Also he wanted to get a feel for the residents’ heart on the issue, whether they were tired of the battle or willing to go the distance to see their statue standing proudly the way it had stood for a hundred years prior.
Two minutes into the newscast, he could see that none of the city's supporters were losing their fervor. If anything, their numbers had grown, making the crowd a considerable force as they marched around the park while workers erected the ply-wood wall. Every station carried several sound bites from Faith and featured her in much of the taped footage. In several shots Joshua saw a little Asian girl at Faith's side, a child no older than five or six who looked at Faith with wide, adoring eyes. He tried to remember where he'd seen her before and it hit him.
She was the little girl featured a few weeks back on the Wednesday's Child program, the one Faith had hosted. Obviously Faith's love for the girl went beyond her role as an interested reporter. He watched as Faith's face filled the screen and a reporter asked her whether the battle of Jericho Park was worth losing her job over.
“Recently I've come to understand that there's nothing more important, more sacred than your convictions.” She smiled in a way that was contagious among the reporters, disarming them, Joshua noticed, before they might realize what was happening. “I believe the people have a right to their statue… our statue. Even if it does depict the central figure in the Christian faith. This is the kind of battle that's worth fighting.” She smiled again, a smile void of animosity “My father taught me that.”
There was something about Faith's openhearted smile that touched Joshua deeply As though she held no anger toward the people at HOUR or the station manager who had fired her, but rather a deep compassion. It was not something that could be faked, and Joshua knew it was the same love for people her father had carried in his heart during his days battling for reli-gious freedom.
The camera moved in on Faith once more as she bent to give the little girl a hug, and suddenly Joshua was struck by Faith's beauty. Oh, Bob, if you could see her now… Lord if You could let him know… How proud his old partner would have been of his daughter. Little Faith, all grown up. Joshua thought back and in his mind he saw her as a girl, running across the backyard with the other kids during a family barbecue. Now she was poised and confident, filled with a peace that Joshua knew could only come from one source.
The segment drew to a close, but the image of Faith remained in Joshua's heart.
She was simply breathtaking, both in appearance and in the purity of her convictions. He leaned back into the sofa and won-dered if somewhere in New York City, Jordan Riley was watching the same newscast. And whether the attorney's desire to see the Jesus statue removed could possibly be stronger than the feelings he must be having for the very special young woman who'd once been his friend.
A woman who had risked everything to see the statue remain standing.
Nineteen
Jordan flipped off the television and stretched out on his leather sofa, his hands folded beneath his head. The news-cast had clearly favored Faith, and that surprised him. Normally the media would take HOUR'S side and make a woman like Faith look fanatic. Instead they'd given her ample time to share her point of view and done nothing to contradict it. The fact that the local networks had footage of the wall going up only made Faith look more like the persecuted victim.
The overall effect was that justice had been thwarted, not meted out on the public's behalf.
Jordan replayed the images of Faith again in his mind and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He knew he should be angry What right did the people of Bethany have to demand a statue of Jesus Christ remain standing in a public park? A ripple of frustration worked its way down his spine, but only a ripple. Normally he'd be furious with the way the story was handled, ready to hold a press conference the next day with the walled-up statue in the background, and slam every angle Faith had chosen to discuss.
Instead the only reason he wanted to go back to Bethany was to find Faith and tell her what a great job she'd done, how suc-cessfully she'd managed to articulate her point of view without looking like a religious fundamentalist. He caught himself grin-ning again at the memory of her poise, of the beauty that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside. What was it about her that had worked its way so thoroughly into his heart? And why was it happening now, when they were on opposite sides of a national legal battle?
The phone rang, and Jordan blinked back the images of Faith. It was nearly seven o'clock and he'd been so caught up in the newscast he hadn't even considered fixing dinner.
“Hello.”
