Riven
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About this ebook
Jerry B. Jenkins
Jerry B. Jenkins is the author of more than 180 books, including the 63,000,000-selling Left Behind series. His non-fiction books include many as-told-to autobiographies, including those of Hank Aaron, Bill Gaither, Orel Hershiser, Luis Palau, Walter Payton, Meadowlark Lemon, Nolan Ryan, and Mike Singletary. Jenkins also assisted Dr. Billy Graham with his memoirs, Just As I Am. He also owns the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, which aims to train tomorrow’s professional Christian writers.
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Reviews for Riven
66 ratings10 reviews
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5I think that this is very poorly written. It was worth the read just to get the illustration of a workman (author) who does a poor job for his readers.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is definitely worth your time reading. The book raises many moral and religious questions. Yes, the author comes at this from an evangelical angle. But, this book is far from being a syrupy sweet, idyllic view of religion. It embraces the grit that is present in real-life, such as a child that turns her back on the faith, petty church congregations, and the lack of immediate (visible) results from devout response to one's calling (including the frustration and energy-sapping that follows). In the end, the book made me think, which is really the highest praise I can give any book.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The story was interesting enough that I wanted to find out what happened next - but the format of the novel was clunky (the continual changing back and forth from one story to the next). Also, I felt like the message overtook the story and it became more sermon than novel. But I found the message challenging in a thought-provoking way.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5from my goodreads review:The overzealous tone ruined this book. This book will appeal to only the most evangelical of Christians, if even to them. The story jumped needlessly (every paragraph or 2 between the main characters) which critically destroyed the ease of reading this book. Then it decided to get overly preachy (I mean beyond what it already was) on about page 390. This COULD have been a much better book...if the much of the theology and gospel hymns were left out. I can honestly say it HAD promise, and the young man taking responsibilities for his actions could have been done without all the tedious moralization. This COULD have been a great story, alas, it was not. Unless you are a born again evangelical who doesn't really care about how a book is written, then I would stay away (I wish I would have)
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Decent read, a little simplistic on charactor development.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Very interesting book
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was a tough one, but very powerful. Jenkins thinks outside many boxes.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Loved this book. For anyone who has struggled with serving God faithfully for years yet not seeing any results and is discouraged , this book is for you.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5If there was a title for “Most Renowned Christian Novelist”, Jerry B. Jenkins would be a top contender. With more than 170 published works, fiction and non-fiction, 12 New York Times bestsellers and over 63 million copies of his books sold since 1995 I’m not sure who else could come close to claiming the title. With such a massive body of work, I cannot claim to be remotely acquainted with his range of writing abilities. I have read the Left Behind series, co-authored with Tim LaHaye, that catapulted Jenkins into the household conversations of Christian families nation-wide.Jenkins’ latest solo novel, Riven is both similar to and completely disparate from the series that drove him to fame. While the Left Behind series did speak to me during the time that I was first coming to know Christ, I’m pleased to say that Jenkins’ writing has markedly improved since then.Riven is the story of two men – a sinner and a saint. Thomas Carey is a devoted man of God. Committed to pouring himself out for God’s people, he and his wife Grace are devout followers of Jesus; never failing in their devotions, always striving onwards and upwards, despite the lack of fruit from their ministry. Brady Wayne Darby is the archetypal bad boy. Raised in a trailer park by an alcoholic mother, he soon falls pray to the sinful nature that begins to devour him. Like us all, he is unable to escape from sin under his own power. He quickly falls prey to lying, theft, drug abuse, and various felonies that lead to repeat visits to correctional institutes over the course of his adult life.While the contrast of these two lives may seem contrived within the context of a review, it is anything but. The characters of these two men are developed over the course of hundreds of pages. We follow each of them through their struggles, their difficulties and their crises. We become first hand witnesses of their lives; we come to know them as personally as a friend or relative.I know these men as I have known few other characters – I will never forget them. Thomas, so stubbornly faithful, clings to the rock though he lacks a fruitful ministry. Brady slips deeper into darkness, the burden of his sin mounting, and no hope in sight. I came to love them both. I have never developed such a heart for an unsaved character. Brady must have been difficult for Jenkins, a believer, to write. Once a man is saved it is difficult to remember the burden, the despair, being lost. Jenkins captures it all, magnificently. Thomas and Brady need each other, and when they finally meet the world is shaken for Jesus.I’m surprised that controversy hasn’t arisen over this title. The entire premise, particularly the conclusion, is sensational, unbelievable. I was swept away in an emotional maelstrom that had me weeping throughout the last 100 pages. It is easy to suspend disbelief when you can hardly see through your tears. Read with Kleenex at hand is my cautionary warning.Jenkins makes it work, once again rattling hearts for God. I was not at all expecting what this book offered me: a graphic reminder of what Jesus has done for me, a story of radical redemption, the promise of hope, and something more than these three added together, something elusive and hard to define that exists in the melding of these elements.Who’s to know what impact Riven will have as the good news spreads? Jenkins work has touched the hearts of many and led them to repentance and belief. I can picture it happening again. Riven is a treasure to share, not only amongst believers, but also for those who don’t realize that what Jesus did on the cross was for them.Reviewed at Quiverfullfamily.com
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Brady is a young man full of potential. But even considering the broken home and underprivileged background he comes from, he proves to be his own worst enemy. And he’ll one day cross paths with Thomas, a chaplain who feels he’s got very little good to show for all of his years of ministry.Author Jerry B. Jenkins says that Riven is his life’s work, the novel he’s always wanted to write. So I approached this novel all the more seriously.Although it’s darker and a lot more depressing than my usual reading preference, and I found much of it to be predictable, the story still kept me interested through most of its 500+ pages. I’ll admit I didn’t always find the characters or the plot to be the most convincing, and the way the story rushes over some crucial years is unfortunate. There are also key areas of the story that I couldn’t get with—theologically, politically (though I almost hate to use that word, due to its tendency to minimize critical matters affecting humanity), and just as a reader of fiction.Nonetheless, I have to applaud the intense and risky route the author takes to get an earnest message across, and the way he does it is ultimately powerful. I do think a reader has to be good with highly evangelistic, Christian material to enjoy this book, so if you have an appreciation for “the greatest story ever told,” this novel may very well hit you where you live.
