A Kingsbury Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  His mother, his sister … and a girl he had never quite been able to forget.

  A girl named Faith.

  3

  Faith Evans checked her look in the mirror and made certain every strand of her long, blond hair was tucked neatly into the knot at the back of her head. Dick Baker, the station manager at the WKZN affiliate where she worked, had frowned on her hair from the beginning, giving her two options: cut it or wear it up. “Makes you look too young,” he’d grumbled. “Don’t make me work to justify having you on the air, Evans.”

  Faith had seen other anchors with hair similar to hers—halfway to their waists—but the issue wasn’t worth arguing about. Besides, she was under enough scrutiny already.

  She made her way back to the soundstage, but before taking her place she saw one of the associate producers. “It’s Wednesday … are we running the special?”

  The man stopped what he was doing and stared at her, unblinking. “Special?”

  “Wednesday’s Child. Remember?” Faith held her breath. This segment was especially important. He had to include it in the lineup.

  She’d started the Wednesday’s Child program six months earlier and used her own time to put together the two-minute segments. Each one highlighted a special-needs child who was up for adoption through the state’s social services department. So far more than half the children featured had been adopted, and more than once her boss had said the program was a success. But without her constant reminders, the station executives tended to forget the segment altogether.

  “So what’re we talking?” A tired look crossed the man’s face. “One minute, two?”

  Faith kept her frustration in check. “Two.”

  He checked his chart. “Okay, immediately after sports.”

  “Thanks.” Faith felt the familiar surge of hope. There were reasons for her attachment to the state’s homeless children. Reasons that went far beyond good citizenship or Christian character. Faith headed back across the soundstage and eased herself onto the stool opposite the one where Ron Leonard already sat studying his notes. Okay, Lord, these next thirty minutes are for You … help me make You proud. “You ready?” She smiled the question at her coanchor.

  Ron was fifteen years older and his position anchoring for the Philadelphia station had clearly been a demotion for him. Generally his mood reflected that truth and tonight was no exception. Rather than answer, he bunched his eyebrows together and looked hard at his watch. “When the producer says 10:45, he means 10:45. Not 10:47.”

  Faith swallowed. “Thank you, Ron. I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Her voice held not a trace of sarcasm. She respected Ron and knew he was right. Every minute counted. “I had to check on the Wednesday’s Child segment.”

  Ron’s shoulders dropped several inches. “It’s not on the schedule.”

  “I guess we should write it in. Two minutes, right after sports.”

  A heavy sigh escaped through Ron’s clenched teeth. “We’re a news station, not a church.”

  Faith ignored his comment and studied her notes. In many ways she was marked by her beliefs and the fact that she was Bob Moses’ daughter. It was why she’d agreed to use her middle name at work. Faith Evans. Bob Moses was well known locally and by using Faith’s middle name, her boss hoped viewers wouldn’t identify her as religious or one-sided.

  It was something he had worried about since the day he hired her.

  Before that first newscast Dick pulled her aside and gave her a warning she remembered to this day: “The viewers may not know who you are, but I do. Bob Moses is a visible person with extreme religious views.” He’d tapped his pencil on his desk. “I like your work, Evans, but the executives expect me to keep my anchors in line. This station is not a pulpit for you to preach your doctrine, do you hear me?”

  Faith had been shocked by his warning. After four years at Penn State and five years working her way up the ladder as a sports reporter, Faith had still believed there was fairness in reporting. But in the two years since taking the position as nighttime news anchor, there were many times when she’d seen otherwise. Too often stories that favored a conservative, Christian worldview were cut or changed or balanced with opposing interviews that lasted longer and sounded more professional. It was as though the executives had mandated a certain politically correct response for most news topics, and the station manager’s role was to see that response carried out.

  Occasionally a child’s outstanding achievement or the way a family survived a personal tragedy might be worthy of a news story, but not without heavy editing. Stories along those lines tended to feature Christians who attributed their success or survival to God, but rarely did their statements of belief make the final televised piece.

  There wasn’t much Faith could do about it. It was an industry rule that anchors and reporters be unbiased in their work. It was written that way in her contract. If she used her visible position in any way other than to report the news without opinion, it was grounds for dismissal. She knew the rules and she had no intention of breaking them. Not with all that had happened over the last few years.

  “Three minutes … ” The off-stage warning caused Faith to sit straighter in her seat as she memorized the story order. Ron had the first segment: Gunman takes a hostage. She had the next one: budget cuts at the city hospital. Two more follow-up segments, including cutaways to taped interviews, and they’d have their first commercial break. One more eight-minute news segment with additional footage, another commercial break, weather, and then sports.

  “Three, two, one … and … go!” The voice stopped abruptly as intense, upbeat music filled the soundstage. Faith and Ron adjusted themselves on their seats and sorted briefly through their individual stacks of paper as they faced the camera, serious expressions in place.

  “A gunman takes three hostages in a shootout today that left one local man dead and another critically injured … ” Ron’s voice was crisp and upbeat with the polish that comes from years of working the cameras.

