Transcontinental (35 page)

“I see the gears turning,” the Bishop snickered. “Got you thinking. That’s good, thinking’s essential. But you see, God operates on faith, not logic. You have to
feel
it. And, once you open your heart to him, you will. Let me ask you something, Marcus. Do you feel lost?”

The question shook him. “What do you mean?” But he knew.

“You know it as well as I do—you’re searching for something. It’s alright to feel afraid, worried, confused; it’s only natural, when you haven’t yet been baptized in the Holy Spirit. Salvation is not a given, young man, but it
calls
for us, available to those who seek it. Only then can God build you up and help you abstain from sin so you may live the life you were meant for.”

“A normal life,” chimed the Pastor.

It was disconcerting to Leroy how much sense the men were starting to make. And why would the Pastor use that phrase, specifically? A normal life… that was always the goal, wasn’t it?

“Being unsaved is a tremendous burden on mind, body, and soul, but there
is
a cure. Jesus said to the citizens of Galilee: ’Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’ Marcus, we can give you that,” Bishop urged. “
SpiritWood
can give you that. A new birth. It’s the reason we exist, and it’s the reason we’ve been so successful.”

Leroy could see the passion flaring in the Bishop’s eyes; it brought Ant to mind, and excited Leroy as much as it terrified him. It really seemed like the man wanted to help him. Things were pretty dire. He had fifteen dollars, and who knew how many miles left to Tampa. It put knots in his stomach to think about. It was also possible the Rehema Shepherd in Florida wasn’t the right one, either. Maybe she was unlisted; his mom had been for the last few years of her life. It wasn’t uncommon.

“Think about this: the SpiritWood family consists of over one-hundred children of all ages. That’s a lot of brothers and sisters! And we have just as many parents, each of whom help care for the family. SpiritWood members get three hot meals a day, they get to work a variety of fulfilling jobs, plenty of free time at the gorgeous compound, safe and comfortable housing—”

Leroy thought he heard a faint, dismissive snort from the girl.

“Oh, and of course, freedom from eternal damnation.”

Leroy had to admit, the pitch didn’t sound half bad; in fact, it seemed like what he’d been searching for the whole time. He supposed it
was
possible that fate had been guiding him to SpiritWood all along. He’d never really bought into fate, but then, he wouldn’t know fate if it killed his mother.

It occurred to him how quiet the other kids had been the whole ride. They hadn’t spoken a word, unless prompted by the Bishop. If nothing else, they were well behaved, maybe even shy, like him. The more he thought about it, the more refreshing interacting with cohorts rather than adults seemed.

“The question, Marcus, is… do you have what it takes to be saved?”

“I thought that was the point of SpiritWood?”

 
“That’s correct. As I said, though—salvation is not a given. Not only does it take a strong will, enduring faith, and perseverance, but also hard work, repentance, and baptism, both physical and spiritual. I won’t lie to you, son; I have seen lesser boys and girls, even men and women buckle under the strain. It’s not a pretty sight to behold, I assure you. But he who makes it to the other side comes out a new person, one who is competent, confident, and most importantly, content. If you choose this path, you will be forever changed.”

Leroy cast his gaze again at the girl across the aisle. Her eyes darted the other direction. There was something magnetic about her, but fearful, too.

“I’m going to ask you again: do you have what it takes to be saved?”

“I’ll try it out,” he said, lacking confidence in himself.

“Do you
have
… what it
takes
?”

“Yes.” His logical half protested. But God operated on faith.

“Good, because we’re here,” said Bishop Wood.

Chapter 10

Pacific, MO

The van crunched to a stop in the dirt before a towering wooden gate, anchored by stone columns. A wrought iron fence extended from each side, vanishing into the thicket of trees and bushes. The vegetation made it impossible to see inside the compound. The mystery of it all piqued Leroy’s interest.

“To keep the press away, naturally,” the Bishop smiled.

“And the animals,” said Pastor Mercer.