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Book preview
Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins
1
Adamsville State Penitentiary | Death Row
With the man’s first step, the others on the Row began a slow tapping on their cell doors.
The tiny procession reached the end of the pod, and the rest of the way through security and all the way to the death chamber was lined on either side with corrections officers shoulder to shoulder, feet spread, hands clasped behind their backs, heads lowered. As the condemned reached them, each raised his head, snapped to attention, arms at his sides, feet together.
What a tribute, he thought. Who would ever have predicted this for one who had, for so much of his life, been such a bad, bad man?
October, seventeen years earlier | Touhy Trailer Park
Brady Wayne Darby clapped his little brother on the rear. Petey, time to get up, bud. We got no water pressure, so . . .
Again?
There’s a trickle, so give yourself a sponge bath.
Ma already gone?
Yeah. Now come on. Don’t be late.
At sixteen, Brady was twice Peter’s age and hated being the man of the house—or at least of the trailer. But if no one else was going to keep an eye on his little brother, he had to. It was bad enough Brady’s bus came twenty minutes before Peter’s and the kid had to be home alone.
Brady poured the boy a bowl of cereal and called through the bathroom door, No dressing like a hoodlum today, hear?
Why’s it all right for you and not for me?
Brady closed his eyes and shook his head. Just do what I say, okay?
Whatever.
Straight home after school. I got practice, so I’ll see ya for dinner.
Ma gonna be here?
She doesn’t report to me. Just keep your distance till I get home.
Brady rummaged for cigarettes, finally finding five usable butts in one of the ashtrays. He quickly smoked two down to their filters, tearing open the remaining three and dumping the tobacco in his shirt pocket. Desperately trying to quit so he could stay on the football team, Brady couldn’t be seen with the other smokers across the road from the school, so he had resorted to sniffing his pocket throughout the day. If he couldn’t cop a smoke from a friend after last class and find a secluded place to light up, he was so jittery at practice he could hardly stand still.
Brady grabbed his books and slung his black leather jacket over his shoulder as he left the trailer, finding the asphalt already steaming in the sun. Others from the trailer park waiting for the bus made him feel as if he were seeing his own reflection. Guys and girls dressed virtually the same, black from head to toe except for white shirts and blouses. Guys had their hair slicked back, sideburns grown retro, high-collared shirts tucked into skintight pants over pointy-toed shoes. Oversize wallets, most likely as empty as Brady’s, protruded from back pockets and were attached to belt loops by imitation silver or gold chains.
So they were decades behind the times, even for rebels. Brady—an obsessive movie watcher—was a James Dean fan and dressed how he wanted, and the rest copied him. One snob called them rebels without a clue.
Brady scowled and narrowed his eyes, nodding a greeting.
The fat girl with the bad face, whom Brady had unceremoniously dumped more than a year ago after he had gotten to know her better than he should have in the backseat of a friend’s car, sneered as she cradled her gigantic purse to her chest. Still trying to play jock?
Brady looked away. Leave it alone, Agatha.
More like a preppy,
one of the guys said, reaching to flick Brady’s schoolbooks.
"You definitely don’t want to start with me," Brady said, glaring and calling him the foulest name he could think of. The kid quickly backed off.
Brady knew he looked strange carrying schoolbooks. But the coach kept track.
The trailer park was the last stop on the route, and the yellow barge soon drifted in, crammed with suburbia’s finest: jocks, preppies, and nerds—every last one younger than Brady. No other self-respecting kid with a driver’s license rode the bus.
In a life of endless days of open-fly humiliation, this boarding ritual was the most painful. Brady took it upon himself to lead the group. They could hide behind him and each other, avoiding the squints and stares and held noses as they slowly made their way down the aisle looking, usually in vain, for someone to slide over far enough to allow one cheek on the seat for the ride to school.
Phew!
. . . brewery . . .
. . . smokehouse . . .
. . . B.O. . . .
Brady neither looked nor waited. His daily goal was to find the most resolute rich kid and make him move. Today he stared down at the short-cropped blond hair of a boy who had been trying to hide a smile while pretending to study. Brady pressed his knee against him and growled, Move in, frosh.
I’m a sophomore,
the kid huffed as he made room.
On the way home, Brady would ride the activities bus. There he would for sure be the only one of his type, but football earned him his place among the jocks, cheerleaders, thespians, and assorted club members. Wide-eyed at first, they seemed to have grudgingly accepted him, though they still clearly saw the trailer park as a novelty. One evening as he trudged from the bus, Brady had been sure everyone was watching. He turned quickly, only to be proven right, and felt face-slapped. At least the trailer park was the first stop at the end of the day.
11 a.m. | First Community Church | Vidalia, Georgia
Reverend Thomas Carey knew he would not be getting the job when the head of the pastoral search committee—a youngish man with thick, dark hair—dismissed the others and asked Grace Carey if she wouldn’t mind waiting for her husband in the car.
Oh, not at all,
she said, but Thomas interrupted.
Anything you say to me, you can say to her.
The man put a hand on Thomas’s shoulder and spoke softly. Of course, you’re free to share anything you wish with your spouse, Reverend, but why don’t you decide after you hear me out?