“Jordan, it's T. J.” His friend sounded nervous, and an alarm sounded in the sensory panel of Jordan's mind. Ever since the hearing the week before things had been strange at the office, as though people were carrying around some kind of secret and Jordan was the only one not in the loop. He'd tried to dismiss the feelings, chock it up to the fact that he had a lot going on. But the signs that something wasn't right continued.
He sat up. “What's up?”
“I'm at the office still and…well, a bunch of us saw the Philadelphia news a few minutes ago.”
A bunch of them? “What, Teej, a party and I wasn't invited?” He did his best to sound casual, but his concern rose a notch. Why were they so interested in his case? And why hadn't they included him?
T. J.'s brief laugh sounded hollow.” Not a party, just a chance to see how the local media's playing the story”
“Let me guess…there aren't a lot of smiles in the room.” Jordan intentionally kept his tone light, not wanting to validate T. J's seriousness.
“Well… uh, Mr. Hawkins is here, and the other partners. They wanted me to call and see if you'd watched it.”
“Yeah, I watched it. So what do they want me to do? Put a contract on the girl?”
There was silence on the other end.” They're not laughing, Jordan.” T J. had lowered his voice, and Jordan figured the oth-ers in the room had resumed talking. “The coverage was bad.”
Jordan sighed, raking the fingers of his free hand over his knee. “I saw it, remember? I know it was bad. How does that involve me?”
Voices in the background grew louder and for a moment there was no one on the other line. Then, “Riley, this is Hawkins.”
Jordan hung his head. Why were they so relentless this time around? Wasn't it like any other issue HOUR battled? Jordan's insides squirmed as though he'd developed an ant farm deep in his gut. Something just didn't add up… “Hey Mr. Hawkins, I guess you saw the news?”
“That girl is killing us, Riley. She must be stopped.”
Jordan released a sound that was part exasperation, part chuckle. “She has a right to be interviewed by the press, sir. You understand that, right?”
“So where's our presence, Riley? Why're you back here in New York while those religious do-gooders take up the entire six o'clock news?”
Jordan stood and paced toward a large window that over-looked swarming city streets far below. His stomach churned and he realized he'd lost his appetite. “Have you checked my case-load, sir? The Jesus statue isn't the only case I'm working on.”
There was a pause. “Well, it is now I'll get someone else on your other matters. Starting tomorrow I want you in Bethany, Pennsylvania, making yourself available to the. media and seeing that this thing gets turned around.” Hawkins voice was a study in controlled fury, and again Jordan was struck by a sense of incon-gruity What did they want? There were walls around the statue, weren't there? Besides, HOUR would carry on whether the Jesus statue stood or not. After all, he was the one who'd found it in the first place. How had it suddenly taken top precedence at the firm? “Fine. I'll pack tonight and leave first thing in the morning.”
Hawkins seemed only slightly appeased by Jordan's answer. “We want a press conference tomorrow afternoon, a victory state-ment, something the rest of us can identify with.”
Jordan leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the win-do
w Why had he ever become an attorney in the first place? He should have been a fireman like his buddy Chip from the boys’ camp. Fighting fires had to be less stressful than this. “Yes, sir… I'll schedule it as soon as I'm in town.”
Hawkins uttered what Jordan figured was supposed to be a sigh, but it sounded more like the hiss of a snake. “You won't let us down, will you, Riley?”
No one had ever asked him that before, ever doubted that he gave everything to his work. Jordan felt his face contort as he tried to make sense of Hawkins's comment. “Of course not, sir. I'm the one who found this case, remember?”
“That's true.” Finally there was a degree of confidence in Hawkins's tone. “And when it's over there'll be a bonus in it for you, Riley. Keep that in mind.”
“A bonus?” The partners got healthy bonuses at the end of every year, and now and then a productive attorney, one who billed out more hours than his peers, might see a small bonus as well. But no one he knew had ever been offered a bonus for a single case.
“Ten thousand dollars, Riley. You get a permanent wall, ten feet high, around that statue and you earn yourself ten grand.” He paused while the figures sank in. “Have I made myself clear?”
