We reached camp in a day and a half, and I immediately called a meeting of my staff. Diego and Garzon came inside, and it took every ounce of my control to ignore the fact that Henry was no longer there. It was like a piece of my own body had been ripped off, and the physical pain of his absence was more than I could bear.
After getting a report on the status of the camp, I pulled Diego aside. “Can you get Bruno in here?”
“Sí, Major.”
Something inside of me blew apart, and I snapped at Diego. “Do not ever say that to me again. Understand? I hate that! Just say ‘Yes, sir,’ or ‘Yes, Major.’”
“Yes, Major,” he said.
I couldn’t look him in the eye, but I felt the tension between us nonetheless.
Five minutes later, Diego came in with Bruno, who was so large, he barely fit through the door to my hut. “Thank you, Diego,” I said. “You can go now.”
He gave me a strange look before ducking out. I realized it was the first time I had intentionally asked him to step away when I was speaking with someone. But this was a matter that I intended to share with no one. Not even Diego.
“I need something to help me take the edge off a little more. Nothing crazy. Just something to keep my strength up during the day.”
“Major, you are already taking medicine to help you sleep. Now you need medicine to stay awake?”
“Something like that. Just until I get a handle on some things.”
He let out a sigh and shrugged. “I have something that can help. I will have to send for some supplies soon, though.”
“Sure, sure. Whatever you need. Can you just bring me that medicine as soon as you can?”
“Yes, Major.”
***
Three weeks later, a young Filipino man stumbled upon one of our sentries. He was carrying a basket of food back to his family, but he’d somehow gotten lost. At least, that was his story. I wasn’t buying it.
Diego ordered Garzon to guard the man in the supply hut while we discussed what to do. But I had no intention of discussing anything. Before Diego even uttered a word, I ended all discussion on the matter.
“Kill him,” I said.
Diego’s eyes widened. “Major, do you mean—”
“Was I unclear in any way, Diego? Was there something I said that you did not understand? What is it in Spanish? Muerte?” I stepped over to the door and looked him in the eye. “From now on, we kill any suspected spies or prisoners. We don’t have the capacity to keep them, and we can’t risk setting them free. Have Garzon print up an order to send out to the cadres across Luzon. This is the policy from now on.”
“Yes, Major.”
And that was how I, Matthew Doyle, was responsible for the murder of twelve Filipino citizens over the next two years.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Matthew
October 1945
Hanceville, Alabama
When I awoke it was still dark. I was so hot, it felt like my skin was on fire. And I was soaked through with sweat. I ripped off my shirt and sat up on the edge of the bed, trying to slow my racing heart. I tried to take deep, slow breaths, but I couldn’t.
I’d killed them. I’d been responsible, not only for Henry’s death, but for at least twelve more Filipino men and women. Up to now, I’d just been trying to imitate what I saw in Ruby. I’d been trying to do all the things it looked like others did when they gave their life to God. But I had failed. I’d failed in the most unforgivable way possible. I was the one who aught to be facing prison. I was the murderer.
I’m a murderer.
I couldn’t sit still, so I went out into the dog run. The cool October breeze shocked my bare skin, but it wasn’t enough. My guilt and shame still clung to me. So I went around back to the well and drew up a bucket of icy cold water from the depths. I dipped my hands into it and splashed the water over my head.
Wash me, Lord. Wash my sin and cleanse me. I’ve tried so hard to trust You, but all I have are filthy rags. I’m nothing.
I tried again to splash the water over my face, my hair, my neck and shoulders. Finally I turned the whole bucket over my head. I had to wash it all away. But I couldn’t. Not with well water.
The back door opened, and Asa’s boots walked toward me. I looked up, and saw his curious gaze on me. “Son, you all right?”
“No,” I croaked. “I can’t do this. I can’t wash away what I’ve done. I can’t go back and change it. I can’t stop looking backward. All I want is to be made clean. But I’m so filthy, inside and out.”
