Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [168]
“C’mon, not all wickedness. You know what I did.”
“So does He.”
Darby shook his head as if that was not what he wanted to hear. Had Thomas come on too strong too quickly? Had his years of seeing no response in this hellhole made him want to close the deal before the prospect was really sold?
God, don’t let me mess this up.
The hollering from all around made it nearly impossible to hear the young man.
“He’s starting to cloud up!”
“Here comes the waterworks!”
“Oh, man, get the boy some cryin’ towels!”
“Pass the offering plate, Preacher! You got him right where you want him!”
Thomas put a finger through the opening and said, “Request a meeting in an isolation room.”
The young man ignored his hand and looked down, nodding. But Thomas got the distinct impression he had not gotten through at all. He was sure Darby would not ask to see him again.
For the next two weeks, as Thomas enjoyed a season of normalcy with Grace and continued to talk with Dirk and Ravinia separately, plus get time with his granddaughter—whom he had taken to calling the light of his life—he was plagued with despairing thoughts about the man on death row.
He had heard nothing, not even a request for reading material. And Thomas had already set aside several books he thought would help, including a Bible in modern, easily readable language.
Finally he spoke with the warden. “Is there no way I can even send this man some books without his requesting them? I know he’s curious and wants to talk with me, and I expected him to ask for a private meeting.”
“Yeah, no. We can’t start making exceptions. You know this guy’s history. You really think he’s redeemable?”
“What kind of a question is that, Frank? Is any one of us redeemable? The day I start deciding who’s worthy of love and forgiveness is the day I’ve got to get out of here.”
“Well, I don’t want you to do that, but this has to be nothing new for you. You’ve been telling me for years that you can’t get these guys to take spiritual matters seriously. Why should this guy?”
Thomas didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell the warden that he had felt more compelled to pray for Brady Darby than for any other con in a long time—in fact since Henry Trenton went to the gallows.
Oh, please, he thought, don’t let this turn into another of those. He could just picture it. The kid wouldn’t want to read or hear any more Scripture, couldn’t see himself ever worthy of forgiveness, but would appreciate Thomas’s interest just enough to ask him to accompany him to his death.
If it came to that, Thomas would quit first. He’d do what Russ did, and when he left, he would be done. No way in the world would he pray for this man for two and a half more years, only to see him go to his death as unrepentant and lost as the Deacon.
And yet, despite himself and his disappointment, Thomas could not shake the compulsion to pray for Brady Wayne Darby. He didn’t even have to be specific. God knew what the man needed.
And God had to know what Thomas needed too.
I know You and You alone do the work, but use me. Please.
58
Death Row
The one simple visit from the chaplain alone opened Brady to days of harassment from his pod mates. Did he dare order books or request another meeting? If these guys saw him cuffed up and ushered out for anything but his shower or his exercise hour, he’d never hear the end of it.
Brady knew he was in trouble, however, when he quit looking forward to anything. Anything.
He used to enjoy TV, and when he was without it for the first three months, he had craved it. Now he watched because there was nothing else to do. And he was drawn to old movies, but nothing else really interested him.
Sleep still eluded him, and meals were so bland and same-ish that he blamed his nausea and lack of appetite on that. How was he going to endure this sentence if nothing would help him burn the hours and days?
Brady wondered if he was going