- AHMED -

"The night after Charity watched Ernest kiss Kristie, she came home to our room in tears and told me everything. I was livid; I stayed in that night to make sure she was okay, but I found Ernest the next day and demanded an explanation. Having been almost drunk out of his mind, he could barely remember kissing anyone, but I wouldn't let him forget what he'd done to Charity—what Marcus had made him do.

"It had never been my intention, but Ernest found her later that day and apologized; and wouldn't you know it, she forgave him. I tried telling her that men like Ernest couldn't be trusted. Marcus may have tricked him into kissing Kristie, but it was his choice to drink—to become so intoxicated because he felt safe around his 'friends' that he thought they'd never make him do something he'd regret. Though I suppose something good did come out of it; he finally disavowed Marcus and the rest of his pathetic posse of blue-eyed holier-than-thou's."

"And just what did you think you were?" Steven cut in. "You talk about my dad and his friends, but you literally tried to stop Charity from reconciling with the man she loved—"

"I was trying to protect her," Prudence said with an edge. "Trying to protect her from the same thing that happened to me." She gave a sigh and looked off into space. "I'd thought for the longest that God gave me the gift of singleness—that I would spend the rest of my days serving Him, and that there was no existence that could possibly be more blessed. But when I heard what your father said about one of his so-called friends—that almost every girl at seminary was out of his league—I just couldn't stand it! I knew that so many of the men there, black and white, found me attractive. So I agreed to go on a date with him to spite your father."

Prudence paused, uncrossed her legs. "But Marcus Hall doesn't take kindly to being shown up. The next morning, I received a call from my date's mother; she threatened to send men to my parents' home and have it burned to the ground if I didn't cut off all communication with her son at once. I tried telling him what happened, but he wouldn't hear it. He was sure that I must've been making up excuses to stop seeing him, and I finally gave up trying to convince him otherwise after I got another call from his mother." She turned to Steven. "And that is why I warned Charity about continuing to see Ernest. I was terrified for her safety.

"But I could never manage to convince her. She'd fallen hard for Ernest, and there was no talking her out of it. For his part, Marcus was...well, it's difficult to say. Things were different for Ernest and Charity than they'd been for me and Jeremy..."

"Wait, Jeremy?" I asked, surprised. "The same Jeremy who—"

"Jeremy Stapleman, yes," Prudence affirmed. "He was the one. The one Marcus didn't deem worthy of dating even me, the obligatory light-skinned girl in a school of black suits pasted onto white bodies." She drew another deep breath, then exhaled. "But Ernest's rejection of Marcus as a friend was a thousand times worse; it cut him deep, perhaps even deeper than watching Ernest trot across campus with the darkest woman in town."

"That's enough," Steven breathed. "I don't care what you say. My dad is not a racist."

"Oh, definitely not," Prudence answered evenly. "He's just a bitter man filled with hate...or at least, he was. To be fair, I haven't seen or heard from him in over twenty years. But if you can't bring yourself to believe what I've told you so far—well, you might want to stop listening..."

"No!" Steven screamed. "Tell me everything. I want to know what happened next!"

"You needn't lie to yourself," Prudence said evenly. "You don't want to know what happened; you want an excuse. That's the reason you took Charity's diary in the first place, isn't it? You want to find some indictment, some evidence that Charity hated your father enough to ruin his life and slaughter everyone who ever hurt her. Well, I've got news for you: while your father was festering in his own weeds of anger and resentment, Charity finally grew up. She stopped being some dreamy-eyed girl and grew at last into the woman God meant for her to be. She learned about love, real love—God's love. She's not the villain of this story."

Steven glared. "Then who is?" His eyes scrunched in anger.

Prudence gave a sardonic pause. "Probably the man who raped her and murdered her husband."

My jaw fell agape, and I saw Steven's eyes grow wide. Irina and Sam both shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"That's right," Prudence declared. "Charity and Ernest were married." She gave another pause. "Or were you more surprised by the part about rape and murder?"

The temperature felt as though it had dropped twenty degrees. No one but Prudence dared say anything; and for my part, I felt unable to even move my body. The low thud of my heartbeat was all I could manage to register.

Prudence stiffened her back, opened her mouth to speak; and as she did, the faintest of cracks began to punctuate her voice. "It was such a sad story—they'd begun talking of wedding bells in April of '86; and by December, they had married and moved to an off-campus apartment. It seemed that their marriage was destined to last, immune to the ravages of Marcus and his friends—friends who, for the most part, had begun to desert him over the previous year."

