Free Blessed Child by Ted Dekker Page A

we’ve established that Caleb speaks English, haven’t we, Caleb?” Jason asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
    The boy looked at the back of his head but did not respond.
    Jason tapped the mirror. “Caleb?”
    He looked up, saw Jason’s image, and smiled.
    â€œFather Matthew taught you English?”
    Caleb didn’t answer. Why, Jason didn’t understand, but the boy just looked out the window, presumably distracted by a huge tractor-trailer that rolled by on their left. The boy muttered something in Ge’ez and fell silent.
    â€œHe’ll be in shock for days,” Leiah said quietly.
    â€œI don’t understand. He spoke so clearly this morning. I mean it wasn’t just broken English, but proper English, like last night.”
    â€œSo he speaks proper English. That doesn’t mean he speaks more than a few dozen words. Either way he’s like a fish out of water.”
    Jason glanced at the boy’s image in the mirror. He was growing rather used to the idea of having him along. Nostalgic, even. Maybe Caleb was bringing something out in him: a sense of purpose that he’d buried with Stephen.
    At first sight the large Orthodox church looked like something that belonged in an encyclopedia under the subject of religion rather than on the streets of Burbank, California. The circular drive swept by a crystal-clear pond complete with splashing fountain and large orange carp before running under a causeway in front of the entrance. The lawns were manicured and the palm trees carefully placed to give symmetry to the landscaping. Towering brickwork supported huge bright blue dormers on either side of the entrance. But it was the copper dome arching over the otherwise square structure that gave it the religious feel. These boys knew how to put their money where their hearts were.
    Jason parked the Bronco in a visitor’s slot and climbed out. They were late, judging by the hundreds of cars sitting quietly in the lot. He walked around to help Caleb out, but the boy had already found his way to the asphalt and was crossing to the large dome.
    â€œCaleb, hold up.” Jason glanced at Leiah and they hurried after the boy. “Well, he recognizes something.”
    â€œOf course he does. The dome. I feel underdressed.”
    â€œYou’ll be fine. We’ll slip in the back and sneak out early.”
    â€œYou ever been in an Orthodox church like this?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMe neither. I really feel underdressed.”
    The foyer was lined with Greek pillars rising twenty feet to support a ceiling painted in gold leaf. Leiah rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder. They passed a large writing desk that reminded Jason of a concierge’s station, and the man who peered past his bifocals at their entry seemed to fit the part. A business manager perhaps. Someone had to keep the coffers full.
    The door leading into the sanctuary was at least ten feet tall and made of solid oak. Jason pulled a brass handle three times the size of his hand and ushered Leiah and the boy through it. He followed them and let the door close softly behind him.
    Nothing could have quite prepared him for the atmosphere that met him. The dome spanned over them in brilliant gold, divided in a dozen sections, each section framing huge paintings of robed men with eyes too large for their faces. Presumably Christ and his disciples. The rectangular walls were covered in a burgundy velvet cloth. Three huge crystal chandeliers, glittering with a hundred bright lights, hung over the sanctuary. The sight was enough to stop all three of them for a moment.
    A rich scent filled Jason’s nostrils—an incense Jason didn’t recognize or possibly the smell of the candles blazing on the platform. Every detail was in perfect order; not a soul moved from their place. The congregation was seated in long pews on either side of the plush aisle at their feet. They sat like puppets, fixated on