Jordan straightened and felt the blood drain from his face. Whatever had happened, it apparently involved a third party. A very wealthy, very influential third party. One that wanted the Jesus statue gone as badly as every attorney at the HOUR organi-zation.
Jordan dismissed his earlier thoughts of Faith and pondered what Hawkins said. His eyes closed as he imagined what sort of deal might be hinging on this case. Bonus or not, he had to give everything to the battle now. The fight was more fierce than ever, and he was directly at the center of it. He nodded his head slowly, as though trying to convince himself of the words he was about to say.
“Yes, sir. Perfectly clear.”
“Very good. Then you won't let us down.” It wasn't a question.
Ten thousand dollars? Jordan opened his eyes, a new determi-nation pulsing through him. “No, sir, I won't let you down.”
In the executive offices of HOUR, Hawkins hung up the phone and smiled at the others. “I think I've convinced him.”
One of the older men wrinkled his eyebrows together and shook his head. “Riley's nothing but a boy. We've got ourselves national interest in this case, and I think you men know what I'm talking about. It's time to hand it over to T J.”
T. J. uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his seat. “Jordan's my friend…I could help him and not make him too suspicious.”
Hawkins sat on the edge of the desk and considered that. “Everyone in this room knows what we're talking about. A mil-lion dollars, gentlemen. That's a hundred thousand for each of the partners, twenty grand for T J.” He stared at his feet for a moment then back at the others. “The problem is Faith Evans. Without her, the people have no voice, no sense of organization.” He swore under his breath. “She's the one who bought the statue, after all.” His gaze shifted and he studied each of the men around him. “We need to silence her; it's that simple.”
T J. shifted in his seat and blinked. “Meaning?”
“Meaning I need you here. Let Jordan handle the matter in Bethany. I have friends at the national network level. I'll put you in touch with them. See if there's any interest in bringing her up to the network, get someone to call her. Maybe we can lure her away from this ridiculous park situation.”
T. J.'s eyes were wide, but he nodded.” Yes, sir, first thing in the morning.”
“And if that doesn't work…well, there are other ways.” Hawkins reached for a pencil and tapped it rapidly on the desk. “Find out who the little girl was. Maybe she's the key to Evans's conscience.”
“The little girl?”
Hawkins felt his lips curl ever so slightly “It's time to do what-ever it takes.” He glared at the others. “I will not have another public display of sympathy like we saw today. That statue is ours, am I making myself clear?”
There was a chorus of “yes, sirs” and a round of head nods.
They'd do as he said, Hawkins was sure. There was too much money riding on their success this time. And something else that only the partners would ever know about, something all the money in the world couldn't buy.
A four-year commitment of support from a primary team of very influential advisors. Advisors to a politician with more politi-cal power than anyone at HOUR had ever dreamed of having.
There was no way one crusading woman was going to cost them that.
Jordan finished packing and set his suitcase out in the hallway. It was a cool night, bordering on cold, and Jordan found his old parka, the one he used to use when he and his college buddies would go camping in upstate New York. It felt good on his arms, lighter and less confining than the suit jackets. He took the stairs down and welcomed the burst of fresh air as he strode out onto Twelfth Street and headed toward Second Avenue.
The air might not have been country fresh, but it was better than the boxy feeling he was getting in his apartment. The con-versation with Hawkins, his promises and implied threats, played over again and again in Jordan's head, but after five minutes of walking the images changed. In their place Faith's face returned to haunt him. It was a sure bet her nights weren't spent walking city streets… How had she been fortunate enough to land a career that kept her in Bethany?
Then like a brick it hit him: Because of him, she no longer had a job. The thought settled like week-old pizza in his stom-ach, and he quickened his pace.
All around him the city hummed with activity, and Jordan suddenly longed for the nights when he would ride his bike to Jericho Park. Nights when the only sound was the whirring of his spoked wheels and the wind in the giant maple trees. Sometimes it had been so quiet at the park he could have sworn he heard the moon rising in the sky above him.
