“I’m okay.” The pain in Jordy’s eyes made him look five years older than yesterday. “I keep thinking if I’d been a little more serious. If I’d forced him not to go. I could’ve convinced him to just stay with me and go to the Halloween party.”
Wendell started to shake his head. “Son, you know that’s not—”
“I know...” Jordy placed his hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “I know it’s not my fault. I just... I wish I could’ve kept him here. That’s all.”
“Me, too.” Sometimes there were no answers.
“And you know what else?” Jordy’s lips lifted in the slightest smile. “I keep thinking about something. With or without the club, sadly Dwayne would still be gone. But now I’m sure he’s in heaven.”
Wendell knew it was true. But hearing the words from Jordy now gave them new meaning. The Raise the Bar club really was a matter of life or death. He’d been dealing all morning with kids who thought the club should’ve made a difference for Dwayne. If he was getting closer to Jesus he shouldn’t have gone to the gang fight.
But here... this was the truth. The club hadn’t saved Dwayne from getting shot. But his faith in Christ, the faith he’d learned and accepted at the meetings, had saved him from hell. Which could still be true for many of the kids at Hamilton High. The Raise the Bar club was a matter of life or death.
If not in this world, for the next.
“Son.” Wendell gave his boy another embrace. “You’ve given me something to take to my lawyer.”
The two said goodbye and fifteen minutes later, Wendell met up with Luke Baxter in the foyer of the court building. Wendell looked around as he walked inside. The place was beautiful. Complete with ornate columns and beveled window trim and ceilings that seemed to stretch up forever.
Luke was there, sitting on a bench against the back wall. He gave a serious nod and stood to greet Wendell. The two shook hands, and Luke spoke first. “I heard about your student. Dwayne Brown.” He hesitated. “So tough. I’m sorry.”
“Yes. Long day.” Wendell could still hear his son’s words. He managed a slight smile, picturing Dwayne in heaven. “That boy found Jesus at our club. He’s in heaven now.”
“Well.” Luke nodded. “If that’s not something worth fighting for, I don’t know what is.”
Wendell patted him on the back as they headed for the courtroom. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Luke had already gone over the details. There would be no hearing today, just jury selection. Dozens of potential jurors would be gathered in the courtroom. Others would be on hand in case they were needed.
Wendell would simply watch while Luke did his work. If Luke were a very great artist, then this was the part of the process where he gathered his paints. He had told Wendell he already knew what types of jurors he wanted on the panel. Now it was a matter of finding them.
Luke had already submitted questions, as had Eli Landsford. Wendell had done his research. According to the Indiana Rules of Court, section 47-D, questions must be submitted ahead of time. Questions Judge Wells would ask the entire panel of possible jurors.
The questions were pretty obvious. Landsford asked: Have you ever been a pastor or worked on the staff of a church? Or from Luke: Have you ever filed suit against a person or entity because of the First Amendment establishment clause?
General questions like that.
The more specific questions would come during the lawyer questioning, when each attorney would have three peremptory challenges—a chance to eliminate a juror for any reason whatsoever. Because it was a civil case they needed only six jurors and four alternates.
Once the judge finished, Wendell watched Luke ask the jury pool a number of questions, and Landsford did the same. Luke had said he was looking for average Americans with a sense of faith and family. Hardworking citizens who might be more likely to appreciate the benefit of the Raise the Bar club.
If Luke had his way, a majority of the jurors would be black—like Wendell. More sympathetic that way.
Landsford was clearly looking for a different type of juror. Single people living in the city, or married people with no children. At least it seemed that way based on the questions he was asking. He wanted people with liberal politics and an opposition to anything remotely Christian. People who didn’t own Bibles or better yet, found them offensive.
Halfway through the process, Landsford was still pacing in front of the jury, eyeing them like a caged tiger hungry for dinner. As if the jurors were somehow on trial.
“What is your church experience, Mr. Janson?” Landsford asked a man who seemed to be in his late forties.
“Not much church experience. Except when I was young.” The man looked uneasy in the hardback wooden chair provided for the occasion.
“What experience did you have when you were young?”
“My parents divorced. They said we kids didn’t have to go to church if we didn’t want to.” He shrugged. “We didn’t want to.”
Landsford looked at the judge. “Acceptable juror, Your Honor.”
Luke still had two peremptory challenges. He stood, confident. “The defense would like to challenge.”
