Suncatchers (49 page)

The thought dimly emerged from Perry's consciousness that he was actually
participating
in this event, not merely observing. Though he wasn't praying aloud, his feelings were fully engaged. He wasn't trying to record the details in their proper sequence, to phrase them with words that would accurately describe the situation to a reader. The fact that he was writing a book about these people seemed far removed from the present. Perry realized also that he felt not the least twinge of embarrassment to be part of a prayer circle in the middle of a hospital waiting room. That he was wearing inappropriate footwear suddenly seemed entirely insignificant. Eldeen emitted a deep, agonized groan as Brother Hawthorne prayed for the Lord's “healing touch and miracle-working power in the body of our dear, faithful young brother.”

Young brother
—Perry remembered Joe Leonard's words only a few short days ago at the Each-One-Bring-One youth activity, his awkward words of gratitude about Perry: “He's like a big brother to me, and I always wanted one of those.” For the first time since coming to Derby, Perry found himself not simply marveling over the fervency and faith with which these people prayed but also intensely hoping that they were right—that they did indeed have a God who could hear their prayers, who wanted to give them the desires of their hearts, and, most of all, who had the power to do so.

Jewel joined them in a few minutes, and over the drone of the six o'clock news on the television behind them, she spoke firmly in her soft southern drawl the words of supplication Perry was never to forget. “Our gracious and merciful heavenly Father, you knew about all of this a long time before we got the phone call, before Joe Leonard even stepped into that locker room. You knew it was going to happen before he was
born
. We know you're wise and almighty and that our ways are not your ways, but we also know you're loving and good and that you won't let us suffer above that we are able. I don't know, gracious Father, how much I'm able to bear”—here her voice broke, though she continued praying through her tears—“but I trust you to sustain us through this trial. Please, dear God, spare my boy. Please don't take him from me. He's my . . . he's my only son, dear Lord.” She emitted a sharp sob but finished her prayer. “I know you know about the love of a parent for an only son. You gave yours for us. But please, God, please, if you see fit, let my boy live.”

It was while Harvey Gill was praying that Perry realized someone must have turned down the volume on the television, and it was during Eldeen's prayer that he sensed the stillness in the waiting room.

Eldeen had just said, “And be with that other poor boy, too, that was hurt, dear God, and his sorrowing family—and those three mean fellers that hurt 'em, too, who need to know Jesus,” when Perry heard the approach of footsteps. Eldeen paused, and they all looked up.

“Are you Joe Leonard Blanchard's family?” a middle-aged man asked. The woman beside him held a large wadded handkerchief to her mouth. Her eyes, though heavily made up, were red from weeping.

They all nodded, and the man's shoulders sagged. “We're the Harrelsons,” he said. “It was our boy Howie that Joe Leonard helped.” The woman pressed the handkerchief to her eyes and shook with sobs.

Howie Harrelson. Perry hadn't forgotten the name. So it was Joe Leonard's cocky friend, Howie, who had been attacked in the locker room.

“Oh, you poor, poor things,” Eldeen said. “Here, let's pull up some more chairs so you can join our prayer chain. God can save our boys, Mrs. Harrelson. He's got the power to do anything! Here, sit down by me.” Eldeen put one arm around Mrs. Harrelson and leaned over to comfort her, murmuring softly and smoothing her hair as if she were a child.

Rob and Glenda Finch arrived a few minutes later along with Coach Hampton, who had just learned that the three attackers had been found and taken into police custody.

“What'd they do it for?” Eldeen asked. “Did any of them say what was behind it all? Why would three of 'em gang up that way against one?”

Coach Hampton shook his head. “Their story is that it all started over something Howie said to one of them before tryouts. One thing led to another, I guess, and that boy got two of his buddies to wait with him after everybody left, and they just . . .” The coach glanced at the Harrelsons apologetically. “They just meant to rough him up, they said, but he fought back pretty hard, and they pulled out their knives just to try to scare him, but that seemed to make him madder than ever. Then Joe Leonard showed up, and
they
got scared I guess, and . . . well, the way one of them put it was ‘We just lost our heads.'” Coach Hampton sighed deeply. “They aren't what I'd call bad kids really—they just wanted to be tough. They're all pretty shaken up.”

