Matt took notes and knew exactly how he’d play out the examination phase. His witnesses were simple, trusting people. People like Pastor Carson, who had never intended to rile up a case that was drawing sparks of national attention; and the church secretary, who kept the books and related in chilling detail the fact that the Benson City Council had no intention of refunding the church’s lease money or restoring its lease unless, “You people stop talking about Jesus Christ.”
Throughout his examination, Matt inserted questions involving the appearance of things. “So did the Benson City Council give you the appearance of not returning your lease money?”
“No. They actually didn’t return it. They kept it even though we’d done everything right. Everything except preach the doctrine they wanted us to preach.”
And to Pastor Carson, “Once the clause about doctrine was pointed out to you, did you feel it gave the appearance of discriminating against your group because of your religious views?”
Two people in the jury box stifled a giggle, and Matt knew they understood the point he was trying to make. Pastor Casey twisted his forehead into a grid of lines. “The appearance? I’d say it was more like the left foot of fellowship. We were kicked out of that building because of what we believed. Appearances had nothing to do with it.”
Halfway through the first day, Matt had no doubts whatsoever that he would win the case. The jurors were bored and often hostile to the cross-examinations of the Benson attorneys. Every question they asked just looked like another attack on what the people at First Church of the Valley believed, and though the jurors may not have believed the same way, they had clearly caught Tanner’s vision about standing up for freedom of choice. Whether that choice involved believing in Jesus Christ or not.
Attorneys for the Benson City Council brought very few witnesses, none of whom were effective. Matt tried to keep a straight face while the examination took place, and rarely bothered to add anything on the cross-examination. There was no point. With each passing hour the jurors were looking at their watches, appearing bored.
Each night back at his hotel room, Matt would call Hannah and give her the report. “You can’t believe how well it’s going.” His heart soared with the way the case was progressing. “There were a dozen newspapers there today, and tomorrow we’re expecting at least one national news show.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Usually they’d be coming to watch us lose, to witness another church group take a fall. But this time they’re on our side. Can you believe it? We’re not defending religion this time around; we’re defending America. The word’s getting out, and everyone wants a piece of the story.”
He could hear Hannah clap her hands in the background. “Oh, Matt, it’s just like Tanner dreamed it would be.”
“Have you told him?”
“Every day when I go to the hospital.” Her tone grew more somber. “I think it’s helping him get through the week.”
Matt leaned back on his hotel pillow and kicked his feet up. “You must have everyone we know praying.”
The trial wrapped up late Thursday and deliberations began Friday morning. One of the jurors wore a T-shirt that bore the American flag and the words, “United We Stand.” Matt took it as a good sign.
The judge informed the jury that First Church of the Valley was seeking fifty thousand dollars punitive damages, but that it was up to the jury to decide the actual amount—higher or lower.
Tanner had called Matt the night before after seeing a segment about the case on the evening’s national news. “Hey, I heard the highlights of your closing arguments on CBS.” Tanner sounded tired, but there was no denying his enthusiasm. “You’re brilliant, buddy. I could never have pulled it off so well.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Matt grinned into the phone. “I’m only imitating everything I’ve ever seen or heard from you.” Matt hesitated, his voice softer. “Hey, how’s Jade?”
Tanner paused and Matt figured he was struggling to speak. “She’s … she’s very sick, Matt. The treatment is tearing her up. Hurry home, will ya?”
“You tell her to hang in there. I’ll be there the minute I’m done.”
Throughout deliberations, Matt interviewed with thirteen local and national news anchors and a handful of print reporters. He answered questions about expectations and the Constitution and national freedom, but he refrained from predicting a certain victory. His experience had been that no matter how sure the win, the jury should break the news first.
Finally, at just after four o’clock, the jury foreman notified the court clerk that they’d reached a decision. Matt was almost always anxious at this point in a trial. Bird-sized butterflies would attack his gut the same way they’d done before every basketball game he ever played in. This time, though, the butterflies were still.
In their place was the familiar calm that had comforted him all week. Matt knew it was because people were praying: Hannah and Tanner and the staff at the firm. Even Jade, sicker than she’d ever been, had sought God’s divine help for this trial. And only God could have pulled off the type of trial and the accompanying media interest that had taken place that week.
Matt took his seat at the plaintiff’s table and watched the jury file in. Several of them cast confident glances in Matt’s direction. The clerk took the decision from the jury foreman and handed it to the judge. With little fanfare, he revealed the outcome.
“We, the jury, find in favor of the plaintiff. In doing so we agreed that the defendant must award the plaintiff—” The judge paused and appeared to study the number. Matt’s eyes were glued to the man, urging him to continue. The judge cleared his throat and looked at Benson’s attorneys. “Five hundred thousand dollars … half to be paid up front, and thereafter five years of fifty-thousand-dollar payments until the judgment is paid in full.”