He took a towel that had been hanging on a nail near the door and walked down the steps to me. He handed me the towel and waited for me to dry myself off. “Come on inside and get dressed. We have work to do this morning. Best to get an early start.”
Asa was a man of few words. At least that had been my experience with him as a teacher of shoeing horses and mules. He would teach me something by showing me how to do it, and then making me do the same thing while he stood behind or beside me in silence. He often let me do something completely wrong from start to finish, never saying anything until I discovered my mistake on my own. Then he’d simply say, “Get it right the next time.”
It was frustrating at first, but I learned quickly, and I learned how to pay close attention to what he did, not what he said. He taught through action. And this morning was no different.
I was still distraught over my earlier realization, but Asa didn’t say a word about it. After our regular chores were done and breakfast finished, we went straight to work in the barn. He lit the coal in the forge, stirring it around as the coal turned a flaming orange. I took a seat on my observation stool, where I usually watched and learned.
“I do most of my forging from October through February,” he said. “Too hot the rest of the year to fool with it, except in emergencies.” He walked over to one of his wooden bins and came back with a piece of steel about two feet long and an inch or so wide. He tossed it to me, and I caught it. “Bend it,” he said.
“What?”
“Bend it. Make me a shoe for old Ike over there. He’s gonna need some new shoes come winter.”
I studied him to see if he was joking with me, but he looked as serious as could be. “You want me to bend this and make a shoe?”
“Yup. Get to it.” He walked back over to the bin and grabbed another long piece of steel.
“You know I can’t bend this.”
He came back over to the forge. “Sure you can. Put your hands on the ends and push real hard. See what happens.”
I did what he said, but with not much effort. I felt like a complete buffoon. “Asa, I can’t bend it and you know it. What’s going on here?”
He let out a sigh and grabbed some tongs hanging on the wall. He used them to grip his piece of steel. “Think I can bend this one?”
“Well, if you heat it up first.”
He smiled and pointed to his temple. “Now you’re thinking.” He put the steel into the coal, burying it. He watched it for a moment. “Think I can bend it now?”
I shrugged. “You’re the expert. Can you?”
Lifting the steel out of the coals with his tongs, Asa brought it over to the anvil. He took a hammer hanging on the wall nearby and hit near the end of it. The steel didn’t budge. “Didn’t work,” he said. “You know why?”
I shook my head.
“Fire ain’t hot enough. And I took it out too soon.”
He went back to the forge and buried the steel beneath the coals again. This time he reached up and turned on a blower. As it blew air over the coals, white-hot fire blazed up around the steel. He kept it burning longer this time. Every minute or so, he’d take the tongs and shift the steel around a bit, looking at it. This time when he pulled it out and took it over to the anvil, the steel glowed orange.
Asa held it over a rounded tip on the anvil, almost like the end of a bullet protruding out. He struck the steel over and over, bending it over the anvil. Eventually, after seve
ral hard hits from the hammer, it bent into a rounded “V.” Asa turned it this way and that, striking it from different angles. At last he held it up and examined it. “Looks about right.” He set the shoe aside and tossed the tongs at my feet. “You ready to try yours?”
I couldn’t find much enthusiasm, but I went through the same motions Asa had. I wasn’t as skilled at using the hammer, so my steel shoe came out looking pretty crummy. But swinging that hammer cut loose some of my frustration. I was grateful for that.
We set the steel into a cooling tub, grabbed a couple of Cokes out of the refrigerator, and went out of the barn to cool off for a few minutes. I watched Hope trailing behind Mrs. Graves as she pulled the sweet corn off the stalks to fix for lunch.
“You know, you’re like steel, Matthew,” Asa said out of nowhere. “God puts you through fire so He can shape you into the man He intends you to be.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I took a long sip of my Coke. Asa kept on going, undeterred by my silence. “Some of us are steel, like me. Like you. We need the fire to get blazing hot, and we gotta stay in it for a long while before we’re ready to be molded. Some people, like Ruby, why they’re more like gold. It still needs fire to be pure and be molded, but that fire don’t need to be quite as hot. You see what I’m saying?”