Grace assured Thomas it was all right and retreated from the sanctuary.
You tell her everything?
the man said.
Of course. She’s my—
She knows we saw you at your request, not ours, and that we didn’t feel you warranted a visit to hear you preach?
Thomas Carey pressed his lips together. Then, I appreciate your meeting with us today.
The committee chairman pointed to a pew and leaned against another as Thomas sat. I need to do you a favor and be frank with you, Reverend. I can tell you right now this is not going to go your way. In fact, we’re not going to bother with a vote.
That doesn’t sound fair.
Please,
Dark Hair said. I know these people, and if I may be blunt, you rank last on the list of six we’ve already interviewed.
Shouldn’t you poll the others on their—?
I’m sorry, but you have a three-year Bible college diploma, no real degree, no seminary training. You’re, what, in your midforties?
I’m forty-six, yes.
Sir, I’ve got to tell you, I’m not surprised that your résumé consists of eight churches in twenty-two years—the largest fewer than 150 members. Have you ever asked yourself why?
Why what?
Why you’ve never been successful, never advanced, never landed a church like ours . . .
Surely you don’t equate success with numbers.
Reverend Carey, I’m just trying to help. You and your sweet wife come in here, I assume trying to put your best foot forward, yet you look and dress ten years older than you are, and your hair is styled like a 1940s matinee idol.
Dark Hair extended his hand. I want to sincerely thank you for your time today. Please pass along my best wishes to your wife. And be assured I meant no disrespect. If it’s of any help, I’m aware of several small churches looking for pastors.
Thomas stood slowly and buttoned his sport jacket. I appreciate your frankness; I really do. Any idea how I might qualify for a bigger work? I don’t want to leave the ministry, but our only child is in her second year of law school at Emory, and—
When there are many Christian colleges that would give a minister huge discounts?
I’m afraid she would be neither interested in nor qualified for a Christian school just now.
I see. Well, I’m sorry. But the fact is, you are what you are. None of your references called you a gifted preacher, despite assuring us you’re a wonderful man of God. If you cannot abide your current station, perhaps the secular marketplace is an option.
5 p.m. | Head Football Coach’s Office | Forest View High School
Brady hadn’t even thoroughly dried after his shower. Now he sat in Coach Roberts’s cramped space with his stuff on his lap, waiting for the beefy man. Every player was listed on a poster on the wall, his place on the depth chart and his grade in every class there for all to see. Brady knew what was coming. He should have just skulked out to the bus and, by ignoring the coach’s summons, announced his quitting before being cut.
But he knew the drill. Never give up. Never say die. Keep your head up. Look eager, willing.
Finally Roberts barreled in, dropping heavily into a squeaky chair. I gotta ask you, Darby: what’re you doing here?
You asked me to come see you—
I mean what’re you doing trying to play football? You’re a shop kid, ain’t ya? You didn’t come out as a frosh or a soph. I smell smoke all over you.
I quit, Coach! I know the rules.
We’re barely a month into the year, and you’re makin’ Ds in every class. You’re fourth-string quarterback, and entertaining as it is for everybody else to watch you racing all over the practice field on every play, we both know you’re never gonna see game time. Now, really, what’re you doing?
Just trying to learn, to make it.
Brady couldn’t tell him he was looking for something, anything, to get him out of the trailer park and closer to the kids he had despised for so long. They seemed to have everything handed to them: clothes, cars, girls, college, futures. No, he wasn’t ready to dress differently; he took enough heat from his friends just for carrying books and playing football.
Listen, your teachers, even the ones outside of industrial arts, tell me you’re not stupid. You’re a good reader, sometimes have something to say. But you don’t test well, rarely do your homework. What’s the deal?
Brady shrugged. It’s just my ma and my brother and me.
Hey, we’ve all got problems, Darby.
Do we? Really? Like I said, I quit smoking, and I’m trying to get my grades up.
Look, I want to see you succeed, but frankly you’re a distraction here. I rarely cut anybody willing to practice and ride the bench—
Which I am.
Yeah, but this isn’t working, and I don’t want to waste any more of your time.
Don’t worry about wasting my—
Or mine. Or my coaches’. If you’re determined to get involved in some extracurricular stuff, there’s all kinds of other—
Like what?
Coach Roberts looked at his watch. Well, what do you like to do?
Watch movies.
Don’t we all? But is it a passion for you?
You have no idea.
You want to be an actor someday? study theater?
Brady hesitated. Never thought of that, but yeah, that would be too good to be true.
Now see, with that attitude, you’ll never get anywhere. If you want to try that, try it! Talk to Nabertowitz, the theater guy. See if there’s a club or a play or something.
There’s rumors about him.
Do yourself a favor and keep your mouth shut about that. Those artsy people can be a little flamboyant, but the guy’s got a wife and kids, so don’t be jumping to conclusions, and you’ll stay out of trouble.
Brady shrugged. I’d be as new there as I was here.
Oh, I expect you’d be a sight among that crowd, though there’s all kinds of behind-the-scenes stuff I’ll bet you could do. But I need to tell you, football is not your thing.
2
5:30 p.m. | Atlanta
Ravinia Carey, named after a beautiful suburban Chicago park her parents had enjoyed while in Bible college, had sounded none too thrilled that they would be dropping by
that evening.
We’re on our way through Atlanta to look into ministry opportunities,
Thomas had told her from a pay phone, as cheerily as he could muster.
You’re leaving Foley? What happened?
We’ll talk about it when we see you.
Oh, Dad . . .
Listen, hon, is there anywhere we can stay on campus? In a dorm, or—
Dad, this isn’t some church camp. No. The Emory Inn is within walking distance, and you’ll find the campus too complicated for parking anyway. Just have someone point you to Gambrell Hall, and I’ll meet you there.