The moment the judge spoke the words five hundred thousand dollars, Matt let his held breath out and thanked God. Thanked Him because this case would have a ripple effect that would be unprecedented in the fight for religious freedom. And a half-million dollar judgment? It would put every civil rights group and governing body in the country on alert that the time had come to back off. Americans had the right to practice their religious freedom. In a church … in a school … in a public building. Even in a rented City Hall.
Matt could hardly wait to tell Tanner.
Interviews with reporters took place immediately after the verdict, and time and again Matt gave credit to God and Tanner.
“No one understands the severity and importance of our battle to maintain religious freedom in this country like Tanner Eastman.” Matt looked straight at the cameras, believing every word. “This was his strategy, his victory. I’m glad for the chance to carry it out.”
The media circus over what had happened took three hours to die down. Of course, it all paled in comparison to the vigil being held at Jade’s bedside several states away. Back at his hotel room later that evening, Matt tossed his things in his suitcase and took a shuttle to the airport.
By ten o’clock he was on a flight home.
Twenty-Nine
Hannah’s desire to help Jade had been there long before Matt left for Colorado.
Despite the joy of having Kody as their son, Hannah’s heart ached almost constantly for Jade. Yet until Matt returned from Colorado, Hannah couldn’t think of anything tangible she could do. In fact, if anything, she felt more disconnected than ever. Here it was, the most trying, painful time in Jade’s life, and Hannah was busy buying blue bedding and baby bottles.
And with Matt gone, she’d had no time to do anything but care for Kody.
Now that he was home, she had an idea, something she could do that just might make all the difference for Jade. That Sunday morning, the day before Jade’s surgery, Hannah called Pastor Steve at church and told him her plan.
“I want to form a prayer chain for Jade Eastman. Different from any prayer chain ever done before.”
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During announcements that morning, Pastor Steve explained the plan to the congregation. Hannah listened, praying they would catch her vision.
“You’ve heard of prayer chains before,” the pastor told them. “Well, Hannah Bronzan has put together something a little different. It’s called the Jade Chain.”
Hannah sat between Matt and Jenny, and without hesitating she took their hands. She looked around and saw that people were listening, some of them nodding, eyes teary. Nearly everyone knew the battle Jade was facing and the very real possibility that she wouldn’t survive.
The pastor continued. “Most of you know that Jade is battling brain cancer and that even now—days after delivering their baby daughter—she is undergoing severe treatment. Tomorrow morning doctors will perform a delicate brain surgery on Jade, and truthfully, her chances are not good. She could lose her memory, her personality … her life.” He gave Hannah a sad smile. “Hannah’s idea is this: Anyone wishing to participate will sign up for a half-hour block of prayer time, starting with midnight tonight. During that block, you will pray for Jade. Pray for her newborn daughter, her husband, and her son. Pray that God heals her and that nothing happens during the surgery to rob her of the person she is, of the dynamic personality she’s been blessed with.”
He searched the faces of the five hundred people in attendance. When he spoke, Hannah could hear the ache in his voice and she wasn’t surprised. “I guess what I’m asking is that you’d sign up. Please. And pray for a miracle for Jade Eastman.”
After the service Matt and Jenny went to get Kody from the nursery, and Hannah found the pastor. “Thank you.” She blinked back tears. “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as we hear anything.”
“No need.” The pastor took Hannah’s hand, his expression more serious than she’d seen before. “I’ll be there first thing in the morning. I’m planning to stay all day.”
Hannah hugged him, losing the battle with her tears in the process. There was no question that Pastor Steve understood how ill Jade really was. She thanked him again, then hurried off to the foyer to check on the Jade Chain sign-up sheet.
What she saw stopped her in her tracks. What was this? Why were so many people bottlenecked in the church foyer?
Then it hit her, and her hand flew to her mouth. Father, I don’t believe it … You’re so good, Lord.
She stared, open-mouthed. The scene before her was the most amazing, breathtaking picture of a church family she’d ever seen or imagined in her life.
Snaking in a line up and down the length of the foyer were easily two hundred people.
Men, women, children … baseball players from the local high school, elderly men with canes and wobbly knees, a diabetic woman in a wheelchair. People Hannah knew well and others she wouldn’t have recognized if she’d met them on the street. All of them waiting in line to put their name on the sign-up sheet.
Each of them as desperate as Hannah to find a way to help Jade Eastman.
Patsy Landers stared at two handwritten letters spread out on her kitchen table and considered her options.
At first, the activities she and Grace had been doing seemed like they might be enough. Taking a walk, building a birdhouse, singing a song. Each had been fun, and once in a while Grace would even seem happy. Patsy knew this because every now and then Grace would smile.
But it was never her old smile, the one that used to light up a room.
Concerned that something might be seriously wrong with Grace, Patsy took her to see a counselor, a Christian woman whose office was across the street from Patsy’s church. For two days, the woman spent an hour with Grace, talking to her, asking her questions. Listening. At the end of the second session, the woman pulled Patsy aside.
“I’ll be candid with you; Grace shows all the signs of posttraumatic stress disorder.”
Patsy blinked. “Post what?”