“I think so. You’re saying that God’s putting me through this fire so He can make me a better man.”
“Yes. The problem is, you keep looking for ways to jump out. You’re so focused on getting out of the fire, you miss the Savior standing next to you in the furnace.”
“You sound just like Ruby.”
He smiled. “Or maybe she sounds just like me.”
I had to chuckle. “Maybe.”
“You know, I went through some pretty tough times myself. I made some terrible choices when I was young. And I wasn’t the only one who suffered the consequences. It could have wrecked my faith. Well, I reckon it did for a long time. But I figured out that I could either keep looking backward at my failures, or I could look at Jesus’s victory.
“Now, I don’t know all that’s happened in the years since your healing, but I was there that night, and I felt the Lord bring His mighty blessing on you. He didn’t save you from one fire just to lose you in another. He knows what’s transpired in your life. He knows what you’ve done. He knows your pain and your sorrow. And He’s been with you every step, even when you couldn’t feel Him. You have to know you’re forgiven and loved. And there ain’t nothing in heaven, or earth, or in hell that can change that.”
A wave of emotions swelled up inside me. I wanted to be loved, to be forgiven and accepted. I wanted to be that man God wanted me to be. I wanted to show His love to my children. I wanted to be the husband Ruby deserved. And it all had to flow from the same river of Life. I didn’t have to try to be all those things. I just had to trust in the Lord.
Dropping to my knees, I bent over and let the dam inside me break. I felt Asa’s hand on my back, his presence kneeling beside me. It wasn’t so much that I needed to cry, but I needed to release all the shame and regret I’d been carrying around for so long.
“Lord,” Asa said, “You are the God who takes us by the hand and leads us through the valley. You stand with us in the furnace of persecution. You bear our cross of condemnation. Your wounds heal our hearts, and Your love lifts us out of the stormy sea when we begin to sink. Be with Matthew and Ruby as they face this trial. Keep their eyes on You, and only You. Show Matthew Your mercy and Your grace. Amen.”
I had no words for that moment, only groans from my spirit. And a still, quiet voice came on the wind.
Surrender.
So I did. I gave up my shame. I gave up my desire to save Ruby. I laid it all down. And like the night I was healed, I felt the same loving presence wash over me, filling me with peace. I didn’t have to figure out anything. I didn’t have to fight anymore. I just had to surrender.
And whatever circumstances came our way, I would lean on the Savior standing beside me in the furnace.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Matthew
October 30, 1945
Cullman Courthouse, Alabama
There would be no last minute salvation for Ruby; at least, not in the sense of her prison sentence. I accepted that with peace in my heart, knowing her true salvation was secure. I was even able to look Samuel in the eye and tell him Ruby would be proud of the man he’d become. I could also tell him that he shouldn’t turn himself in. Stanley, Homer, and I had all come to the same conclusion. It would only hurt both Samuel and Ruby in the end. It had been hard for Samuel to accept, but he agreed to stay away from the whole affair if it meant Ruby came out better off.
So, on the morning of October 30, I rode with Asa into Cullman while Mrs. Graves kept Hope at the farm. Despite having laid down my fear and intense desire to save Ruby, my heart was heavy as we drove through town. I prayed God would comfort all of us with His presence throughout the day. The only positive aspect was that it would be a short process, unlike Ruby’s first trial. She would enter the guilty plea, receive her sentence, and be done with it.
As we neared the courthouse, my stomach filled with dread. The sidewalk and courthouse steps were flooded with people. A few held up signs, but I was too far away to read them.
“Well, what do we have here?” Asa asked.
“Not another circus,” I said. “We should never have agreed to Homer’s articles.”