All right,
he had said slowly, writing it down. Any idea how much a room might—?
It’s owned by the university; just tell them you’re a parent.
And so there Thomas stood after slowly pulling a U-Haul trailer more than 150 miles behind the eight-year-old Impala. Gas mileage was abominable with the extra weight, so he had tried to offset an expensive fill-up against a cheap fast-food meal. Grace hadn’t complained. She never did.
Even with the discount, the room rate made him blanch. Might you know of any place more reasonably priced?
The young black girl behind the counter leaned close and whispered with a smile, Nowhere you’d want to stay, sir, really.
He and Grace carted in a few items, and she stretched out on the bed. This feels so good after sitting all day.
What are we going to tell Rav?
he said.
That the Lord will provide.
Thomas sighed. You know how she hates clichés.
That cliché is true, sweetheart.
Thomas found a hand towel and gave his black oxfords a once-over, tucking away a tiny hole that had appeared in one of his socks. He ran a comb through his hair and massaged his chin, debating getting rid of his late afternoon shadow.
Soon Grace rose and smoothed her dress. We’d better go. I can’t wait to see her.
6:30 p.m. | Touhy Trailer Park
Brady arrived home to find a familiar car on the apron next to the single-wide. He smelled dinner before he opened the door.
Hey, Aunt Lois,
he said, tossing his stuff.
The short, freckled dishwater blonde rushed from the stove to hug him tight. Oh, Brady!
she said. Where’s your mama?
Probably stopped off somewhere,
he said. You’ll be able to tell where from her breath.
You ought to speak of her with more respect.
Yeah, she deserves it. Petey here?
She nodded toward the back. Tell him ten minutes before corn bread, beans, and rice.
He’ll want iced tea, too.
’Course.
Brady picked through the ashtray.
His aunt poked her head around the corner. Oh, Brady! No!
He shrugged. I just quit football, so give me a break.
Football or not, those things’ll kill you.
I can only hope. What’re you doing here, anyway?
You’re not happy to see me?
Sure I am. I always am. But—
I come with bad news, if you must know, but I can’t tell you without tellin’ your mom and Petey, so don’t ask.
Brady found his brother in the back, riveted to a video game.
Wanna play?
Peter said without looking up.
It’s rude to be back here when Aunt Lois is visiting.
Peter sighed and paused the game. She’s just gonna tell us about Jesus again.
Just nod and smile and tell her you’ll get to church again sometime soon.
Gambrell Hall | Emory University
Ravinia looked stiff when her mother embraced her, and she barely seemed to return the touch. Thomas shook her hand, and they sat in the student lounge.
You look well,
Grace said. I wish you’d let your hair grow out a little.
I wish I had time to take care of more hair, Mom. Regardless, I’m straight, if that’s what you’re worried about.
Grace squinted at Thomas.
She’s not a lesbian,
he said.
Oh, my, Ravinia! I wasn’t even suggesting—
To prove it, one of these days I’ll introduce you to Dirk.
Dirk?
Dirk Blanc. Works at MacMillan next door, the law library.
He’s a librarian?
Grace said.
Ravinia laughed. He’s a student too, but most of us work, you know.
I know,
Grace said, and we’re sorry you have to.
Even most students with normal parents have to work, Mom.
Normal parents?
Those not dependent on congregations for their income.
Well, one doesn’t go into the ministry for the money, sweetheart. But God’s people have been good to us over the years.
"Oh, please. No-body’s been good to you, and you know it. You give and give and give, and what do you get? Ushered out. So, what happened at Foley?"
I’d rather talk about what you’re doing, Rav,
Thomas said.
You promised to tell me.
Well, I said I’d rather talk about it in person, yes, but there’s time. . . .
No, there isn’t. I have no time, Dad. I study and I work and, if I’m lucky, I eat and sleep. And if you’re telling me that once again—surprise, surprise—you’re between churches, sleep may have to go too. So just tell me.
Where are you attending services, honey?
Grace said.
Can we stop this, Mom? Even if I had the time, I don’t have the interest right now. And I have the feeling that whatever it is you’re about to tell me about the faithful at Foley just might close the church chapter of my life.
Oh, don’t say that, Ravinia,
Grace said. We’re certainly not going to blame this on the people. The Lord just made it clear to us that it was time—
To move on, sure. I’ve heard that before. So what was it this time, Dad? You pick the wrong color carpet for the sanctuary? Spend too much time preaching through the Old Testament? What?
Actually, we’re pretty proud of what your dad brought to that little lighthouse. Sorry, cliché. But he got a visitation program going and even replaced their old children’s night with one that had updated curriculum. The kids loved it.
Ravinia stood and rubbed her eyes. She moved to a window and gazed out. Appearing resolute, she returned. All right, you’re not driving all the way up through here looking for ‘opportunities’ if everything’s peachy in Foley. Now out with it.
You’re going to make a fine lawyer,
Thomas said, forcing a smile.
I’m going to start by suing those people if they did to you what the previous bunch did.
Oh, no; you know we don’t solve church problems in court.
"Maybe you should. You certainly have grounds. Honestly, Dad, I know as well as anybody that you’re no Billy Graham. And, Mom, your piano playing and puppet thing are never going to make you famous. But how can people watch you work yourselves to death—on their behalf—and still treat you like garbage?"
Thomas chuckled too loudly. Thought you hated clichés.
Don’t change the subject, Dad. You know I’m not letting you go until you tell me what happened.
Can’t we take you to dinner?
Grace said.
C’mon! We both know you can’t afford it. Follow me through the cafeteria line, and you can share my meal.
That wouldn’t be right,
Grace said. It’d be like stealing.
The place is full of lawyers! I’d find you counsel.
