A Kingsbury Collection

by Karen Kingsbury

  The reality was Joshua had been able to find only two cases that even remotely upheld the idea that the Jesus statue should remain standing in Jericho Park, but he played them for all they were worth. One case involved a cross anchored on a hill that was—technically—part of the Texas state park system. It was also, however, a landmark by which those traveling the interstate could determine how far they’d traveled and how much time remained on their journey. Ultimately it was deemed more of a landmark than a religious icon, and the courts allowed it to stand.

  The other case centered on the town of Camp Verde, Arizona, and an annual Christmas parade that culminated in a float depicting a living nativity scene. The parade entry included Mary, Joseph, an actual baby playing the part of Jesus, and an assortment of donkeys and sheep being tended along the parade route by Boy Scouts in shepherd garb. Since the parade was sponsored by the city, someone cried foul one year and filed a lawsuit requesting that the religious parade entry be excluded from the procession. After much bantering back and forth, a state court judge ruled that the parade was—in nature—organized around a Christmas theme, and that Christmas was, inherently, a celebration of Jesus Christ’s birth. Therefore it was within the city’s legal bounds to include in its Christmas parade the nativity scene, and the float was allowed to stay, right down to the babe in swaddling clothes.

  Joshua did his best to make these cases look similar to the one involving Jericho Park. He played up the fact that government groups were involved in both cases and remained intentionally vague on his comparisons that a landmark and a Christmas float were almost exactly the same thing as having a Jesus statue in the center of a public park.

  But as he spoke, even Joshua could hear the gaping holes in his argument. It was one thing to have a directional landmark or a holiday-themed parade entry. Joshua simply had no precedent demonstrating a city’s right to maintain a religious presence on public property for no apparent reason. The landmark case was the most similar and the night before he’d decided to hammer on that one more than the other. Now as he neared the end of his remarks, that’s exactly what he did.

  “Your Honor, the people of Bethany use the Jesus statue as a meeting spot. They talk about it as though it were part of the town’s landscape. Generations of Bethany citizens have held annual picnics around the base of the statue and found comfort in the fact that though things change with time, the statue remains. It stands regardless.”

  He set his notes down and faced the judge again. “It is our opinion that the Jesus statue is as much a landmark as the cross that stood in the publicly owned hills of Texas. We ask that you make a decision allowing it to stand. Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Joshua caught Faith’s weak smile as he sat down. Was his case that lacking? Come on, God … make it happen. He winked at Faith, turned and took his seat.

  The judge looked from Joshua’s table to that of the plaintiff and leaned forward. “This court will recess for ten minutes while I consider both arguments. We will meet back here at ten-fifteen at which time I will give my decision.”

  Frank Furlong and several members of Bethany’s city council surrounded Joshua, patting him on the back and assuring him he’d done a fantastic job. But Joshua thought their remarks seemed canned, contrived—as though they were trying to convince themselves of something that suddenly seemed almost impossible.

  A noise began to build outside, and Joshua turned toward the window. People covered the grounds below, some of them carrying signs that read, Stay out of our park and It’s HOUR statue. Many of them marched peacefully, while others formed prayer circles. Joshua watched, and the pressure he felt nearly suffocated him. He shuddered and turned back to the others. “You were right.” He looked at Frank. “At least a thousand.”

  Frank and the others joined Joshua at the window, and the men watched as the group formed a single line and began marching around the lawn, singing what sounded like a hymn. Frank flipped a lock on the window frame and lifted the glass so they could hear more clearly. Immediately their song became audible, the words ringing over the voices in the courtroom, stopping conversations and gradually causing some people to join in the song.

  “Great is Thy faithfulness, oh God my Father. There is no shadow of turning with Thee. Thou changest not, Thy compassions they fail not … as Thou has been Thou forever will be.… ”

  Joshua felt tears stinging at his eyes and he blinked them back. The people were united in this, that much was sure. They didn’t know what the outcome would be but they agreed on one thing: God would be faithful. Suddenly the pressure he’d felt a moment earlier lifted. It wasn’t Joshua who would deliver victory to the people, but God. And whichever way the case went, He was in control. Faithful as He always had been, always would be.

  The song grew louder as more voices joined from among those in the audience. “Great is Thy faithfulness, great is Thy faithfulness, morning by morning new mercies I see. All I have needed, Thy hand hath provided. Great is Thy faithfulness … great is Thy faithfulness … great is Thy—”

  “Shut the window!”

  Joshua started and turned to find Judge Webster standing near the bench.

  “And stop singing! I will not stand for this type of disruption in my courtroom.” He sat down and fanned his robe around him in a huff of anger as the voices around him died off one by one.

