After the play ended, a tall, gangly, rather homely man stood up, and Jenny said, “That’s Reverend Devoe Crutchfield. He’s the pastor.”
“Is he the one who was in love with you?” Kefira asked.
Jenny looked flustered. “Nothing like that! We’re good friends.”
Kefira was not sure about this, but she had no time to think, for Reverend Crutchfield had begun to speak. He had a good strong baritone voice and spoke warmly of the efforts of the children and those who had helped with the play. Finally he said, “I know you wouldn’t expect to get by without a sermon. You can’t keep a preacher quiet. However, I don’t have one for you today.” His eyes went over the congregation, and he said, “I was reading in the book of Deuteronomy in the first chapter this morning, and I was struck by one phrase. Moses had led the people out of Egypt, out of slavery and into the wilderness, but as you may remember, was not permitted to go to the Promised Land. He displeased God, as far as I can tell, once in his whole life, and God said because of that, Moses would not be permitted to go into the land for which he longed. I guess sometimes God seems hard, but I’ve often thought that instead of going to an earthly Promised Land, Moses went to be with God in the real Promised Land.”
Kefira listened closely, for her father’s favorite book had been the book of Deuteronomy. He had read it aloud so often that she had almost memorized it, and she recognized the instance of which the pastor spoke and listened as he read from the Scripture:
“‘Joshua the son of Nun, which standeth before thee, he shall go in thither: encourage him: for he shall cause Israel to inherit it.’”
Reverend Crutchfield looked over the congregation and by accident, perhaps, his eyes met those of Kefira Reis. He smiled slightly and then raised his voice, speaking to the congregation. “God uses His people to encourage one another. He did not say to an angel, ‘Gabriel, my servant Joshua is about to lead my people in Canaan. Go encourage him.’ Gabriel would not have been half as fitted to do the encouraging as Moses and the people of Israel were. A brother’s empathy is more precious than an angel’s sympathy. An angel had never experienced the hardness of the road, nor seen the fiery serpents, nor led the stiff-necked multitude in the wilderness as Moses had. God usually works for a man by a man. He uses all of us to form a bond of brotherhood and sisterhood, and we’re dependent on each other. So I ask you this evening to take this text as God’s message to you. Encourage those whom you encounter. Speak cheerily to the young and the anxious who don’t know what to do with their lives. Lovingly try to move stumbling blocks out of their way.”
Kefira, who had come prepared to pay no attention to doctrine whatsoever in such a place as a Christian church, found herself warming to this advice. Perhaps because what she was hearing came from her father’s favorite book, she leaned forward to listen more carefully, not conscious of the glances she got from Josh beside her.
“Comfort the sorrowful and do what you can for the desponding,” the reverend continued. “Speak a word in season to him that’s weary, and encourage those who are fearful to go on their way. God encourages you by His promises, and Jesus encourages you as He points to the heaven He’s won for you. I encourage you this evening to take this word from God personally. Someone needs your voice of assurance. Give it to him or her by the Spirit of God.”
Suddenly Kefira leaned back, and she reached over and took Josh’s arm and turned her head toward him, whispering, “You see. The reverend says to encourage people, and that’s what I’ve tried to do with you, Josh.”
Josh sat absolutely still, aware of Kefira’s hand on his arm. Then he turned to face her and whispered, “You’re quite an encourager, Kefira.”
The two, for that one single moment, felt as if they were alone. Reverend Crutchfield was still speaking, but each of them felt a special communion, something that had passed from one spirit to another, and this made Kefira feel very good inside.
Reverend Crutchfield ended his short comments with, “I’m going to take a few moments to allow God to speak to your hearts. If God has given any of you a special blessing, or if you have a special need, just let it be known.”
Kefira did not know what this meant, but suddenly a tall, lean man sitting in the front row arose and said with a joyful voice, “I want to thank God for healing my daughter, Carrie. We’d just about given up, but the prayers of God’s people went up, and now Carrie is right here with me, completely healed by the miracle of God.” He reached down and held up a small girl, and the room was filled with voices saying, “Amen” and “Bless you, brother.”
