come.”
“Well, I’m always glad to see you and to have a chance to bear witness to the prisoners and to do what I can for them. But, yes, I believe some dreams mean something.”
“Well, they did to Joseph and to Jacob and to Paul. He dreamed he saw a man from Macedonia, saying, ‘Come over and help us.’ So if there’s some reason for you to be here, we’ll have to find it. Now, let’s you and I go in and sit before the fire and—”
“No, I’m going to help Aunt Eileen with the dishes, then we’ll all three sit before the fire.”
“Good for you!” Eileen exclaimed. “He’s the laziest man I’ve ever seen,” but she smiled as she spoke, and the three immediately started clearing the dishes.
* * *
THE PRISON HAD ALWAYS frightened Charity, and she was not easily frightened. There was a fetid smell about the place that she thought was the smell of fear. Of course, there were other bad odors, too, that seemed to have sunk into the concrete walls of the prison, but the physical aspects were only part of the difficulty. Everything was gray and hard and cold. Thestrange lean faces that looked out at her from between the bars gave the appearance of vicious animals. She always managed to cover her fears and managed a smile each time she talked to one of the inmates. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some men with white hair and gaunt faces had all goodness and benevolence leeched out of them by their lives and by the prison itself. Some were very young, and she encountered one of the youngest during her morning visitation.
Her Uncle Paul had furnished a large room and had agreed to let the men come in five at a time so that she could see as many as possible. He had tables set up, and the sweets she had brought filled the tops of them. The warden had provided plates and fresh coffee for all who wished it, and, of course, they all did.
The first group of men scrambled in, wearing coarse, gray prison dress. All of them had shaved heads, which made their appearance more wolfish than was actually true.
Charity introduced herself. “Good morning. I’m glad to see you. My name is Charity Morgan. I’ve met some of you before, perhaps, but I want you all to taste some of my cooking. I am considered a very good cook.”
The men moved forward eagerly, and Charity spoke to each one. She did not give a tract to every inmate, only those who showed an interest, and it was not until the second group of prisoners entered that she met a young man who appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Billy Watson, ma’am.”
“Well, Billy, would you rather have pie or cake or cookies?”
“Any will do me, ma’am.”
“How about some nice blackberry cobbler?”
“Oh, ma’am, that would be very nice.”
The other prisoners were eating wolfishly, and one of them, a big bruising man who had introduced himself as Jack Canreen, said, “Hey, Billy, you get us something to take back to the cell, and I’ll let you keep half of it.”
Charity turned and stared at him. “If I give it to him, he’ll keep all of it.”
Canreen grinned roughly. He was rough in every aspect. His face showed the marks of battle, and his hands were like hams. “Billy takes care of me. He’s like my daddy, ain’t you, Billy?”
Charity tried to stare him down, but his eyes were bold and innocent. “How about another piece of that cake, Charity?”
Charity did not like his attitude. She cut him another piece of cake, however, and said, “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Canreen?” The other inmates laughed, and one of them, a tall man who had said absolutely not a word but had taken coffee and a piece of pie, smiled briefly.
“No, Jack’s no Christian. He belongs to the devil.”
Canreen shot a glance at the tall man who must have been at least six feet three inches. He had a dark complexion and was sunburned so that his light blue eyes seemed to gleam almost electrically.
“Well, I’m always glad to see you and to have a chance to bear witness to the prisoners and to do what I can for them. But, yes, I believe some dreams mean something.”
“Well, they did to Joseph and to Jacob and to Paul. He dreamed he saw a man from Macedonia, saying, ‘Come over and help us.’ So if there’s some reason for you to be here, we’ll have to find it. Now, let’s you and I go in and sit before the fire and—”
“No, I’m going to help Aunt Eileen with the dishes, then we’ll all three sit before the fire.”
“Good for you!” Eileen exclaimed. “He’s the laziest man I’ve ever seen,” but she smiled as she spoke, and the three immediately started clearing the dishes.
* * *
THE PRISON HAD ALWAYS frightened Charity, and she was not easily frightened. There was a fetid smell about the place that she thought was the smell of fear. Of course, there were other bad odors, too, that seemed to have sunk into the concrete walls of the prison, but the physical aspects were only part of the difficulty. Everything was gray and hard and cold. Thestrange lean faces that looked out at her from between the bars gave the appearance of vicious animals. She always managed to cover her fears and managed a smile each time she talked to one of the inmates. They came in all shapes and sizes. Some men with white hair and gaunt faces had all goodness and benevolence leeched out of them by their lives and by the prison itself. Some were very young, and she encountered one of the youngest during her morning visitation.
Her Uncle Paul had furnished a large room and had agreed to let the men come in five at a time so that she could see as many as possible. He had tables set up, and the sweets she had brought filled the tops of them. The warden had provided plates and fresh coffee for all who wished it, and, of course, they all did.
The first group of men scrambled in, wearing coarse, gray prison dress. All of them had shaved heads, which made their appearance more wolfish than was actually true.
Charity introduced herself. “Good morning. I’m glad to see you. My name is Charity Morgan. I’ve met some of you before, perhaps, but I want you all to taste some of my cooking. I am considered a very good cook.”
The men moved forward eagerly, and Charity spoke to each one. She did not give a tract to every inmate, only those who showed an interest, and it was not until the second group of prisoners entered that she met a young man who appeared to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years old.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Billy Watson, ma’am.”
“Well, Billy, would you rather have pie or cake or cookies?”
“Any will do me, ma’am.”
“How about some nice blackberry cobbler?”
“Oh, ma’am, that would be very nice.”
The other prisoners were eating wolfishly, and one of them, a big bruising man who had introduced himself as Jack Canreen, said, “Hey, Billy, you get us something to take back to the cell, and I’ll let you keep half of it.”
Charity turned and stared at him. “If I give it to him, he’ll keep all of it.”
Canreen grinned roughly. He was rough in every aspect. His face showed the marks of battle, and his hands were like hams. “Billy takes care of me. He’s like my daddy, ain’t you, Billy?”
Charity tried to stare him down, but his eyes were bold and innocent. “How about another piece of that cake, Charity?”
Charity did not like his attitude. She cut him another piece of cake, however, and said, “Are you a Christian man, Mr. Canreen?” The other inmates laughed, and one of them, a tall man who had said absolutely not a word but had taken coffee and a piece of pie, smiled briefly.
“No, Jack’s no Christian. He belongs to the devil.”
Canreen shot a glance at the tall man who must have been at least six feet three inches. He had a dark complexion and was sunburned so that his light blue eyes seemed to gleam almost electrically.
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