Thomas was warmed to see even Grace smile at that. Rav,
he said, we just wanted to see you because we were passing through. And we thought it only fair to tell you that we won’t be able to help with your schooling anymore. At least for a while.
It’s all right, Dad. I’m grateful for what you’ve done already, and I know you couldn’t really afford that and certainly didn’t owe me anything after the way I’ve disappointed you.
I wouldn’t say you’ve disappointed us.
Well, I hope I have, Mom! I’ve tried to!
Ravinia said it with a smile, but Grace looked pained.
I’m just saying, I appreciate knowing, and I will make this work somehow. I’ll start my career the way everyone else does: in debt. I’m not aiming for some high-paying corporate job, but I’ll be able to dig out eventually.
You know you could go to our denominational school and—
Mom! I’m way past that. Anyway, if I was honest on the admissions forms, they wouldn’t take me. Now I need to go eat within the next half hour, and then I’m studying till midnight. But I’m not leaving you until you tell me what happened, so unless you want me to starve . . .
7 p.m. | The Darby Trailer
I’ll keep your mom’s plate warm,
Aunt Lois said as she and Peter and Brady crowded around the tiny kitchen table. Brady, you want to pray for us?
No, ma’am. You, please.
Petey?
Peter shook his head. All I know is, ‘God is great, God is good, now we thank Thee for our food.’
Well,
Aunt Lois said, "that’s not half bad, but let me. Dear Lord, thank You for these precious boys and for my sister-in-law, wherever she is. Protect her and bring her back to Yourself. Give her strength when she finally hears what I have to tell her.
Now, Lord, never let these boys forget all that I’ve taught them about You, that You died on the cross for their sins so they don’t have to go to hell but can live in heaven with You. And thanks for our food. In Jesus’ name, amen.
Peter was smirking when Brady opened his eyes, so Brady shot him a scowl before Aunt Lois noticed.
The woman had good intentions, Brady knew. It was hard not to love Aunt Lois.
A minute later Brady noticed a tear running down his aunt’s cheek. What’s wrong?
he said.
I’m just thinking about your mama and the news I have for her.
3
Gambrell Hall
Ravinia Carey sat with her arms folded, shaking her head. That’s it? They just ‘felt it was time’?
Well,
her mother said, "maybe it was time. We’d been there nearly four years, and perhaps your father had done all he could."
I didn’t do it alone, Grace. You worked as hard as I did.
They didn’t use the old ready-for-a-younger-man line?
Thomas had always found his daughter’s direct stare disconcerting. He shrugged. Actually they did.
She huffed and looked away.
"Well, attendance was down a bit."
Grace jumped in. But that was as much because of the plant closing and several families having to leave.
Ravinia waved her off. Just tell me they did right by you, other than kicking you to the curb.
I got severance, yes.
How much?
Well, that’s confidential, Rav. I felt it was fair. . . .
It’s not confidential from your own daughter! Tell me they gave you a month for every year you served.
Oh,
Grace said, they wouldn’t have been able to afford that. With core families leaving—
How much, Dad?
A week for each year.
Unbelievable.
But you know they had provided a parsonage at no cost,
Grace said.
Like you would have been able to afford rent on that salary. And I’m sure it was a castle. Anyway, all that means is that you have zero equity. Honestly, Dad.
Rav, listen to me,
he said. I don’t know what the future holds, but—
Please don’t tell me you know who holds the future!
—but I know this: I made a commitment a long time ago, and I’m not about to stray from it now. I told the Lord I would obey Him and follow wherever He leads.
Ravinia looked away. I’m trying to find something in that to admire. You’re consistent; I’ll give you that. But how long will you keep banging your head against a wall?
Oh, honey,
Grace said, we’re happy to serve. You know that.
But why isn’t anyone else happy with it? You wonder why I’ve ‘lost the blessing,’ as you’ve always so eloquently put it? I know you’re not in this for personal gain, but do you think this is fair? You devote your entire lives to the church, and what do you have to show for it?
Ravinia looked past Thomas and broke into a beatific smile. Dirk!
she said, rising.
Thomas turned and stood as a tall, bald young man embraced his daughter. Excuse me,
Dirk said, shaking first Grace’s hand, then Thomas’s. I’ve heard so much about you.
Dirk said he and Ravinia had to hurry to the cafeteria and insisted her parents join them. My treat,
he said.
Oh, you don’t have to do that,
Thomas said.
Sure I do! Come on.
The Darby Trailer
You and Petey clear your own table, don’t you?
Aunt Lois said.
We hardly ever eat at the table,
Brady said.
Honestly. . . . Well, at my house, everybody buses his own dishes.
What’s that mean?
Peter said.
Clear your place and at least put the dishes in the sink. I’ll wash ’em tonight. And we’ll flip to see who dries.
Let Petey dry.
Hey!
I got a job,
Brady said. I don’t need to be doin’ housework, too.
What’s your job?
Aunt Lois said as they maneuvered around each other in the tiny kitchen.
When the park Laundromat closes each night, I go clean it. Dust the machines, mop the floor, fill the detergent dispensers, collect the money from the coin boxes.
How long’s that take?
About an hour, but it’s every night, so I make a few bucks a week. That’s how I pay for my movies and could afford the fees for football. Ma sure wasn’t gonna spring for it.
And now you’ve quit? What kind of sense does that make?
I wanna do something else, that’s all.
Can I play my video game until it’s time to dry?
Peter said.
You got homework, young man?
Peter laughed. In third grade?
Go on, then,
she said.
Brady sat back down as his aunt did the dishes.
You know what I got to ask you, don’t you?
she said.
He shrugged. Of course he knew.
She touch him again since you threatened her?