  “And good news for the city hospital. Budget woes may be over but at whose expense …?” On cue Faith glanced at Ron.

  “Good evening everyone, I’m Ron Leonard.”

  Back at the camera. “And I’m Faith Evans. Welcome to tonight’s edition of WKZN News.”

  Faith angled her head toward Ron and he kicked in with precision timing. “A burst of gunfire ripped through a family home in the two-thousand block of Westchester Avenue this morning as an escaped convict broke in and took three people hostage. We have more on that from Alicia Rodriguez who was there at the scene.” A thirty-second segment filled the screen with live reports and statements from family members. Faith and Ron checked the story order again and prepared once more to go live.

  The newscast continued without a hitch, and Faith prayed between stories for the little girl in tonight’s Wednesday’s Child segment. Rosa Lee, a six-year-old biracial Asian sweetheart abandoned by her parents at birth and shuffled through five foster homes since then. She was legally free for adoption but she had a problem: She had been born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left: hand.

  Faith had spent an afternoon with Rosa and her social worker over the weekend, amazed at how well the child worked to compensate for her handicap. Even so, the missing fingers were another strike against her. Chances were Rosa might never be adopted, unless God used the news segment to touch someone’s heart.

  Ben Bloom, the weatherman, was wrapping up.

  Lord, prepare the right person’s heart even now … Faith loved talking to God even in the middle of a newscast. It was something her dad had taught her when she was only a child. Father, please … find a home for little Rosa, please.

  A brief commercial break ended and the sports segment began. Chase Wilson was a former college athlete with model-like looks, a beautiful wife, and three children. He was in his early thirties, and rumor was the network had plans to move him into the national spotlight sometime soon. Women viewers often wro
te to the station saying Chase was the reason they tuned in at all. He smiled and began talking into the camera.

  “We’ve got baseball scores from around the league and stories from NFL camps, but before we get to that we have breaking news on a player out of Dallas. Tight end Mike Dillan’s name is back in court tonight after two women—longtime friends—filed paternity suits claiming he was the father of both their children.”

  Faith felt the blood drain from her face. Mike Dillan? Not tonight … she couldn’t think about him now. But images of the rugged athlete filled her mind as Chase continued.

  “The women claim he impregnated both of them at a party three years ago.… ”

  Three years ago? That was when she and Mike …

  Faith forced herself to remain in position and prayed that she didn’t look as shaken as she felt.

  The monitor showed taped footage of Coach Graves at a press conference admonishing Mike Dillan and any other player who continued to act irresponsibly.

  Faith struggled to focus while Chase finished and looked first at her and then at Ron, a casual smile draped across his face. “Exciting time of year in sports … ”

  Ron straightened a stack of papers and tapped them on his desk as he grinned at Chase. “Days of October right around the corner.”

  Faith lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows in a manner intended to be teasing and lighthearted. She doubted she was fooling anyone, including the viewers. Everyone in Philadelphia probably knew about her and Mike. “Doesn’t look like my Mets’ll be anywhere near a field by then.”

  Chase chuckled and flashed a handsome smile in her direction. “That’s the nice thing about August. Everybody has a chance. Even your Mets, Faith.”

  A round of easy laughter died out, and Faith took the cue as the camera zoomed in on her. Focus, Faith, focus. “Each week for the past six months we’ve been bringing you a segment called Wednesday’s Child, highlighting special-needs children who are up for adoption in Philadelphia’s social services system. Tonight we take a look at six-year-old Rosa Lee.”

  Saxophones led the way as the haunting strains of a child’s lullaby filled the station and faded into the laughter of children playing at Jericho Park. Rosa was living with a foster family in Bethany, and the park was her favorite place to play. Faith noticed that the cameraman had avoided the hundred-year-old Jesus statue, anchored just to the right of the play area.

  Throughout the piece, a phone number remained on the screen for viewers interested in adopting Rosa. Faith watched the monitor as the camera panned in past the other children and settled on the dark-haired little beauty. Mike Dillan forgotten, Faith again savored the child’s giggles as she’d done over the weekend when they’d been together for the interview. From the moment she met Rosa, Faith had felt captured by her, desperate to find her a family. Faith heard her own voice begin to sound over the footage.

  “Rosa Lee’s life has never been easy. Not since the morning her mother abandoned her on the steps of a Philadelphia hospital days after her birth.” The camera zoomed out from Faith strolling the park grounds, her face serious, eyes on the camera, to Rosa running alongside three other children, chasing butterflies across the park’s grassy hillside. An edit showed the same children eating a picnic lunch and a close-in shot gave the television audience a first glimpse of Rosa’s deformed hand. “Rosa was born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left hand, making her one of thousands of special-needs children up for adoption across the United States.”

  The monitor showed Rosa brushing the crumbs from her play clothes and running back to the swings and slides. “Rosa will always have special needs, but don’t tell her that. When it comes to using her hands, she’s more determined than most kids twice her age.”