“Like I said, the press.”

The three of them laughed, though Leroy didn’t fully get the joke.

The entrance reminded him of the gate to Jurassic Park—the one movie his mother had taken him to see despite his pleas in protest. Although he’d savored every second when it premiered on TV two years later, he’d been just ten when it came out, and was scared out of his mind for the rest of the evening. But Adalynne had wanted it, so one way or another, it had to happen. Leroy had to give her credit for her determination, even if it was wasted on petty issues.

Obscured by the clouds of dirt the van had kicked up, Pastor Mercer dialed a four-digit number on a keypad through the window, then there was a
beep
, and the gate groaned open. The van started down the forested trail.

A whitecap of exhilaration roiled his insides. This could be a whole new beginning—an end to the discomfort and alienation that’d plagued him growing up—and the start of a fulfilling new chapter. There wouldn’t be dinosaurs, but perhaps a life where he’d fit in; that was exciting enough.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of hickories and oaks sent a greenish glow seeping into the van as it bumped along. Roots from the robust woods grasped at the worn path from either side, as if the trees were trying to tear the land apart. Watching the forest shuffle past, Leroy felt as if Bigfoot could pop out from behind a trunk at any moment.

The trail seemed to hit a dead end, then the van veered right and the forest opened up to a meadow straight out of the paintings in the art museum—stalks of wheat danced with prairie grass, fried-egg Daisies swayed beside freckled orange Touch Me Nots, Goldenrod and tiny bouquets of Queen Anne’s Lace bobbed in the breeze. At the edge of a nearby pond, a rocky waterfall emptied into a small reservoir, six feet or so below ground level. It was nature’s version of a Reno hotel, Leroy realized, and he loved it.

He admired the pond as the van rounded it, then parked in front of a jagged palatial building with rugged stone walls, yet every stone perfectly in place, bearing the name SpiritWood in huge golden letters. At the top of a steeple, Christ hung from a cross. The silent stillness perturbed Leroy.

“Home, sweet home,” said Bishop Wood.

Leroy unbuckled and tried the door, but it wouldn’t open. He made sure it was unlocked—it was—and tried again, to no avail.

“Child-lock,” Pastor Mercer said, getting out of the driver’s seat. “We often intake children, and youths with behavioral issues. Best not to take any chances.” He opened Leroy’s door from the outside.

Leroy got out and surveyed the area. There were three dormitory buildings—one for adults, one for girls, one for boys. The faint sound of machinery floated in on a breeze that brought an earthy odor to his nostrils, and he inhaled deeply. It was perhaps the freshest air he’d ever tasted, and it was invigorating.

“The real action takes place around back. Follow me,” said the Bishop as he set out along the concrete path. Leroy followed, watching as the other kids lagged behind Pastor Mercer, heading to the dorms.

Through a window around the corner, Leroy saw toddlers giggling and stacking blocks and playing with toys, while an older woman sat with them, looking on fondly. It warmed him.

As they rounded the back of the building, the view opened up, presenting a breathtaking picture of rolling, grassy hills grazed on by hogs and cattle, and wide swaths of farmland tended to by dozens of people, adults and kids alike. Each one of them was African-American, just like him. The word ‘natural’ stuck in his mind. He felt like he was finally in the right place.

“Quite a sight, huh?” the Bishop asked, and Leroy agreed. “SpiritWood grows only the highest quality organic produce. In fact, we won the award for the finest apricot at the Missouri state fair. The trophy’s sitting in my office, next to the rest of them,” he grinned.

“Never had an apricot,” Leroy said, more to himself than the Bishop.

“Well, son, as you’ll soon learn, there’s a first time for everything.”

They stood a moment, watching the busy farm. It looked to Leroy like an ant hill, each worker attending to his or her specific job.

“Come on. Let’s get you situated, then out to join them.”