Grace was sitting ten feet away. The woman glanced at her, and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Landers, the events that have taken place recently in your granddaughter’s life are affecting her deeply. In my opinion, she’s suffering from depression.”
Depression.
The word was like a tourniquet around Patsy’s heart even now. Depression? How was it possible? Yes, the child was bound to miss the Bronzans, but certainly she’d get over it. After all, Patsy had loved Grace since she was an infant. There were times in Grace’s four short years when she stayed with Patsy for months on end before Leslie would come around and whisk her away somewhere.
Patsy had been a rock for Grace.
So why now, when Grace knew she would never have to leave, was she struggling with depression?
Patsy sighed. As if those troubles weren’t enough, ten days ago she received the first letter in the mail. She stared at the letters again. The first was from Leslie; the second, from a woman who claimed to have a cell next to Leslie’s in prison.
Leslie’s letter was written in pencil. Patsy picked it up, feeling the same queasy feeling she’d felt the first time she saw it. Leslie’s attorney’s name and address were on the return corner of the envelope, and the moment Patsy received it she knew there had either been a problem or a miracle.
Leslie simply wouldn’t have written otherwise.
The letter took up less than a page, and Patsy studied it once more. Leslie had written it for one reason: to inform Patsy that the minute prison officials released her, she’d be back for Grace. Not only that, but apparently she’d dreamed up some way to make a living.
Patsy’s eyes ran over the strange last line in the letter: Besides, I’ve thought of a way we can make enough money to survive. I know we’ll never go hungry. Kiss her for me. Leslie.
We? Who was we? Leslie and Grace? What possible way could Leslie and Grace make money? Patsy had studied the line for a long time and decided Leslie must have been referring to a boyfriend, someone she planned to live with once she was out.
However Leslie intended to make money, Patsy doubted her methods would be legal. That afternoon, when Patsy finished reading the letter, she was on the phone with Edna Parsons. “She can’t take Grace, can she?”
When Edna hesitated, panic raced through Patsy. “Well, that’s tricky. If Grace were adopted to another family, the answer would be no. But since you’re her mother, the courts see it as a gray area.”
The social worker went on to explain that if Patsy welcomed her daughter into her home and allowed her to visit with Grace, it would be very possible that one day Leslie would be given custody again.
“Besides, you haven’t actually adopted Grace yet. You’re her legal guardian, but even that becomes open to interpretation once the courts deem Leslie has paid her debt to society.”
“You mean she could hire an attorney and fight me for custody?”
Mrs. Parsons let loose a small huff. “If you welcome Leslie into your home, she could leave with Grace, and unless she breaks a law, no agency in the country would consider it a kidnapping.” She paused. “The alternative is to get a restraining order on her as soon as you know she’s out of prison, but even then you’d have to give cause.”
The conversation had played in Patsy’s mind a dozen times since then. Especially after she received the second letter. Three days after opening the first, Patsy found a letter in her postbox addressed to Mrs. Landers. The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Patsy set down Leslie’s letter and picked up the other one. The message was brief and to the point.
Dear Mrs. Landers,
My cell is next to your daughter’s. I heard her talking the other day about making money with her little girl. Grace, I think it was. She was talking about some pretty bad stuff and it made me remember my little girl. Bad stuff happened to her, too. But I ain’t never tried to make money off her. I hope you understand what I’m telling you. I don’t want any more little girls hurt that way. I got your address from Leslie’s notebook when she was on duty.
Candi
Patsy tried every way she
could to read something other than the obvious into Candi’s note. It wasn’t possible. Leslie wanted to make money with Grace? In a way that someone sitting in prison thought was “pretty bad stuff”?
Horror filled Patsy as the possibilities slammed against her mind. Leslie had done some awful things in her life, made some terrible choices … but making money off Grace? The idea and all it entailed was more than Patsy could bear.
Again she called Grace’s social worker, Edna Parsons, and read her the note over the phone.
“Sounds like Leslie’s made some dangerous connections in prison.” Mrs. Parsons’s tone was troubled. “Save the note. It might help you get a restraining order.”
“But … do you think she’s talking about.” Patsy couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.
“Pornography or prostitution.” The words were hand grenades in Patsy’s heart. “I’d say it was one or the other. There’s an entire network of children Grace’s age trapped in that underworld. Police are constantly working to arrest the adults behind it, but it happens. I won’t lie to you.”
“And you really think Leslie could … could do that?”
The social worker sounded tired. “Mrs. Landers, I haven’t told you this information before, but maybe now it’s time you hear. The scene at that deserted field, when police found Leslie and Grace, was a grim one.”
The things Edna Parsons told Patsy then left her weak and in tears. Her stomach hurt, and she covered her eyes, confused about one thing. “But she asked for her mother for weeks after going to live with the Bronzans.”
“That’s normal. At that point she could transfer all blame for her situation on to the bad guys her mother spent time with. After spending time with the Bronzans she knew differently.” Mrs. Parsons drew a quiet breath. “I saw how Grace changed with that family. For the first time she knew what a real mommy was supposed to be like.”