  The footage showed Rosa using a pencil, catching a ball, and playing tennis at the city courts. The segment finally cut to Rosa, her head tilted, long silky eyelashes batting shyly at Faith as they sat together on a park bench. “ … A mommy who’ll stay with me forever. That’s what I want.”

  What?

  From where Faith sat staring at her monitor she felt the piercing sting of betrayal. Someone had gotten to the segment and edited out the first part of Rosa’s statement. She remembered how the girl’s words had pierced her heart when she’d smiled and said, “I’m praying for a mommy who’ll stay with me forever. That’s what I want.”

  God, I can’t fight this battle anymore …

  Be strong and courageous, daughter. I will go before you in the battle you are about to fight.

  What battle? The muscles in her stomach tightened at the thought. Had she correctly heard the still small voice she knew so well? I can’t fight the system. Lord … You must be thinking of someone else.

  Be strong daughter. The battle belongs to Me.

  Faith felt the reassuring presence of the Lord and her anger eased. It’s so unfair, Father …

  How could the station allow references to everything but a person’s faith in God? And how could that be considered unbiased reporting when it was nothing but biased. Bias and censorship, pure and simple, and though Faith was not a fighter, it made her tempted to take a more vocal stand for her beliefs.

  The footage of Rosa faded to a still shot of the child swinging high in the air against a deep blue sky, her eyes sparkling with love and hope and light. The camera angled back in on Faith live in the studio.

  “Rosa is an Asian biracial child who is currently available for adoption to anyone with a valid home study. If you’re interested in adopting this precious little one call the number at the bottom of your screen and someone will help you through the process.” She glanced at her prompt and looked pleasantly at her partner. “Ron?”

  “We’ll take a break for a moment, but when we come back, a look at Julia Roberts’s box-office hit, Where Yesterday Lives.”

  Faith nodded. “Bring a box of tissues for this one … ”

  The break played out, and in five minutes the newscast was over.

  “That’s a wrap,” a director yelled from behind the camera. “See ya tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”

  A technician flipped a series of switches to cut the studio bright lights and stop the whir of the cameras just as Ron’s smile faded. Right on cue. Faith watched, somewhat amazed. It was almost as though her partner’s facial expressions were on the same electrical current as the camera equipment.

  Faith studied him as he turned to leave. “See ya, Ron.”

  He held a hand up in her direction, not even looking back. At least he’s a good actor. She turned and was headed for her purse and car keys when Dick Baker caught her attention. “Come here, Faith. I need a word with you.”

  She felt the familiar knot in her stomach. What had she done now? Had he read her mind and known she was praying just to survive the half hour? Could he see on her face the way Mike Dillan’s name had made her feel? She approached him and felt the corner of her lips raise a fraction of an inch. “Yes?”

  Mr. Baker was in his sixties, a gruff, hardcore veteran of television news determined to gain the favor of the network executives. For the most part Faith thought he was her ally, a professional who appreciated the quality of her work. But there were times when whatever pressure he must have been getting from the higher-ups took it’s toll and turned him into a tyrant.

  Faith had a feeling this was about to be one of those times.

  She had only seen his soft side once—after her father’s heart attack the month before. The station covered the story, portraying her father in a flattering light, stating that he died chasing after his life’s passion: maintaining rights for the people of Pennsylvania and the United States. Mr. Baker himself had helped edit the story, making sure it included the fact that Bob Moses was survived by a wife, Betty, and two daughters—one of which was their very own Faith Evans.

  The man standing before her now looked far less compassionate. “Haven’t we warned you about references to prayer?” His words sounded as
if they were leaking from a pressure cooker.

  Faith was tempted to look ignorant, but instead she folded her arms and maintained eye contact with her boss. “Yes. But that wasn’t my reference, it was—”

  “Let me finish!” Mr. Baker’s face was a mass of angry knots. “If I hadn’t checked that Wednesday’s Child segment first it would have aired that way, with that girl sharing her private prayers for all the world to hear.”

  Faith felt her face grow hot. “It’s what she wanted to—”

  Mr. Baker raised his hand. “Don’t speak. I’m not done.” His head was nearly bald, and in his frustration it had grown damp with sweat. “We’ve been over this before, Evans. It’s bad enough that our Bethany viewers know your religious stance. But surely you understand the network execs know about it, too. ‘Watch her, Baker,’ they tell me.” He shook his head and a choked, sarcastic huff escaped him. “And to tell you the truth I try, Evans, honest I do. You know why I had to fix that segment?”

  “No, sir, it didn’t need fixing if you’d—”

  Her boss gave a quick shake of his head and glared at her. “I’m not finished! If I hadn’t made that cut that would have been five God stories in two weeks. Five, for cryin? out loud, Evans. Your stories include mentions of God and prayer ten times more than the stories from other reporters. If that doesn’t change, you and I both know the executives will talk.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You remember that contract you signed?” He paused, but not long enough for her to answer. “You start giving biased reports, and if I don’t fire you the network executives will fire me. It’s that simple.”

  His voice was louder than before, and Faith noticed various cameramen and technical staff members scurrying off the soundstage. “Do I make myself clear?”

  Faith had to fight back tears.