Lost in Dreams (35 page)

If questions had been pizza, I couldn’t have forced down one more bite. Yet I had little hope of getting answers.

Graham looked at me with eyes that begged for attention. I hugged him, and he hugged me back. When we broke apart,

I looked in his face. “Graham, I still love you, no matter what you’ve done or why. I always will.”

We fell into one another’s arms then, and the tears fell like a cleansing spring shower.

We continued talking as we resumed our search for Aleesha and Jo. I learned—a few words at a time—that Graham had been one of ex-Chaplain Thomas’s intended victims. One of the few who hadn’t caved in to his threats.

Graham’s integrity had cost him dearly, though. When he was eligible for parole fifteen years earlier, Thomas waged a dirty campaign to keep him behind bars. Telling one lie after another, Thomas insisted that Graham was still very much a threat to society, and the parole board bought it. Every single incredibly false word of it.

Graham didn’t blame them, though. After all, who would have questioned the integrity of a highly respected professional like Chaplain Thomas? Fine, moral, upstanding man that he was …. Despite his broken manner of speaking, Graham’s sarcasm shone through clearly.

At the time of Graham’s release, he wanted to go straight to Warden Jenkins. But he’d become friends with Alfredo, and Thomas threatened to keep Alfredo in jail forever if Graham squealed on him. Graham was a faithful friend. For Alfredo’s sake, he pretended to remain silent.

But just before leaving, he managed to smuggle an anonymous note to the warden on a paper napkin. When he learned through us that the warden was looking into the matter, he experienced an exuberant sense of relief. He liked and trusted the warden and knew he would do the right thing.

Only when Graham learned that the warden needed corroborating testimony to put Thomas away did he feel safe coming forward. He didn’t realize Alfredo’s testimony was what he’d corroborate. It turned out that Graham had first

ridden with us so he could meet secretly with Larry Jenkins.

“You two must have had quite a talk,” I told him. He actually laughed. Silently.

But then his face fell again. He described his problem with guilt. It reminded me of mine, though mine was minor in comparison. Bad enough over the years, it intensified at the time of his release.

He was a completely different person from the man who’d entered prison thirty-five years earlier. He’d accepted Christ and received God’s forgiveness early in his incarceration.

He started building the library of Bibles, commentaries, and good fiction we’d seen on his bookcase, using every scrap of money that came his way. Money Thomas did his best to take away from him. He read and studied everything he could get his hands on. He might have had difficulty communicating verbally, but he was literate and quite intelligent.

Only at the time of his release did he realize he’d felt good about being in jail; he’d deserved that punishment. But his newfound freedom felt undeserved. After all, he’d deprived his victim of his earthly freedom—permanently. And because his victim had been a non-Christian, Graham had cut him off from all chance of becoming one. He’d not only killed the man but also sent him to hell. And that’s what he’d been struggling with.

I was beyond hopeless about how to help. His heavy-duty sin had grown an unhealthy crop of heavy-duty guilt. Even though his body no longer suffered the restraints of a physical prison, he was still a prisoner of the consequences of his sin and the horrible feelings associated with it. Would he have to endure them forever as part of his punishment?

I had to say something, but what?
Lord?
“Graham, I can’t say I know how you feel. I thought my guilt over my mother’s death was bad, but it was nothing compared to yours. And mine went away when I found out I hadn’t done anything to

feel guilty about. But yours …” I couldn’t find a way to say it diplomatically. “I think I understand why you feel the way you do.”

His chin dropped to his chest. I’d never seen anyone look more like giving up.

Then that still, small voice whispered to my soul.
Thank You, Lord!
“Are you familiar with 1 Corinthians 13?”

“‘Tongues men, angels. No love, no good.’”

“That’s it. Do you remember one of those verses talks about love not keeping a record of wrongdoing?”

He nodded.

“You believe God loves you, don’t you?”

His eyes were already misting. “Yes.”

