by the still waters.’‘He restoreth my soul.’ We must put our
trust in Him. Besides,” she added, briskly and practically, as
much to strengthen herself as Clyde, “haven’t I already
arranged for an appeal? It is to be made yet this week.
They’re going to file a notice. And that means that your
case can’t even be considered under a year. But it is just
the shock of seeing you so. You see, I wasn’t quite
prepared for it.” She straightened her shoulders and now
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looked up and achieved a brave if strained smile. “The
warden here seems very kind, but still, somehow, when I
saw you just now——”
She dabbed at her eyes which were damp from this sudden
and terrific storm, and to divert herself as well as him she
talked of the so very necessary work before her. Messrs.
Belknap and Jephson had been so encouraging to her just
before she left. She had gone to their office and they had
urged her and him to be of good cheer. And now she was
going to lecture, and at once, and would soon have means
to do with that way. Oh, yes. And Mr. Jephson would be
down to see him one of these days soon. He was by no
means to feel that the legal end of all this had been
reached. Far from it. The recent verdict and sentence was
sure to be reversed and a new trial ordered. The recent one
was a farce, as he knew.
And as for herself—as soon as she found a room near the
prison—she was going to the principal ministers of Auburn
and see if she could not secure a church, or two, or three,
in which to speak and plead his cause. Mr. Jephson was
mailing her some information she could use within a day or
two. And after that, other churches in Syracuse, Rochester,
Albany, Schenectady—in fact many cities in the east—until
she had raised the necessary sum. But she would not
neglect him. She would see him at least once a week and
would write him a letter every other day, or maybe even
daily if she could. She would talk to the warden. So he must
not despair. She had much hard work ahead of her, of
course, but the Lord would guide her in all that she
undertook. She knew that. Had He not already shown his
gracious and miraculous mercy?
Clyde must pray for her and for himself. Read Isaiah. Read
the psalms—the 23rd and the 51st and 91st daily. Also
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Habbakuk. “Are there walls against the Hand of the Lord?”
And then after more tears, an utterly moving and
macerating scene, at last achieving her departure while
Clyde, shaken to his soul by so much misery, returned to
his cell. His mother. And at her age—and with so little
money—she was going out to try to raise the money
necessary to save him. And in the past he had treated her
so badly—as he now saw.
He sat down on the side of his cot and held his head in his
hands the while outside the prison—the iron door of the
same closed and only a lonely room and the ordeal of her
proposed lecture tour ahead of her—Mrs. Griffiths paused—
by no means so assured or convinced of all she had said to
Clyde. To be sure God would aid her. He must. Had He
ever failed her yet—completely? And now—here—in her
darkest hour, her son’s! Would He?
She paused for a moment a little later in a small parking-
place, beyond the prison, to stare at the tall, gray walls, the
watch towers with armed guards in uniform, the barred
windows and doors. A penitentiary. And her son was now
within—worse yet, in that confined and narrow death house.
And doomed to die in an electric chair. Unless—unless——
But, no, no—that should not be. It could not be. That
appeal. The money for it. She must busy herself as to that
at once—not think or brood or despair. Oh, no. “My shield
and my buckler.”“My Light and my Strength.”“Oh, Lord,
Thou art my strength and my deliverance. In Thee will I
trust.” And then dabbing at her eyes once more and adding:
“Oh, Lord, I believe. Help Thou mine unbelief.”
So Mrs. Griffiths, alternately praying and crying as she
walked.
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Chapter 30
BUT after this the long days in prison for Clyde. Except for a
weekly visit from his mother, who, once she was entered
upon her work, found it difficult to see him more often than
that—traveling as she did in the next two months between
Albany and Buffalo and even New York City—but without
the success she had at first hoped for. For in the matter of
her appeal to the churches and the public—as most wearily
(and in secret if not to Clyde)—and after three weeks of
more or less regional and purely sectarian trying, she was
compelled to report the Christians at least were very
indifferent—not as Christian as they should be. For as all,
but more particularly the ministers of the region, since they
most guardedly and reservedly represented their
congregations in every instance, unanimously saw it, here
was a notorious and, of course, most unsavory trial which
had resulted in a conviction with which the more
conservative element of the country—if one could judge by
the papers at least, were in agreement.
Besides who was this woman—as well as her son? An
exhorter—a secret preacher—one, who in defiance of all
the tenets and processes of organized and historic, as well
as hieratic, religious powers and forms (theological
seminaries, organized churches and their affiliations and
product—all carefully and advisedly and legitimately
because historically and dogmatically interpreting the word
of God) choosing to walk forth and without ordination after
any fashion conduct an unauthorized and hence
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nondescript mission. Besides if she had remained at home,
as a good mother should, and devoted herself to her son,
as well as to her other children—their care and education—
would this—have happened?
And not only that—but according to Clyde’s own testimony
in this trial, had he not been guilty of adultery with this girl —
whether he had slain her or not? A sin almost equal to
murder in many minds. Had he not confessed it? And was
an appeal for a convicted adulterer—if not murderer (who
could tell as to that?) to be made in a church? No,—no
Christian church was the place to debate, and for a charge,
the merits of this case, however much each Christian of
each and every church might sympathize with Mrs. Griffiths
personally—or resent any legal injustice that might have
been done her son. No, no. It was not morally advisable. It
might even tend to implant in the minds of the young some
of the details of the crime.
Besides, because of what the newspapers had said of her
coming east to aid her son and the picture that she herself
presented in her homely garb, it was assumed by most
ministers that she was one of those erratic persons, not a
constituent of any definite sect, or schooled theology, who
tended by her very appearance to cast contempt on true
and pure religion.
And in consequence, each in turn—not hardening his heart
exactly—but thinking twice—and deciding no—there must
be some better way—less troublesome to Christians,—a
public hall, perhaps, to which Christians, if properly
appealed to through the press, might well repair. And so
Mrs. Griffiths, in all but one instance, rejected in that fashion
and told to go elsewhere—while in regard to the Catholics—
instinctively—because of prejudice—as well as a certain
dull wisdom not inconsistent with the facts—she failed even
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to so much as think of them. The mercies of Christ as
interpreted by the holder of the sacred keys of St. Peter, as
she knew, were not for those who failed to acknowledge
the authority of the Vicar of Christ.
And therefore after many days spent in futile knockings
here and there she was at last compelled—and in no little
depression, to appeal to a Jew who controlled the principal
moving picture theater of Utica—a sinful theater. And from
him, this she secured free for a morning address on the
merits of her son’s case—“A mother’s appeal for her son,” it
was entitled—which netted her, at twenty-five cents per
person—the amazing sum of two hundred dollars. At first
this sum, small as it was, so heartened her that she was
now convinced that soon—whatever the attitude of the
orthodox Christians—she would earn enough for Clyde’s
appeal. It might take time—but she would.
Nevertheless, as she soon discovered, there were other
factors to be considered—carfare, her own personal
expenses in Utica and elsewhere, to say nothing of certain
very necessary sums to be sent to Denver to her husband,
who had little or nothing to go on at present, and who,