Prudence blinked twice, a tiny tear glinting at the crease of her eye. "...It all came to a head a few weeks after the wedding. Marcus saw Ernest in a bar; and the two fought, with Ernest getting the better. Ernest left, but Marcus was furious. And then two days later, I got a call from Charity. She told me she was in the hospital, that she'd been beaten and raped by a man in a blackface mask and barely escaped with her life. Somehow, she wounded him with a tape dispenser before escaping on foot into the night. She tried her best to make it to the police station, but she eventually passed out after coming across Ernest's bloody corpse in the middle of the snow.

"Paramedics told me that they found her awake, sitting upright and hallucinating next to a mauled body. She lost consciousness again on the way to the hospital. Meanwhile, the police quartered off the scene to investigate and were able to determine that the body was in fact Ernest's.

"Most of the people in the town thought Charity herself had killed him, but they finally let her off the hook when the police announced that they found another person's DNA—and that the same DNA was found in Charity's rape kit. Whoever had attacked her was the same person who'd killed Ernest.

"The moment the investigation started, I knew it wasn't Charity—she wasn't a murderer. And more than that, she loved Ernest with all of her heart. I visited her in the hospital every day and never left her side; we spent the next three weeks crying together while she recovered, and I promised I would find who did this. I had my suspicions about who had attacked her. And they were all but confirmed when, of all people, Marcus himself came to visit Charity at the hospital.

"He left flowers and chocolates for her, along with a Get Well Soon card that made me want to slap him in the face. From the way he talked down to me when I confronted him, I knew he must've either raped Charity himself or had something to do with it. And of the few real 'friends' he still had left, I could only think of one who was big enough to reasonably overpower Ernest in terms of raw strength."

"Wh—who?" I heard the question escape my lips but could scarcely believe I'd even managed to say a word.

"His name was Glenn...Glenn Clather."

There's no way.

"And after that December, I didn't see Glenn again. The police never made a conviction. In fact, the case all but vanished from the media. Glenn dropped out of seminary, and Marcus's longtime girlfriend Evelyn broke up with him. Still, he maintained his innocence when asked publicly about the incident, claiming that despite his well-known feud with Ernest, he'd never do anything to harm a fellow 'brother in Christ.' He even sent Charity more flowers and chocolates during her last week in the hospital."

Prudence sniffled and swiped at both eyes with the edges of her thumbs. "And poor Charity—I thought she might never come out of that hospital. She'd stopped smiling, even when I'd come visit her; and she'd almost quit talking altogether." Prudence shook her head, tiny liquid drops shuddering atop her cheekbones. "A few days before she was to be discharged, a doctor visited her and said his team had run some more tests after an irregular finding on one of the routine labs. She had H—"

Prudence paused, sniffling heavier as her eyes began to irrigate. "The doctor said she had Huntington's Disease. Charity had no idea how—she'd been perfectly healthy all her life, but the doctor said the disease doesn't typically show symptoms until later, and...and I just couldn't—" Prudence finally broke, buried her tear-streaked face in her hands.

I reached out, placed a hand on her back.

"I can't believe this," Irina whispered, turning to face Prudence as well. "And all this time, I thought...I thought Miss Charity was just some sweet old lady. I can't even imagine how hard that must have been for you. For both of you."

Prudence sniffled again and looked up. "It was unimaginable, my dear," she said to Irina. "When the doctor left, Charity and I finally began to pray. She asked God if it was His will for her to die, and she told me that she felt she might never get an answer...until one day, when a man named Victor Crestwell brought a group called the Love Revivalists to town, preaching the divine healing power of God.

"I'd grown up in church all my life—Charity and I both had. But what Victor preached...I'd never heard anything like it. I'd always been taught that God heals those He chooses and that some people need illness for their lives to truly glorify God. But Victor said that Jesus came only to heal and to bring life—that He was willing for all to be well, body, soul, and spirit. And it was such a pure message, so simple, so clear. A God who loves, a God who heals, a God who sets us free from all sin and all sickness. It flew in the face of every bit of theology I'd learned; and yet, so had my very existence at a seminary where the only gods to which people readily seemed to bow were wealth and popularity." Prudence stiffened her back again and sat taller this time, combing one of her hands through her shoulder-length hair:

"Charity convinced me to help her sneak out of the hospital one night so that she could attend a meeting that the Love Revivalists were hosting at a small church a few blocks up the road. We went to the meeting together, and I just couldn't stop listening. I couldn't believe what I was hearing—but somehow, I couldn't not believe it. And neither could Charity.

"We sneaked out the next three nights to attend more meetings; and at each one, I felt my heart grow lighter and lighter; some heavy weight seemed to be lifting. Victor declared the fifth night a healing service, and Charity and I prayed together before sneaking away from the hospital again." She paused. "It's hard to describe what happened next...the moment Victor took the stage, Charity told me she didn't need hands laid on her anymore. She said she was healed—fully, totally healed! Before I could say anything else, she started jumping with delight and running around the building. When the meeting ended, she ran off into the night, back to the hospital to collect her things. The doctors wondered where she'd been, but all she could say was, 'I'm healed! I'm healed!'