You kiddin’? I told her I’d kill her, and I meant it.
You wouldn’t kill your own mama.
Brady swore. You know I would.
Don’t talk like that. You know better. And you know it’s the booze that makes Erlene—
It’s more than booze now, ma’am. I don’t know what else she’s doing, but trust me, when she’s not drunk, she’s high.
Cafeteria | Emory University
It didn’t take long for Thomas to determine that Dirk Blanc’s budget was hardly stretched by paying for a couple of visitors’ meals. It turned out he was the offspring of two lawyers and worked at the library only because he felt it was the right thing to do.
Dad and Mom do a lot of pro bono work, so it didn’t seem fair to make them foot the whole bill for my degree.
They sound wonderful,
Grace said. Are you people of faith?
Thomas noticed Ravinia blink slowly as if mortified, but Dirk didn’t miss a beat. Not really, no. But we certainly admire religious people and applaud what you do. Don’t misunderstand. We’re not atheists by any means. I’d say we’re more spiritual than religious.
‘Religious’ doesn’t really describe us, either,
Grace said, but Thomas surreptitiously pressed his knee against hers and she fell silent. This wasn’t the time or place. If Ravinia was as enamored of this man as she seemed, there would be more opportunities to get into this.
Dirk shot Grace a double take and smiled pleasantly. Not religious? A pastor and a pastor’s wife?
Ravinia rose. Let’s get some dessert.
The Darby Trailer
Aunt Lois looked at her watch. What time’s your mama get off work?
Hours ago.
But she parties?
Brady snorted. That’s one way to say it. I think sometimes she and her boss party alone.
Is she often this late? What time do you have to clean up the Laundromat?
Half hour or so. It closes at ten.
And you leave Petey here alone?
Have to. Can’t wake him up and drag him along.
You poor boys.
Don’t worry about us. Worry about him when I finally get out of here. I wish you’d take him.
Don’t think I haven’t thought of it. But she’d never stand for it.
What does she care? He’s just in her way.
But she’d at least see him as personal property, and no way she’d let me raise him.
You might be surprised,
Brady said.
I should have started home an hour ago. I told Carl I’d be back by midnight.
No way now. You wanna go with me when I go to work?
I’m not leaving your brother alone, even if you think you have to. But you hurry back. Your mama’s gonna demand to know why I’m here, and I want to tell you all together.
Even Petey?
’Fraid so.
So it’s about Daddy, eh?
Hush.
The Emory Inn
Thomas knelt by the bed next to Grace, as he had done every night since their wedding.
Rav’s in love,
she said. We either need to get that boy saved or pray it doesn’t work out. The last thing I want is to see her unequally yoked.
Hmm.
What are you thinking, Thomas?
I don’t know. Just that I’m not so sure they’d be unequally yoked.
She turned to face him, and he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. What are you saying? I led that girl to Jesus myself.
Well, it’s clear she’s left Him somewhere along the way, wouldn’t you say? How old was she, Grace?
Very young, of course, but so were you and I when we came to faith. I believe she meant it and knew what she was doing.
Thomas felt himself welling up, and he did not want to break down in front of Grace. She had always been so strong for him, through every struggling pastorate and every dismissal.
I’m praying Rav was sincere, honey,
he said. But do you realize how long it’s been since she even pretended to be a believer?
Grace lowered her forehead to the mattress. I know I wouldn’t want to relive her teen years for anything.
Touhy Trailer Park
As Brady finished tidying the Laundromat, he wished his mother would stay out all night, forcing Aunt Lois to wait. It was nice to have her there. But of course he was curious, too. What had his father gotten himself into now?
Brady used a special key to open the coin boxes and dumped all the change into a bucket he took into a back room to sort. Besides the envelope of cash the owner tucked into a ceiling joist for him each week, Brady also absconded with the equivalent of three washes and three dries from each of the ten washers and ten dryers. Truth was, he made more skimming than he did in pay. That was something he would not tell his aunt. She was already praying overtime to keep him out of hell, he knew.
Another benefit of Brady’s job was getting his choice of the magazines stocked for people waiting for their wash and dry cycles. He believed his lifting of his favorites was less obvious because he made sure to leave Time, Newsweek, Sports Illustrated, and of course all the women’s magazines. He waited until the new People and Movie News and Entertainment Weekly came in, then took the previous week’s editions.
If his aunt asked about the magazines, he would tell her the boss had said he could have them. He would not be able to explain his jacket pockets bulging with quarters, so he would just move slowly and find a reason to head back to his and Peter’s bedroom, where he could unload.
But as he came within sight of their trailer, he saw his mother’s rattletrap car parked next to Aunt Lois’s.
chapter4
The Darby Trailer
Erlene Darby was just emerging from her car, sensible shoes incongruous with a too-revealing black waitress’s dress that matched her dyed hair.
Hey, Ma.
She whirled and swore. Don’t do that, Brady! Like to scare me half to death.
Have to be twice as loud next time, then.
Erlene nodded toward Aunt Lois’s car. What’s she doing here?
Won’t say. Some news about Dad.
Hope it’s bad.
Likely is. She’s fixing to wake up Petey so we can all hear it together. You’re a little late. Later than usual.
I’ll thank you to mind your own business.
Lois had apparently heard the car and was waiting at the door. She embraced Erlene tight.
All right, all right, Lois. Let me sit down. Then out with it.
Nice to see you, too. I didn’t know you worked nights.
Well, if you’d called before just showing up, maybe I could have saved you some put-out.
Erlene dropped her sweater and purse and settled into the nearest chair. What a day.
What’d you do, Erlene,
Lois said, drink your dinner?
Erlene flipped her an obscene gesture.
No cause for that. I’m just asking.