There’d been two more published with one still to come after the sentencing, and true to Homer’s word, the Associated Press had picked up the story. Our lives were being discussed over breakfast nationwide. No wonder there was a zoo outside the courthouse today.
Asa found a parking spot a block away, and we walked through the crowd with our heads down, hoping no one would recognize us. The foyer was crowded as well, with a group of reporters and cameras all in heated discussion. I caught a glimpse of Homer talking to several men gathered around him who were furiously taking notes.
Asa and I turned down the side hallway that led to the conference room where we were meeting Ruby and Stanley. John stood outside the door, and he opened it as we approached. “Morning, Mr. Graves, Matthew.”
I came into the room and went over to Ruby, who was seated in a chair near one corner. She was pale, and she held her arms over her stomach. I knelt in front of her. “You all right? Can I get you something?”
She shook her head. “I have some water and crackers. I’ll be fine.”
I pushed her damp hair away from her forehead. “You don’t look well, baby.” I turned to Asa. “Can you see if someone can get her a damp rag?”
“Of course,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”
When Asa was gone, Ruby met my gaze. “Did you see all those people?”
“Yeah. Walked right through ’em. Crazy, huh?”
“We should’ve never let Homer write those articles. This is only going to make Judge Thorpe think I’m after publicity. I hate this. I never wanted those stories to be about me.”
“I reckon we can’t go back and do that over. But Homer did a good job. He told the country about what the Japs did to us, and how hard you and all the nurses worked to save as many of our boys as you could. I thought it was a real nice job on his part.”
Asa came over with a cool rag. “Thank you,” I said, taking it and placing it on Ruby’s forehead.
She closed her eyes. “I’m ready for this to all be over.”
“There have been some…developments,” Stanley said from behind me.
I stood and faced him. “What do you mean?”
“Well, normally at a sentencing, the judge will ask you to enter a plea, you’ll say you’re guilty and give an explanation of what you did. Then you can speak on your own behalf and ask the judge for leniency. The defense can call a witness or two to speak about your character. The solicitor will call up the victim or the victim’s family and let them have a say. Then the judge might retire for a bit to d
ecide on the sentence, or he might have already decided on a sentence based on the report we submitted to him last week. It’s usually a quiet and standard procedure. But circumstances are unusual today, as you saw trying to get in here.”
“Is this circus going to make things harder for Ruby?” I asked.
“It’s hard to say. But the crowd isn’t the only thing that’s unusual. Numerous people who want to speak on Ruby’s behalf have contacted me over the past day or two. Honestly, I’m hard-pressed to decide on who should speak. We’re talking about folks from all over the country: a pilot from Houston who’s a war hero, a couple of army nurses, a baseball coach from San Francisco, even a colonel.”
“A colonel?” Asa said, looking over at Ruby in awe.
Ruby looked pretty surprised as well. “All those people…want to speak for me?”
Stanley nodded. “They sure do. Some were quite emphatic about it. But Mr. Norton will have a couple of people speak as well. You should be prepared for that.”
“Does the judge know she’s pregnant?” I asked.
Asa’s wide eyes darted from me back over to Ruby. “Honey, you’re pregnant?”
She nodded, still pressing the damp rag to her head.
“I included that information in the report I sent him last week,” Stanley answered. “So he knows. With all these solid character witnesses, I’m beginning to think we might be able to get the judge to reduce her sentence.”
“What do you think he might reduce it to?” I asked.
“I think it’s reasonable to hope for eight to nine years, with her serving about five of those. It’s a long shot, but you never know—miracles do happen.”
Stanley smiled over at Ruby, and she gave him a weary grin in return. My hope stirred inside me. Maybe Stanley was right. Maybe Judge Thorpe would take all these things into consideration and give Ruby a lighter sentence. But I’d stood in this place before. I’d believed in a judge being reasonable and fair. I’d hoped for God to save Ruby from injustice nine years ago. And nothing had turned out the way I’d thought it would.
Abiding Hope: A Novel: Healing Ruby Book 4 Page 37