"Before she left, I talked her into getting tested again for Huntington's disease because I was just so scared that she was getting her hopes up. But a few weeks later, the hospital mailed her the results—not only was her body free of Huntington's disease, but it looked like her entire genome had been somehow changed. We visited the hospital again together, and the doctor we met with said there was no explanation other than a mismatch. Maybe another patient's DNA had gotten into the first testing sample somehow; but the doctor also told us they hadn't had a patient with Huntington's in over eight years, and certainly not while Charity was hospitalized.

"Charity maintains to this day that God healed her. I guess I'll never know for sure, but I tend to believe her. And it wasn't long after she left the hospital that she found Victor Crestwell and followed him and the Love Revivalists all around the United States. Charity and I didn't see each other as much for the next six or seven months, but she'd write often. It was truly remarkable the things she saw.

"A man with end-stage renal disease got up from his death bed and walked away with what medics could only describe as a new set of kidneys; a baby born without one arm grew a new one; there was even a girl who broke her back and both of her legs in a car accident—they thought she'd be a quadriplegic, but her bones reset and her spine straightened right out so she could walk and run again just like before. Everyone—churches, Bible studies, self-help groups, concerts—they all kept contacting Victor, asking him to come speak and heal. He'd always say it wasn't him. Jesus was the healer, he claimed. Jesus was the Savior.

"I was so happy for Charity. Things were finally looking up for her, and—"

ZZZING! ZZZING! ZZZING!

Prudence glanced down, retrieved her phone. "It's my husband," she whispered, her tone shifting almost instantly. "Everyone, quiet." She pressed the screen to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Prudence, where are you?" The Deputy Commissioner's words sounded more like a command than a question.

"I'm taking care of some things, Terrance," she answered lowly. "I told you I'd be gone for a bit."

"Well, we need you back here. Now."

"At the station?"

"No—at the Gravesteppers'."

Irina's face paled.

"We think we've found something," Deputy Commissioner Darrow continued. "And both Myra Gravestepper and Irina are missing."

Prudence glanced up at us. "Alright, I'll be there soon. I'm heading to my car now." She pressed End Call.

"What...what do you think they found?" Irina whispered.

"Who knows?" Prudence replied. "Either way, you all don't want to be caught in the middle of this investigation. I have to go be with Terrance, or he'll think something's happened to me. But the four of you need to stay here." She slid open the coffee table's top drawer, retrieved a black pen and a set of blue sticky notes. She scribbled on the topmost note and ripped it off to hand to me. "This is my phone number. Send me yours in a text, and I can message you with updates so you'll know what's going on. If Lane somehow contacts you or figures out where you are, message me. I can make it to this house in five minutes."

I took the phone number and gave Prudence a knowing nod.

She smiled, then stood to her feet quickly and headed for the door, making sure to lock it behind her. Moments later, we heard the whirring of her engine as she started her car and sped away.

Steven glanced once at me, then at the journal in his hand. "I guess we won't be needing this anymore," he said in a low voice. He ran his fingers along the blond strands protruding from between the pages, then flipped to the diary's final entry, dated July 19, 1987:

Today was my last Sunday with the Love Revivalists. I told Victor how much I'm going to miss him, miss all of them—I never dreamed I'd meet so many people who were so different from me and yet who loved me so purely. But I know I have to plant the seeds God has for me in California. I've prayed and prayed and prayed, and I just know God wants me to be at Bright Faith. They're a majority grass-roots effort right now, but God told me He has big plans to expand His healing and love all over, and He wants to use Bright Faith to do it. I've met several of the ministers on staff, and they all seem so caring and genuine.

I love Victor, truly love him. Our souls rejoice together. I suppose it's most appropriate to say I love him as my brother in Christ, as that seems the only way to capture my true meaning. I was dying, and he brought me to the light of Jesus—the real Jesus, the Healer. I never would have known what healing was if God hadn't sent me Victor in my time of need. Yet this love I feel—I'm not enflamed with passion or the jitters of romance. I'm just happy he exists, delighted he's in my life. Is this the love of God? To love another simply for being, and to love him for who he is in Christ—for who he continues to be, can be, will be?

I was married once, for so short a time. And by the cruelty of others, I became a widow. I lost my greatest joy, unaware that an even greater one somehow awaited me. And when Victor came, when he brought an inkling of light, God found a way to make me believe, to heal me. And what was once the tiniest mite of hope has now become the very might of my life! And I can't stop smiling and laughing; I can't stop singing when I wake and humming when I sleep! I welcome my new home at Bright Faith Church of Christ with open arms and an open heart because I know that a God of love goes before me, and I know that loving Him is all I want to do.