Yeah, you’re just asking like you always do. I didn’t invite you here, and I don’t guess you want to stay long, so can we get on with this?
Lois nodded at Brady. Wake your brother, please.
Is that really necessary?
Erlene said.
What, you’re worried about him now?
Lois said.
Yeah, Ma. You weren’t worried about him wh—
Don’t start with me, either of you! You act like that kid’s a saint!
He’s eight years old!
Brady shouted. How bad can he be?
Just get him, please,
Lois said.
His mother lit a cigarette as Brady moved down the hall.
You shouldn’t be smoking inside with these kids here, Erlene,
Aunt Lois said.
I’ll do what I please in my own house.
And your kids be hanged.
Brady smokes too.
But you know better.
Peter came padding out wrapped in a blanket and squinting. Brady thought the little boy and his mother locked eyes, but both quickly looked away without even a greeting.
Erlene said, All right, Lois, the gang’s all here.
Brady’s aunt drew a quavery breath. Kids, you know your dad hasn’t been well for a long time.
Your brother hasn’t been their dad for a long time either, Lois.
Lois glared at her. He’ll always be their dad.
You kidding me? Peter barely remembers Eddie, and Brady was Peter’s age when he left. And how many times you boys seen him since?
Peter shrugged.
Couple,
Brady said.
And what’sa matter with him?
Peter said. The d-thing?
Diabetes, yes,
Lois said. She pressed a hand to her mouth, then to her chest. He’s never been good about taking care of himself and following doctors’ orders.
When he even went,
Erlene spat. Like he can afford that. He wouldn’t have insulin except for welfare. And he only uses that to make up for eating whatever he wants.
Lois held up a hand. Eddie fell into a diabetic coma this morning and—
A what?
Peter said. What’s that?
Just something that happens with that disease if you’re not careful. Anyway, he died this afternoon.
Died?
Erlene said, her voice thin.
Brady had half expected this, but it was clear his mother hadn’t. She stubbed out her cigarette, and he hoped she would leave it like that. It would be almost like having a whole one later.
He had long despised the man who had abandoned them, though he thought he might have left a wife like his mother too. And he resented that his dad hardly ever communicated with him or Peter. Still, Brady felt an emptiness deep in his gut.
Peter looked puzzled. So I don’t have a dad anymore?
When did you ever?
Brady’s mother said, her voice still reedy and hollow. Brady figured even she had to feel this somewhere inside.
That his aunt had lost her brother suddenly hit Brady, and he said, I’m sorry for your loss, Aunt Lois.
I hadn’t allowed myself to cry yet,
she said, tears flowing now. Thank you, Brady. And I’m sorry for you all too.
Sorry for me, too, Lois?
Erlene said, her edge back.
’Course I am. You loved him once.
That was a long time ago. I don’t guess there’s anything at all in the way of an estate.
Lois narrowed her eyes and shook her head. Just debts.
And I guess that’s the end of my piece of his monthly check.
Lois stood and grabbed her coat. Honestly, Erlene, don’t you care that this is my brother we’re talking about, once your husband and the father of your children?
That never meant anything to him either, so spare me.
Eddie was a good boy once, Erlene, raised in the church.
Yeah, and now you’re going to tell me again how I ought to have these boys in church so they can, what, turn out like their father?
That’s enough, Ma!
Brady said. Either thank Aunt Lois for coming all this way or shut up.
I oughta knock you silly, talking to me that way!
Oh, how I wish you’d try,
Brady said.
Please!
Lois said, her hand on the door now. I just thought you deserved to hear it in person, and I wanted to tell you the funeral will be Saturday.
Not in a million years,
Erlene said.
Do what you want,
Lois said, but I intend to come get the boys early that morning. You can ride along or not, but they ought to be at their own father’s funeral.
Friday | Association of Rural Bible Churches
Thomas and Grace Carey held hands and beamed across the desk at ARBC Executive Director Jimmie Johnson.
This is an answer to prayer,
Grace said. A direct answer.
The Lord works in mysterious ways,
Johnson said. Thomas, I’ve known of you and your work for years, and your references are exemplary. Let me show you just what we need and how this might work.
He led them to a map on the wall of the adjoining conference room and pointed out five stick pins in an irregular circle that encompassed about 100 square miles. We have a small work in each of these areas—the largest in Oldenburg comprising about ninety regular attendees; the smallest, right there in Colfax, down to about thirty now but with real potential. My thought is this: The larger work has its own building and even a parsonage, though I want to be frank. It’s old. It’s dilapidated. And it’s not much. But with the help of the congregation, I’m assured it can be made livable, and of course, it’s free.
We don’t require much,
Grace said.
That would be your base of operations. From there I see you serving this and the other four churches. I know that’s spreading you mighty thin, and you’re going to have to be creative about scheduling a worship service for each church each week. Only one other of the congregations has its own building. Two others meet in homes and the fifth in a school.
Frankly,
Thomas said, I’m eager to get started.
Grace nodded. He’s so good about meeting new people and getting them taught and motivated.
You understand you’re not going to get rich with this,
Mr. Johnson said, laughing. "Not one of these bodies can afford their own shepherd, so they know they’ll have to kick in and share. We can provide a small stipend, probably enough to cover your mileage is all, but you’ll have to work out with the individual congregations their share of your salary. We’ll help mediate if necessary, but that’s the best we can do.
Now, would you like to pray about it?
Thomas looked at Grace, wondering whether she would suggest they take a moment alone, maybe in the car. But she looked radiant, joyous. He could tell she truly believed this was of God, and he had a hard time doubting it himself. There was certainly nothing else on the horizon. Not one of the other churches he’d contacted had shown an iota of interest. And there was nothing he would rather do than invest his life in such work.