If only his mother hadn't died.
He thought of her now, her gentle spirit and loving touch. The way she had imparted to him her sense of wonder over a waxing crescent moon or a singing blue jay in flight or the dis-tinctly vibrant colors in a monarch butterfly. It was no wonder there were times when Jordan thought he might suffocate if he lived another day in the city. With his mother, every day had a magical quality, a sort of expectancy that something small and ordinary would become a miracle. Jordan kept his pace steady and turned the corner, heading down another endless street, stepping over the occasional drunk passed out against the side of a building. The city air had a pungent smell to it, a mixture of rotten garbage, exhaust fumes, and air pollution that never went away It made him miss the freshness of small-town air in a way he hadn't for years.
Jordan stared up at the sliver of sky between the converging buildings. When Faith's family had told them about Jesus, it had been as though everything in life finally made sense. Jesus had created everything, from the small wonders to the magnificent landscapes, all of it for their enjoyment. But there was more; He'd created them as well and best of all, He had a plan for them to spend eternity with Him. All of it had been so believable.
Jordan stuffed his hands in the pockets of the parka and con-tinued down the street. How blissfully peaceful those early days had been, back when it not only made sense to believe that way, but the Jesus rhetoric actually seemed true. A city park appeared in the distance, and Jordan headed for it. It wasn't grand like Central Park, or anything even close to resembling the quaint ambiance of Jericho Park. But it was a patch of grass with trees that might, for a few hours, help Jordan forget he was trapped in a city where butterflies and crescent moons didn't seem to exist.
He made his way across the street and found a bench. In the recesses of his mind he knew it wasn't the safest thing—hanging out in a park at this late hour in the heart of New York City—but he didn't care. Besides, the way he felt inside, his face was bound to scare away any unwanted company. He settled into the bench and stared straight ahead at a sickly tree struggling skyward. As gentle and loving as his mother had been, the end
had been awful. A nightmare that no matter how many years passed Jordan couldn't forget.
Eventually the cancer moved to her lungs. As a thirteen-year-old boy he hadn't understood what was happening, but it made sense now. It started in her breast, moved into her lymph system, and wound up killing her when it took over her lungs. That was the only way he could explain her cough. Those last two weeks before she died, his mother coughed in a way that still sickened him today.
He and Heidi would be doing their homework at the kitchen table and they'd hear their mother wake up in her bedroom upstairs. At first she'd cough lightly, a few times, then a few more. After a minute or so, she'd be hacking so hard Jordan remembered fearing for her life. He'd jump from his chair, grab a cup of water, and rush to her room.
“Mom, are you okay?”
There she'd be, perched on the edge of the bed, little more than a skeleton. Her hair gathered in one hand, the other over her mouth, she'd cough with a convulsing force that sent her nose almost crashing into her knees. “Yes, Jordan…I'm okay… don't… worry about me.”
He'd step from side to side, helpless, watching her, wanting to do something but knowing there was nothing he could do. Then she'd point to the floor. Her bowl. She wanted her bowl. He'd grab it as quickly as he could and hand it to her and although she'd eaten no dinner, although she'd probably eaten nothing all day, her coughing would turn to dry heaves.
“It's okay, Mom, I'm here.” He'd stand beside her, rubbing her back and hiding the tears that made their way down his face. Once in a while Heidi would appear at the door, her eyes wide with fear.
He'd hold his finger to his lips, knowing that their mother was unaware of Heidi's presence. “Shh…it's okay,” he'd mouth the words to his sister. “Go back downstairs.”
No matter how long the spasmodic episode lasted, Jordan would stay there, putting his fingers over hers, helping her hold the hair off her face. When it was over, when her body finally released her to lie back down, Jordan would hurry to the bath-room and get a cool cloth for her forehead. “It's okay, Mom. It's all over. You're going to be all right.”
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