“And you’ve asked God’s forgiveness for your sins, haven’t you? Even the murder?”

He nodded again. “Asked. Begged. Received.”

“So don’t you think He’s forgotten all about your sin? I mean, He’s got the most perfect love possible, and elsewhere in the Bible God says He puts the memory of our sins as far as the east is from the west.”

He nodded. He looked at me as if his future depended on my words. If I’d thought I could help him on my own, I would’ve been seriously wrong. But these words were God’s, and they clearly applied to him.

“So how do you think you make God feel by continuing to remind Him of your sin? Don’t you do that by dwelling on your guilt?”

“Not good.”

“So how can you please Him?”

“Forget. Forgive self.” He stopped. He could barely speak when he continued. “Can’t.” “Do you want to, though?”

“Yes.”

This conversation seemed more important—or at least more intense—than any I’d ever been part of. I didn’t know what God would do with the words He’d given me, but I’d obeyed Him, and that was the most I could hope to do.

“Let’s stop and pray.” I pulled off one glove and held out my hand.

He looked at it a minute before taking it.

“Do you want me to start?”

He turned his eyes upward in affirmation.

“Then you can pray, too, if you want to.”

I’d just closed my eyes when I heard the sound of singing. Loud singing. “Victory in Jesus.” Aleesha was belting out the old hymn, but … wasn’t that Jo singing with her?

They didn’t sound that far away.

T
he singing stopped. “Jo? Aleesha? Where are you?” I probably yelled loud enough to be heard all over Tabletop Mountain and across the way at Red Cedar as well. Maybe I should’ve tried that when we first started searching. Aleesha could’ve sung loud enough to answer back.

“We don’t know,” Jo said in a pitiful voice. “Where are
you
?” Aleesha sounded more upbeat. Almost brave. Or was it just her well-practiced bravado?

“Graham and I are on our way. Stay where you are. Keep singing, and we’ll find you.”

“Be careful, Kim,” Jo said. “Several wild animals have cornered us. We’re up on a rock where they can’t reach us.”

“At least we hope they can’t,” Aleesha added. She didn’t sound quite as brave as she had a moment earlier.

Before Aleesha could finish speaking, Graham—he really did know that mountain from top to bottom—was speeding toward the sound of their voices.

“Sing,” he said. They started singing “It Is Well with My Soul.” I wasn’t so sure they meant it.

“Wait for me, Graham.” I’d felt brave enough when we were walking side by side or one in front of the other, but watching him disappear in the undergrowth left me feeling fearfully inadequate. I could just see myself getting lost while he finished finding Aleesha and Jo. What a horrible new meaning that would give to the concept of “left behind.”

He stopped and waited for me to catch up. I brushed on by him.

“Careful,” he said. “Wild animals.”

Whoops. I’d already forgotten about Jo’s warning. I waited for Graham to get ahead of me again.

“It is well … it is well … with my soul …” Aleesha and Jo sang. Jo’s alto couldn’t have sounded sweeter if she hadn’t been terrified. I’d have to tell those two how harmonious they sounded despite their mutual hostility.

Five minutes later, Graham stopped and turned to me. “Bushes. Other side.”

“Kim,” Aleesha said, “we’re trying to scare them off, but these beasties aren’t moving.”

“I think they like us,” Jo said. No matter how calm her voice had sounded while singing, it was quivering now. And not with the vibrato of her singing voice.

Graham handed me a broken tree branch to use as a club. He took a knife out of his pants pocket and opened it.

“They’re my friends, Graham. I’m scared to death, but please let me go first.” He stepped aside. “I’m coming through now,” I said as I started brushing my way through an extra-bushy thicket. “What kind of—?”

Before I could finish my sentence, I tripped over a hidden tree root. When I looked up, I found myself face-to-face with the biggest, meanest looking possum I’d ever seen, and it had the nerve to bare its ugly little teeth at me as if I’d had the courage or the desire to hurt it.