Thomas shrugged at her and cocked his head. She raised her brows and nodded.
Sir,
he said, we’re in.
That’s wonderful! Let’s go back to my office and turn on the speakerphone so I can inform someone at each church. And you can meet them by phone.
Saturday | Lily of the Valley Church of the Holy Spirit
Brady wore a borrowed bolo tie and left his leather jacket in his aunt’s car. And he had found an old white shirt for Peter, though he seemed to swim in it. Even without a tie, he looked dressed up enough for Brady’s taste.
Brady felt the sea of eyes as he and his brother followed Aunt Lois and Uncle Carl to the front row. In some ways, this was just a bigger school bus, but open seats were waiting.
The boys had been in this church before, had even sat through a few Sunday school classes. Their uncle had pleaded with them to stay overnight and come again the next morning, but Brady had begged off. I have to work tonight.
Brady had never felt he really had a father. When his dad had lived with the family, he was worse than their mother was now. Brady had feared him, dreaded seeing him. And while it seemed strange when his father disappeared nearly eight years before, Brady was relieved. Sure, it was embarrassing when other kids talked about their dads and asked about his, and he learned from his mother to hate that his dad hardly ever contacted him, even on special days. But all in all, Brady Wayne Darby found life better without his dad in the picture.
So he was surprised that emotion eventually caught up with him when the funeral people wheeled in a plain casket and positioned it not six feet from him in front of the pulpit. They opened the lid, and the man who lay there looked gaunt and pale, as if he had aged thirty years since Brady had seen him.
Peter leaned over. "Is that Dad?"
Brady nodded.
When did I see him last?
I don’t remember.
I think I was five. He rubbed my head, and I didn’t like it.
Aunt Lois sat next to Brady, weeping loudly and dabbing her eyes through all the songs and the simple eulogy that mostly just told the dates and details of her brother’s life and death and surviving family. Brady was embarrassed when she threw an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.
Brady found himself intrigued by the pastor’s message.
"One thing we don’t do in this church—never have and won’t start now—is pretend. I’m not going to try to persuade you that Edward Wayne Darby was a devout man of God. I’m not even going to try to tell you that anybody here knows for sure whether the man is in heaven.
"He had his good points and he had his bad, and for most of the years I knew him, he wanted nothing to do with this church or the faith. But I can tell you this: he knew better. He was raised here, was taught the Scriptures, and at one time claimed to know the Lord.
"Truth is, most of the rest of his life he didn’t act like it, so only he and God know if he was ever sincere about it and truly saved. It is appointed unto man once to die, and after that, the judgment. But to as many as received Him—that’s Jesus—to them He gave the power to become sons of God, even to them that believe on His name.
Do you believe on His name today, beloved? Regardless who we are or where we stand with God, unless Jesus comes back first, Eddie Darby’s fate faces each one of us. . . .
5
Oldenburg
Thomas Carey had always enjoyed the honeymoon period in any new work. The people aimed to please, treating the new pastor and his wife like royalty, and all seemed right with the world. But Thomas had also learned the hard way the truth of the ancient adage Beware the wagon that meets the train.
At the end of the long, white-stone driveway that led to the ramshackle parsonage sat a monstrous black SUV. A well-dressed couple in their late fifties immediately clambered out. He was big and red-faced with thinning white hair and a meaty handshake. She was reed thin with short hair and glasses and carried a pie covered with a blue and white checkered cloth.
Paul Pierce,
the man said, pumping Thomas’s hand. Chairman of the elders and the deacons and the now-defunct search committee. And this here’s Patricia.
Oh, my,
Grace said, accepting the pie. This is still warm! Thank you so much, Pat.
Patricia.
Sorry. Patricia.
Well, come on,
Paul said, pulling Thomas toward the house. We’ll get your stuff unloaded, but you’re staying with us tonight until we can find you some furniture.
Are you sure?
Thomas said. We’ve got air mattresses and can make do here if—
Oh, don’t be silly. If I’d had a little more warning, I’d have had the youth group clean this place up and even paint it, get the ladies to hang some curtains, make it nice for ya. But all in good time.
Paul opened the torn screen door that had a hanging spring. He thrust a key into a sticky lock, and when the bolt finally gave way, he pressed his shoulder against the door, then kicked at the bottom until it broke free. He flipped on a light, and Thomas knew Grace had to have seen—or at least heard—creatures scattering. The must and dust assaulted him, but he tried to imagine the place with a little work. Okay, a lot of work.
Thomas found himself wondering about the pie. If Patricia knew he and Grace were staying with them, why bring it? But, of course, Grace was already exulting about their new home.
It’s just the right size, and it will soon be perfect.
Patricia laughed. Aren’t you the most precious little thing?
The Pierces proved industrious, pitching in to unload the trailer in less than thirty minutes. Paul locked the place and handed Thomas the key. Now let’s get that trailer dropped off; then you follow me to our place. Bet you’re starvin’.
The Darby Trailer
Guess your mama works weekends, hey?
Aunt Lois said as Uncle Carl pulled up to the trailer.
Every day except Monday,
Brady said, eager to get inside and raid her carton for a pack of cigarettes. It had been so long since he’d enjoyed a whole one.
You want me to come in and straighten the place a little?
Nah, it’s all right. Petey and I can do it.
I don’t want to clean house,
Peter said, but Brady gave him a look.
Let me,
Aunt Lois said.
No, really. We’re good.
Take your brother to church tomorrow, hear?
Okay.
I don’t want to!
Peter said.
We’re going, and that’s that,
Brady said, sliding out of the car.
Where do you go?
his aunt said.
That little Baptist church on the other side of the park.
Good.
Brady tried to look as solemn as possible and thanked his aunt and uncle as Peter bounded into the trailer.