For some time people stood up, some of them weeping as they shared sorrows, others telling triumphant stories of what God had done for them. Kefira had never encountered anything like this. She had seen friendship and good strong ties between members of the synagogue, but this was a real family. It was obvious from their dress that most of these people were poor. But as they spoke of their faith in Jesus Christ, she could not help but be moved.
The service ended, and Kat came out at once, her eyes glowing. “Did you see me, Kefira?”
“I did, and I heard you too. You did wonderfully well. I was very proud of you.”
Kefira sat next to Missouri Ann in the front seat of the truck for the ride home, and the others were loaded into the back. Missouri Ann asked her, “Did you enjoy the play?”
“It was very good, and the people standing up and talking. What did the preacher call it?”
“A testimony service.”
“They all believe so much in God.”
“Well, of course they do!” Missouri Ann said. “That’s what a church is. Do you have anything like that in your synagogue?”
“Not really,” Kefira said slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like that. Do you do it often?”
“Fairly often at our church. Sometimes people have so much to say that Brother Crutchfield doesn’t get to preach, but that doesn’t bother him. We all love to hear the stories of victory in God’s people.”
Kefira said no more, but all the way home and later in bed that night she went over the scene again and wondered, How can these Christians be so different? There’s something in them I don’t understand. It troubled her, and she went to sleep thinking about Josh and about the preacher’s advice to encourage him. She had taken it personally, and now she felt that she had done the right thing.
****
Two days after the play, Kefira was helping Missouri Ann peel potatoes when Clint came in with an envelope in his hand. “A letter for you, Kefira.”
“For me? It must be from my brother.” Taking the envelope, she saw that her name and the address were in a handwriting she didn’t recognize. The postmark was from New York. Nervously she opened the envelope and read the few lines. It was on the letterhead of the state prison system of New York and said briefly:
My dear Miss Reis,
I am the chaplain at the prison here, and I am grieved to inform you that your brother is very ill. If it is at all possible, I think you should come and visit him. I’ve gotten your address from the letters you mailed to him and think it might be wise if you would come as quickly as possible.
Sincerely yours,
Chaplain Daniel Stokes
Kefira’s face gave her away, and Missouri Ann asked, “What is it, dear, bad news?”
“It’s my brother. He’s in prison, and he’s very ill.” She folded the envelope with unsteady hands and said, “I have to go to him.”
“Of course you do, but you can’t go tonight. You’ll have to wait until morning.”
Kefira hardly heard Missouri’s words. She was thinking, How can I possibly get back to New York? I don’t have any money. I’ll have to ride the rails, and I think Chaim must be very ill indeed for the chaplain to write the way he has.
Kefira said little that night at the supper table. She was relatively sure that Missouri Ann had shared her bad news with the others, for she caught the sidelong looks they gave her. After supper she went
to her room and went to bed early, tossing for a long time, trying to think of a way to get to New York more quickly.
A light tap at her door gave her a start, and she climbed out of bed and opened the door. She found Missouri Ann wearing a robe and slippers and holding a lantern in her hand. “I need to talk to you, Kefira.”
“Why … come in.”
Missouri Ann entered, set the lamp down, and turned to face Kefira. “I’ve been praying for hours, and the Lord has spoken to me. I want to pray for your brother.”
Kefira stared at the older woman. “Well, of course, if you’d like.” She bowed her head, but Missouri Ann pulled her over to the bed and the two knelt down together. For a long time there was only silence, so much so that Kefira wondered if this was all there was to the prayer. But then Missouri Ann began to call upon God. There was an earnestness in her voice almost like pain, and Kefira had never heard anyone ever pray like this. It was as if one of her own children were dreadfully ill, and Kefira found herself transfixed by the agony of the woman.