No, Lord! Couldn’t you have given me a raccoon? Or a deer? Even a wolf or a bear?

At least I still had enough presence of mind to poke my tree branch at her. She didn’t waste any time scampering off in a different direction. Graham reached down and helped me up. Whew. Close call.
Thank You, Lord
.

Wait, Kim. Jo told you, “several wild animals.” What else …?

“No, Kim. Not now. Stay back!” Aleesha yelled as if my

life depended on it.

But it was too late. The skunk had already sprayed me at close range before scurrying off on his merry little way.

Thank goodness, my mouth had been shut. A rarer occurrence than I would want to admit. I wondered if skunk spray was poisonous.

At least I’d been wearing sunglasses. I don’t know what the spray might have done to my eyes. I pinched my nostrils with my right thumb and middle finger, but I could still smell it.

No wonder. It was on my fingers, and some of it must have gotten inside my nose, too. Yuck!

I turned to Graham. “You okay?”

“No problem.”

He’d been behind me. Far enough behind that I apparently took the brunt of the attack. “Girl, you stink!”

Girl? When had Jo started talking like that?

I looked up at the top of the rock. Jo and Aleesha stood tall in the sunlight with their arms linked together, and they were both giggling at me.

“That’s a fine way to treat your rescuer,” I said. “Maybe we should just leave you two here.”

“You can try,” Aleesha said. “But we’ll just follow the stink home.”

Home? Oh, man! Smelling like this in the otherwise fresh air of the mountainside was bad enough, but I doubted whether my teammates would let me come inside Graham’s apartment now. I’d feel guilty to try.

Although I pictured myself sleeping outdoors and burning my sleeping bag before leaving the next day, I forced those thoughts out of my head for the time being.

Graham started leading the way back down. Jo and Aleesha stayed close to him, but they made me follow at a

distance. Whenever they changed direction, they signaled before moving on.

So I was “left behind” after all. How I wished I could leave my
odeur d’skunk
behind, too.

Dad and Rob’s raucous laughter almost made me angry, but at least Rob was willing to approach me. He led me into the farthest unit from Graham’s apartment and explained what we needed to do.

But first, he asked Graham to scout around—check the project supplies as well as his own—and find a quart of 3-percent hydrogen peroxide, a quarter cup of baking soda, and a teaspoon of liquid soap. Dishwashing detergent preferably. He cautioned Graham not to mix the ingredients together yet, because the resulting concoction would lose its potency quickly. It should be mixed immediately before use.

“Skunk spray contains mercaptans,” he said. “The solution we’re going to make—I’ll leave out the boring details—neutralizes them. You’ll need to get undressed—”

I must have given him a horrified look.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be outside. Feel free to lock the door.”

Of course he’d wait outside. Who’d want to be trapped in this unit with me and my glorious stink?

“Your dad’s bringing you some clothes. We’ll dispose of the ones you’re wearing. Scott’s orders. Too much trouble trying to de-skunk both you and them.”

Oh, man. Could things get any more complicated? I wondered how skunks stood being around each other.

Graham knocked and then came in.

“Peroxide no. Tomato juice.”

Oh, man! I disliked tomato juice more than any other kind. How was drinking it going to help? What? No glass? Was I supposed to drink all of it—directly from the can?

He set everything down, rubbed his eyes, and almost ran back outside. If he thought
his
eyes were burning, he should have been wearing my share of the stink. Maybe this was an instance of “turnabout is fair play.” I’d suffered no guilt compared to Graham’s, so he’d suffered no stink compared to mine. What in the world was my inner voice babbling about!

“Hmm,” Rob said. “Juice’ll be messier, but it’ll do.”

So I don’t have to drink it? Thank You, Lord
. I touched the twenty-eight-ounce can. “This is freezing cold!”

Rob’s look was priceless. “You want me to microwave it?” He would have done it, too. He was that kind of man.