Epilogue

Not since 9/11 had churches been so full, and this time the phenomenon circled the globe. Every ministry Thomas knew of reported record inquiries and changed lives. Thomas himself had been busy since the little revival started on death row months before, but even that was nothing compared to now. He even had to talk with Warden LeRoy about hiring help. Requests for visits and New Testaments and books poured into his office.

Four days after Brady Wayne Darby was crucified, his autopsy became part of the public record, and he was buried in a quickly fashioned one-grave cemetery at Adamsville State Penitentiary, per the agreement with ICN. No press was allowed.

Thomas officiated the brief, very private ceremony, attended by fewer than twenty people. Besides a few state officials, the group consisted of the warden, the warden’s secretary and her husband, Brady’s aunt and uncle, his mother, his lawyer, her husband, and the chaplain’s wife.

Grace was bundled head to toe despite the heat and sat in a wheelchair. Thomas knew it was likely her last venture outside their home. But she had insisted on attending, and he would not deny her.

After Thomas spoke and the casket was lowered, Gladys sang “Rock of Ages,” which had been Grace’s suggestion. Most hummed along, but Thomas noticed that Ravinia joined in, full voice.

As they were leaving, Brady’s aunt Lois confided to Thomas that Erlene Darby had agreed to move in with her and Carl, “just for a few months until she can get back on her feet. We’re going to get her to church somehow.”

Dirk and Ravinia were back in counseling and talking about his moving back home again.

Four months later, many of the same contingent joined the congregation at Village Church for Grace Carey’s funeral. And, acceding to his beloved’s last request, Thomas asked Gladys to sing the same hymn again.

Rock of ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Save from wrath and make me pure.

Not the labors of my hands

Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears forever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring.

Simply to Thy cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace;

Foul, I to the fountain fly;

Wash me, Savior, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyelids close in death,

When I soar to worlds unknown,

See Thee on Thy judgment throne,

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.

Again Ravinia joined in the singing, and as she and Dirk and Summer rode with Thomas to the cemetery, she reached for her father’s hand.

“I want to come home,” she said.

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” he said.

“No, I mean home to church. Will you save me a seat?”