The prayer lasted for a long time, but finally Missouri Ann grew silent. She turned then and tears, Kefira saw, were running down her cheeks. “Your brother is healed.”
Kefira did not know what to make of this. “Why, that’s … that’s good, Mrs. Winslow.”
“You don’t believe me, but it’s so. Look at the clock. It’s two in the morning. Wherever your brother is God has touched him, for the Lord God himself has told me so.” Missouri Ann got to her feet, and Kefira followed suit. Missouri Ann put her arms around the young woman, hugged her, and then picked up the lantern and left without another word.
Kefira was mystified. She went back to bed and thought about the strange encounter for a long time before finally dropping off into a troubled sleep.
****
“Kefira, I stayed up most of the night, and God gave me another word for you.”
Kefira had come down the stairs and was met at the foot of them by Missouri Ann.
“What is it?” She hardly knew how to take these declarations. She was not accustomed to people saying that God had spoken to them personally, and it frightened her.
“You must go to your brother at once.”
“Yes, I know that, Mrs. Winslow.”
“God told me that Josh should go with you, and He told me to give you the money so that you can take the train.” She handed Kefira an envelope, and Kefira stared at it. “I can’t take your money.”
“God told me to give it to you. Don’t worry, daughter. You can’t outgive God. God will probably restore this to me thirty or even a hundredfold.”
Kefira stood there looking into the plain strong face of Missouri Ann Winslow. She did not know what to say, but a lump formed in her throat. No one had ever done anything like this for her before.
Missouri Ann added, “I had a word for Josh too. I’ve already given it to him. He knows he’s got to go with you. God gave me a specific word for him.”
“A word? What was it?”
“It came right clear. God told me to tell Josh, ‘Go with Kefira to New York, and you’ll find your dream.’”
Kefira could only stand there helplessly, but tears rose in her eyes. She had never seen kindness such as filled this house, and now she threw herself into Missouri Ann’s arms and clung to her, weeping as she had not done for a long time. Finally she drew back and said, “If your God can do this, He can do anything.”
“He’s a big God, daughter. Trust Him!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Notable Miracle
Looking out the window of the train, Kefira noted the familiar signs. They would be arriving at Sing Sing in a few moments, and she straightened up and fought off the fear and depression that had filled her. All the way from Georgia she had been torn between hope and despair. She remembered the prayers of Missouri Ann and the confidence in the woman’s voice and in her eyes—but life had treated her harshly enough that she had come to expect the worst.
Turning away from the window, she said, “We’re almost there, Josh.”
Josh glanced out the window and then met Kefira’s eyes. He noted that lines of strain marked her face and that her eyes were cloudy with doubt. He reached over and squeezed her forearm, saying quietly, “It’ll be all right, Kefira. You’ll see.”
Kefira shook her head and murmured, “I don’t think so. I’m afraid, Josh.”
“There’s a verse in the Bible that says ‘With God all things are possible.’ I believe that. Not as much as Missouri Ann maybe, but I know it’s true.”
A warmth came to Kefira then, and she was very conscious of his hand on her arm. Suddenly she thought of how she had struck him when he had kissed her. The scene had troubled her, for as she thought back on it, she knew his embrace had been innocent. He had not been like other men, and she was wise enough to realize that. For some time she had been trying to find a way to tell him this, and now as the train began to slow down, she said quickly, “Josh, you’ll never know how much it helps to have somebody with me. I’ve been alone so much, and I am so grateful that you came with me.”
“I’m glad I’m here.”
“And, Josh …” Kefira hesitated for a moment, then met his eyes. Her lips were soft and tremulous as she formed the words, “I’m sorry for the way I acted down at the river.”
Instantly Josh knew what this apology had cost Kefira. He squeezed her arm again and then removed his hand. “It was nothing, Kefira. But I want you to know this. I’ll always be a brother to you.”
