. “Lord God,” Aleesha said, “we praise You for who You are. You know the number of hairs on our heads and the thoughts inside. You know we constantly fail You, even though You never stop loving us, and we beg Your forgiveness for each sin. But You also love each of the men in that prison. You love even the most unrepentant insiders as much as You love the two of us. We pray for the ones who already belong to You, and we pray for salvation for those who don’t.”
Aleesha’s prayer was picking up momentum, and—even though I often had trouble praying along with someone else’s prayers—my spirit was in sync with her every word. “We pray for Chaplain Thomas. Whether he’s guilty of extortion and blackmail or not, we don’t know. But You do. And You know whether he’s even one of Your children. Lord, please do whatever is best for Your kingdom, and use us in whatever way You desire to bring about a suitable solution. The solution that suits You, that is …”
When she paused, I took over.
“Father, each of these men is precious in Your sight. Help us to inspire the believers we’ve been worshipping with, and use us to reach the pretenders. It hurts us deeply to imagine that Chaplain Thomas might be abusing his position in such a harmful and illegal way. Help us to find the truth. We admit we don’t like the man, and we ask Your forgiveness for that. It’s wrong for us to hate somebody You love.”
I knew I was taking a chance, but I felt led to add this to my prayer, “Lord, please be with Jo. She’s lived such a
sheltered life that she’s far too susceptible to people like Alfredo. Father, please give her some of Your insight into what we see as the foolishness of her actions, and help her not to be hurt in the process.
“Heavenly Father, You know how much I treasure both Aleesha’s and Jo’s friendships, and it hurts me to see the way they avoid one another. Please unite them somehow.”
Although Aleesha didn’t release my hand, she lessened her grip until we were barely still holding hands. I must have hit a raw nerve. I wasn’t trying to, though. I just wanted God to solve a relational problem I couldn’t touch on my own.
I didn’t feel led to pray about my guilt or my nightmares, although thoughts of them had haunted me throughout the day. I’d come to California hoping that helping others would alleviate those problems, and it had done a reasonably good job on the symptoms. But it hadn’t solved any of the real problems. The guilt would come back full force when we got home again and I found myself in the midst of everything that reminded me of Mom.
Oh, no … Aleesha had begun praying again while I was off in la-la land, and she just paused. Had she been praying about her and Jo? Would I dare to ask?
“Heavenly Father,”
I said, “please bless Warden Jenkins and help him in his efforts to administer Red Cedar in a Christian manner. And please help Graham to be as free in spirit now as he is in body.”
Aleesha squeezed my hand.
“In Jesus’ name, we pray. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Aleesha didn’t waste any time trying to satisfy her curiosity. “What’s this about Graham and freedom, girl?”
I couldn’t keep from laughing at her. She’d probably squeezed my hand to end the prayer just so she could ask that.
“Warden Jenkins didn’t say much. Just something about giving his regards to Graham and Graham being the best cook they’d ever had and Graham deserving his freedom.”
“And you didn’t ask for details?”
I hoped Aleesha was teasing. “I’m not you, you know.” I giggled. “Is that something a woman of the darker persuasion would have done?”
She started laughing, too. She knew I didn’t believe anything so silly.
“Nope. Only pushy white girls do that.”
I knew she didn’t mean that, either. Our ability to exaggerate and laugh at our racial differences never ceased to amaze me.
“Seriously, though”—her eyes pled with me to fulfill her curiosity—”that’s all he told you?”
“He didn’t ‘tell’ us anything.”
“Are you going to ask him?”
“Him? The warden? I should think not.”
“I wouldn’t, either. I meant Graham. The two of you have been getting tight. I’ve—”
“You know I don’t drink,” I said with a giggle.
“You know what I meant. I’ve been watching you and Graham. Before you know it, you’re going to be an item—another Jo and Alfredo.”
When Rob heard us laughing, he stuck his head in the door. He looked from one of us to the other. He didn’t have to say anything. Just as Dad had done a day or two earlier, he shook his head as if seeing us together was all the explanation he needed. After he left, I held up my left hand. “Isn’t it beautiful?”