Rob Finch spoke up. “One of them—the one who admitted to actually stabbing Joe Leonard—told the police that they tried to get Joe Leonard to leave. Kept telling him over and over to get out. Said they never would've used the knife if he hadn't tried to get them off Howie.”

“I don't know,” Coach Hampton said. “They might say that, but kids usually go to all lengths when they're in a gang—do things they'd never do by themselves. If Joe Leonard hadn't interrupted them, there's no telling . . .”

A nurse came out from behind two heavy swinging doors. “Mr. and Mrs. Harrelson?” she called. The Harrelsons stood up quickly. “I can take you back to see your son now,” the nurse said, smiling. Mrs. Harrelson gave a soft whimper and leaped forward. “He's got some pretty ugly wounds,” the nurse said as she pushed open the doors, “but he's going to be all right.” The Harrelsons disappeared through the doors, and the rest of them could hear the rapid, muffled clicking of Mrs. Harrelson's high heels echoing down the hallway.

They were all silent for several long moments. Then Coach Hampton looked around the circle and asked, “I take it that the rest of you are all Joe Leonard's family?”

“And friends,” Brother Hawthorne said. He went around the group and introduced everyone.

Coach Hampton sat down where Mr. Harrelson had been sitting and looked straight across at Jewel. “Joe Leonard is a fine boy, ma'am,” he said, his hands resting on his knees.

Perry felt a small fountain of hope well up inside his heart. He said
is
, he kept telling himself. Joe Leonard
is
a fine boy.

“I don't know if you're aware of it—probably not—but a couple of the guys used to give him a pretty hard time,” the coach continued. Perry tried to ignore the fact that he had shifted to past tense. “Called him Holy Joe Leo and a few other choice names.” The coach ran one hand over his forehead and back through his wavy hair. “It was really something, though. Joe Leonard was always so good-natured about it—in a quiet way. Never acted like it was of much importance to him. Never said a word back, just went on playing like he hadn't heard it. Sometimes I've watched a guy like Joe Leonard get chewed up and spit out when the hotshots think he's too timid to stand up for himself. It'll make 'em all the meaner. But with Joe Leonard I don't know what it was—he never answered back and pretty soon they got tired of acting mean without getting any response, and the next thing I know, I hear one of the ringleaders say something like ‘Nice shot, Blanchard.'”

The coach looked around the circle at all of them. “You've got you a real nice boy—I only hope mine turns out half as nice. I'm sorry it's taken something like this for me to get to meet you and tell you so.” He lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I can't tell you how bad I feel. I'm always there in the locker room till it clears out, but tonight I got a call in the office, and then a parent stopped me in the hall. I had asked Rob to check on some things in the equipment room, thinking I'd be right back, but . . .” He lifted his hands, then dropped them to his lap again. “I sure think a lot of Joe Leonard. I'll never forgive myself if . . .”

“He sets a store by you, too,” Eldeen spoke up. “He was sure wantin' to do a good job in the tryouts.”

“He did,” the coach replied, nodding his head firmly. “He sure did. He's got a lot of natural skill—and of course, I'm always looking for mature kids, too. Sometimes that's a whole lot more important than experience.” He tapped his forehead. “Joe Leonard doesn't think and act like the typical sophomore. He's not out to impress the whole world.”

“Thank you for those kind words,” Jewel said, looking straight into Coach Hampton's eyes. “We're trusting God to raise him up.” She looked over at Brother Hawthorne.

“Shall we continue our prayer meeting?” Brother Hawthorne suggested. “Willard, why don't you lead us next?” Eldeen was studying the coach closely as he dropped his head reverently. Perry was certain she would arrange a private talk with him before the night was over.

It must have been fifteen minutes later when a doctor came out and looked around. “Blanchard?” he said. Jewel lifted her head and stood up immediately, her hands clasped under her chin. The doctor came toward them, his eyes traveling curiously and slowly around the circle as if wondering if this was some kind of game they were playing.