Something about this disturbed Kefira. She shook her head and said at once, “You’re not my brother, Josh.”
Josh was surprised, but at that moment the conductor came through calling out, “Ossining! All out for Ossining!” The train came to a grinding halt, and Josh got up and stepped aside to let Kefira precede him down the aisle. When they had stepped out onto the platform, Kefira said, “We get on that bus to go to the prison.” She led him to the bus and the two got on. When the visitors were all inside and seated, the driver shut the door and moved out slowly. Josh sat quietly beside Kefira during the short trip to Sing Sing Prison, studying the faces of those who were on their way to visit the inmates. Most of them, it seemed, were from a lower station of life, but he saw one woman dressed in expensive clothes wearing a brilliant diamond on her left hand. She was an attractive woman in her fifties, he supposed, and there was something in her carriage that caught his eye. “I wonder who she’s going to see,” he whispered to Kefira.
Kefira came out of her thoughts and studied the woman. “She’s rich, isn’t she?”
“I expect so, judging from that rock on her finger.”
“Maybe she’s visiting her son, or it could be her brother or husband.”
“Things like this level people,” Josh murmured. “I mean, she’s no better off than that woman sitting in front of her. She’s obviously poor, but both of them have the same problem.”
“I suppose most of us have the same problems really.”
“That’s what the Bible says. It doesn’t always appear that way, but Job says, ‘Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.’”
“My father used to quote that Scripture a lot. It’s from the book of Job.”
“I believe it is. Your father read to you a lot from the Scriptures, didn’t he?”
“Every night. I still seem to hear his voice sometimes.”
After passing through the prison gates, the bus pulled up in front of the gray building. “That’s it there,” Kefira said as they stepped off. The visitors all headed toward the reception area, and when they were inside, Kefira said to the guard checking identification, “I would like to see Chaplain Stokes.”
The guard lifted his eyes and considered her for a moment. He was a thin man with a thin mouth and a careless look on his face. “Go wait in that room right over there. I’ll send word for him to come.”
Josh presented his driver’s license, and the guard looked at the list. “You’r
e not on the list. You’ll have to wait here while the lady visits her brother.”
“That’s fine. Is it all right if I wait for the chaplain with her?”
“Yes.”
Kefira and Josh went into the room that the guard had indicated, which contained a few straight-back chairs and a small table—nothing else. They sat down, and the tension built up in Kefira. She was unable to speak, and her mind was so totally concentrated on her brother, she was startled when the door opened and a short, heavyset man strode in.
“I’m Chaplain Stokes,” he said. He had rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes and a wealth of blond hair, carefully combed.
“I’m Chaim Reis’s sister,” she said as she rose from her chair. “My name is Kefira.”
“Yes, I know about you. Chaim has told me.”
“This is my friend Joshua Winslow.”
“Glad to know you, Mr. Winslow.”
“How is my brother?” The words rushed breathlessly from Kefira’s lips, and she felt strangely weak. For some reason she had been haunted by the idea that Chaim had died and the chaplain was here to break the bad news.
Chaplain Stokes saw the young woman’s agitation. “I’ve got good news,” he said. “He’s much, much better.”
“Thank God!” Kefira breathed. She felt weak for a moment and put her hand to her forehead, swaying slightly. Instantly Josh was beside her, his arm around her, supporting her. She leaned against him, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
“Here, you’d better sit down,” the chaplain said. He waited until Josh helped Kefira to a chair, then said, “He was very ill, Miss Reis. The doctors were not at all optimistic, and I think Chaim himself had about given up on living.”
“What was it, Chaplain?” Josh asked.
“The doctors never really decided. He got a terrible rash that went into a fever and that went into pneumonia. It went around. Several of the prisoners caught it, and two of them died. We get a lot of people from different places here, and the doctors think one of them brought something in. It could have even been a disease from overseas. Maybe from South America or somewhere.”
Beloved Enemy, The (House of Winslow Book #30) Page 17