  Joshua hurried back to his seat, certain deep in his gut that he’d lost the case.

  Back at the window, Frank hesitated long enough to show his frustration toward the judge. Then in an angry motion Frank slammed the window shut, silencing the voices of the crowd midrefrain. He took his seat with the others from Bethany as Joshua prayed that the people outside—people protesting with praise—would not blame him or the mayor for the decision that was about to be made.

  The redness in Judge Webster’s cheeks lightened some, and he settled back in his chair. “That’s better.” He looked at the younger attorney and managed a crooked smile. “I have heard a variety of cases in my courtroom over the years, but I must say I’ve rarely seen one as clear-cut and simple as this one.” His eyebrows lowered as he gazed across the room at Joshua. “I’ve had time to go over the case precedent cited by both parties and I have but one choice.”

  He sifted through several sheets of paper. “Our country ought to be grateful for organizations such as HOUR who come along and help us find balance in the public places of our national life.” Judge Webster stared at Joshua. “To think that a public park has had a Jesus statue standing at its center for nearly a hundred years is appalling. It suggests that Christianity is the religion of the day and that Jesus Christ is to be worshiped and adored among the people. It is no better than the statues built back in Communist Russia or in Red China today, where public artwork represents a government-mandated mind-set. A mind-set that is inherently dangerous and in direct opposition to the freedoms for which this country stands.”

  In his peripheral vision, Joshua could see an HOUR attorney lean over and whisper something to Jordan. Both attorneys then looked across the room at Joshua and exchanged a smile.

  We’ve lost … O God we’ve lost.

  You will not have to fight this battle, Joshua. The battle belongs to the Lord …

  Okay, God, but we’re running out of time …

  Be strong and courageous.

  He swallowed hard, keeping his eyes on Judge Webster. Waiting for what he knew was coming.

  The judge was going on about the value of separation of church and state. Finally he paused and cleared his throat. “For that reason, it is my decision to side with the plaintiffs in this case and to order the Jesus statue removed at the expense of the city of Bethany.” He narrowed his eyes and looked directly at Joshua.

  Father, I know You’re in control, but I don’t understand this …

  The judge continued. “You, Mr. Nunn, will instruct the city officials that they have thirty days to remove the statue. A hundred-dollar penalty will be exacted on the city f
or every day it continues to stand past the deadline.” He motioned toward the crowd. “I will expect you to conduct yourself with decorum after court is adjourned. Anyone who protests in an unsuitable manner—” he peered over his wire-framed glasses—“and that includes singing—will be arrested and held in contempt of court.” The judge hesitated only a moment. “Court is adjourned.”

  Immediately there was a rustling of whispers and people began moving about the courtroom. In the confusion, Joshua looked across the table and saw Jordan Riley staring straight at him, his eyes filled with a strange mixture of victory and sadness.

  Joshua’s heart skipped a beat as the pieces fell into place. He met Jordan’s gaze and held it, studying the eyes of the man who had claimed victory over Joshua, the Jesus statue, and the people of Bethany. Suddenly he knew why the young attorney looked so familiar.

  His was the face in the dream, the one he’d had the day he was packing Bob Moses’ things at the office. When Bob’s face had disappeared from the framed photograph hanging on the office wall, it had been replaced by the image of a younger man with angry eyes and a handsome, chiseled face. A face Joshua had never seen.

  Until now.

  The face of Jordan Riley, chief counsel for the HOUR organization.

  13

  Nearly two weeks had passed since the ruling, and Faith knew from Joshua that the Bethany city council had held several emergency meetings in recent days. There wasn’t much to discuss. Since the judge had ordered the Jesus statue removed, there was little they could do but decide on a ceremonial way to watch it go. A farewell party perhaps, or a designated day where the town could gather at the park for a picnic and hear a few words from key members in the community. There was talk of selling the statue to J. T. Enley, a retired stockbroker who had made millions in the market in the late nineties. Or perhaps donating it to a museum in Philadelphia. They also talked about selling the statue in an auction and donating the proceeds to a local charity.

  Still, a deep and angry sadness remained, a sense of astonishment that a single attorney could breeze through town, file a lawsuit, and summarily have a town treasure eliminated. The story had made headlines in both local papers and was easily the biggest item in the newscast for three nights after the ruling. Tonight would be more of the same. According to Joshua, reporters had attended the latest council meeting earlier that day.