“I'm Dr. Whitaker,” he said in a high voice. He was a small man, no taller than Brother Hawthorne and far less muscular. Everything about him was pale—his thin, washed-out hair, his skin, his eyes, his lips, even the light gray frames of his glasses. Perry could easily see him as the class brain in high school—first in scholastic standing, president of the National Honor Society, recipient of numerous scholarship offers, but the last one picked for teams in P.E. His voice, however, was surprisingly energetic as he said, “Well, you folks are lucky. I have good news for you.” He continuously swayed forward on his toes and rocked back on his heels as he talked—a habit born from years of struggling with a height disadvantage, Perry suspected.

“Your boy's going to pull through fine,” Dr. Whitaker continued. “The stab wound was pretty deep, but luckily it didn't puncture any vital organs. Missed the spleen by a hair's breadth—that could have been bad. We've got him all fixed up now, and I think he's going to be ready to see a face he recognizes in a few minutes. He's going to be sore for a while—won't be able to do any jumping jacks right away—but he's a lucky young man.” Perry knew the doctor couldn't get away with referring to luck three times, and he was right.

“I beg your pardon, Doctor, but luck's not got a thing to do with it!” Eldeen declared forcefully. “We been praying, and God's been working!”

The doctor stared at her, dazed. “Well, someone's sure on your side,” he said, stretching his pale lips into a thin, taut smile.

“God is!” Eldeen said. “‘If God be for you, who can be against you?'”

“Well, I like your spirit,” the doctor said. He gave a weak cough and adjusted his glasses. “A nurse will be out a little later to take you up to his room.” Frowning, he bit his lower lip and looked around the circle. “Maybe you'd better not all go up at once,” he said. “The oxygen in the room might not hold out.” He offered a half-smile, and everyone chuckled.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Jewel said, stepping forward with her hand extended. But instead of shaking the doctor's hand, she held it tightly as she looked deep into his pale green eyes. “There's no way to ever thank you for being here on duty when my boy needed you.” As Dr. Whitaker waved off her thanks with his other hand, as if clearing the air of sentiment, she shook her head. “No, please, please let me say it. I know you must hear it over and over, and I sure can't say it like others can, like my neighbor here could,” and she smiled at Perry—“he's a writer—but I've got to say the words out loud, or I just won't be able to stand it. Thank you for being God's instrument in bringing my son through. It's a wonderful thing you've done for him—and for me, and for all of us.” Jewel's blue eyes were glistening with tears.

Perry had to look away. He knew he never could have expressed himself so sincerely and beautifully and openly if it were Troy instead of Joe Leonard who had just been rescued from death. He wasn't even sure he would have had his wits about him enough to think of making such a speech. He would probably have been too busy plotting the destruction of the three boys who caused the injury—thinking of various methods of physical torture he could inflict on them, of accusations aimed at their parents for raising such low-life punks, of charges and lawsuits concerning the lax supervision after school that had allowed such an attack to take place.

At eight o'clock, after they had been allowed to visit Joe Leonard for a few minutes, Perry took Jewel and Eldeen down to the hospital cafeteria to eat. The other church people had left. Willard had been scheduled to close the library that night, and the rest had gone to prayer meeting.

“My grandson's gonna be all right!” Eldeen proudly announced to the girl working the cash register at the end of the line. “I got me a bowl of this here green Jell-O in honor of him—that's one of his favorites!” Her face crinkled into a maze of creases as she smiled radiantly.

The girl grinned politely as she totaled the purchases on Eldeen's tray.

“And,” Eldeen said, “he's gonna have him a knife blade scar right here in his side for the rest of his life.” She lifted her arm and pointed to the approximate place on herself, then spread her hands to show the length of the scar.

“Mama, people are lined up behind us,” Jewel said.

Eldeen looked back at the couple behind Perry. “My grandson's on the mend, praise the Lord!” she called out, waving a friendly greeting. Then she picked up her tray and walked triumphantly toward the tables, smiling and nodding. “Good evening!” Perry heard her say to everyone she passed.