* * *

Leroy couldn’t help but think of Ms. Stacey’s foster home, looking at the rows of empty bunk beds on either side of the room. Still, it wasn’t necessarily the living conditions that’d soured him; it just wasn’t where he was meant to be. This, he thought, was a bit closer to home. The congested room did nothing to put a damper on his excitement. Maybe he could even make a few friends, something he’d never even considered at Ms. Stacey’s, or at school.

“You’ll be in this one,” the Bishop said, referring to the last bunk bed on the far side of the room. “You don’t have a bed buddy yet, so you get your pick—top or bottom. Don’t get used to it, though,” he said with a smile. “We get new members on a weekly basis.”

Leroy set his bag down beside the bed. “I’ll take the bottom.”

“The path of least resistance. Smart boy. Now, let me get you a pair of work clothes.” He strolled toward the door, then opened it. “Carl!”

Confident footsteps clacked on the floor, then a broad man appeared in the doorway, looking eager to please. “Yes, Bishop?”
 

“Run get young Marcus a full set of clothing, will you?”

He nodded, then wandered off.

“That’s Carl, head of the boys’ dorm. You’ll get along famously; he’s a paternal figure for many of the kids. You need anything, you ask him.”

Leroy took a seat on the bed and felt springs poking into him.

“Don’t get too comfortable just yet. Work hours aren’t over till six, and it’s but four-thirty. After that you get an hour for dinner, bible study till nine, and
then
you can get some rest.” His commanding gaze washed over Leroy. “We keep a tight schedule here at SpiritWood. Discipline prevents distraction, which is salvation’s greatest enemy.”

Discipline was one area of child rearing his mother hadn’t overlooked. He had a feeling, though, that SpiritWood’s definition of discipline differed from Adalynne’s in some key aspects, particularly physically. He doubted a religious organization would employ the use of a switch.

“Usually we have a strict work regimen, but since it’s your first day, I’ll allow you to choose where you’d like to start working.”

“What are the choices?”

“Farm, chow, laundry, maintenance, yard work, housekeeping. Then there’s bathroom detail, but we save that for those who misbehave.”

“Farm.” It was unfortunate that he had to work as soon as he’d arrived, but he had a burning desire to be outside, amongst nature, and yard work sounded like a more boring version of farm work.

“That’s my favorite, too. Now, I have more than enough of my own work to do. Tell Carl your decision when he returns.” He stepped through the door, then turned back. “Welcome to SpiritWood, Marcus.”

* * *

It wasn’t more than five minutes after he’d begun tilling the dense soil that his forearms started to ache, and another five minutes until it flared up in his shoulders. Drawn to the farm though he was, Leroy acknowledged he wasn’t quite fit for farm work. He vowed to change that.

He hunched, working the end of a long strip of farmland, while adults lazily supervised from each corner of the field. The sun stung the back of his neck and his scalp, aggressively reminding him how long he had until he could get food and rest.

As he stabbed at the dirt with the hoe, he felt someone watching him. From his peripheral vision, he saw a lanky kid, also tilling the land, staring from a few yards down. Leroy ignored him, sidestepped to an untilled patch, and went back to work despite countless nerve-endings objecting.

“Your arms be hurtin’, huh?”

Unsure whether he should respond, Leroy turned to the tall boy, who looked straight down as he aerated the dirt with the hoe.

“Keep it movin’,” he snapped. “Work and talk, work and talk.”

Leroy glanced at the supervisors then got back to work.

“You doin’ it all wrong,” the kid said with a fast glance. “Power come from your back, not your arms. Gon’ wear yourself out real quick.”

Without being too conspicuous, Leroy watched the way the kid worked the hoe; how the energy seemed to flow, as if it started in the earth, traveled up his legs, through his back, and along his arms, allowing the tool to swing free of fatigue and resistance. It was mesmerizing, the perfection of the boy’s chop as the hoe churned the ground, like watching an expert chef.

“You on the end!” an adult called out, and Leroy looked up. “Pick up the slack! Sun sets in an hour,” he said, checking his wristwatch.