  Faith finished applying her makeup and pinned her hair up, certain she’d feel the smirks of several station employees tonight as much as she’d felt them for the past fourteen days. She’d made her views public and she’d lost. The statue was coming down, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  She slumped back against the wall in the boxy dressing room and stared at herself. Her father would never have let the statue be removed. Not that Joshua hadn’t done his best in court; he had. But Bob Moses was a man who refused to let life get the best of him. Faith didn’t know how, but her father would have found a way to keep the statue standing.

  So what did that say about her?

  What good had she ever brought to the world around her? She woke up at her parents’ house, washed and cleaned and shopped for her mother, and on occasion spent a day with Rosa Lee. Every night on the air she dressed the same and smiled the same and used the same polished voice to deliver news that people could have gotten from a dozen different sources. Newspapers, other networks, the Internet.

  Her job didn’t really matter to anyone.

  Mike Dillan continued breaking hearts in every town he played, Rosa went without a family, the Jesus statue was ordered down. Through it all, she’d been little more than a meaningless bystander. A weak-willed, passive participant with none of the gumption and determination that had been the benchmark of her fathers life.

  “Evans, let’s go!” The voice on the other side of the door snapped her out of her reverie, demanding her attention for yet another newscast, another series of stories she would read for the cameras. Faith Evans, expert mouthpiece.

  Lord, make me a light … help me bring about change.

  As if in response, an idea came to mind. A brilliantly simple, amazing idea that took shape in Faith’s mind in less time than it took her to grab the door handle and turn it. She hesitated for a moment, staring at the wooden door as a smile filled her face. The idea was so solid, so sound, Faith knew it had to have come from the Lord.

  And as she breezed out of the dressing room and headed for her place on the soundstage she knew something else as well.

  It just might work.

  The next morning Sandy Dirk, Rosa Lee’s social worker, got a phone call from a man who said he was from WKZN. His conversation was quick and to the point: “Our Internet site isn’t receiving nearly the hits we’d like it to get.”

  She rolled her eyes, reached for a pencil and began doodling on a notepad. Sandy had seen so many down-and-out kids come through her foster home that she’d lost track of the number. Rosa was destined for the long-term facilities. She was too old to draw the attention of a couple looking for a baby, and though Sandy loved the children in her own way, she no longer got sucked into relationships with them. Hers was merely a stopping ground, a place for children no one wanted until the state could figure out something else. Often the only thing better was a group home, and Sandy had never known a child yet who hadn’t been hardened beyond recognition after spending a year in such a place.

  There was nothing quite like the pain of watching officials from Social Services—and on some occasions even police officers—show up at the house, take a child and all her belongings, and haul her off to live at a group home for an indeterminate amount of time. Whatever a child’s demeanor was when he or she left for group care, inevitably it would be worse six months later. People who knew Sandy understood that her gruff voice and no-nonsense approach was merely a front to prevent children from getting too comfortable in her care. And to keep herself from getting too comfortable with them.

  Now as the man on the other end spoke, Sandy jotted the words Internet site and coughed into the receiver. “Okay, I heard ya. What’s your point?”

  The man drew a breath deep enough to hear over the phone lines. “We have advertisers, Mrs. Dirk. People who want to buy space on our Web site—especially the Wednesday’s Child page.”

  “What’s that have to do with me?” Sandy peered out the back window to make sure Rosa Lee was still playing outside with the other children.

  “We’re taking Rosa’s picture off the site. To make room for other kids.”

  A flicker of understanding passed across Sandy’s mind. “You mean because she isn’t cute enough? What with her missing fingers and Asian blood, is that it, Mr. Baker?”

  Sandy chuckled twice, though it sounded more like an exaggerated huff. She’d been against the Wednesday’s Child program from the beginning, convinced it would do nothing to increase Rosa Lee’s chances for adoption and would most likely wind up hurting her in the process.

  “The children who are getting attention from online users are younger than Rosa.” The man sounded as though his patience was running low, as though it was demeaning to talk to a woman of Sandy’s stature. “The fact is, Mrs. Dirk, no one’s even asking about Rosa. She’ll be off the Web site as of tomorrow morning. I thought you’d like to know.”

  Sandy thought for a moment. “Does Faith Evans know about this?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. Apparently her question had hit its mark.

  “No … the Wednesday’s Child Web site has nothing to do with the program anchor. Unless you have other questions, Mrs. Dirk, I have appointments to keep.”

  Sandy hung up the phone and stared at it a moment, knowing that after tomorrow, getting Rosa Lee adopted would be virtually impossible.

  In fact, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

  Dick Baker hung up the station phone and buzzed Laura Wade, the young woman who manned the station’s Web site. She was twenty-three, possessed a Microsoft certif
icate and a brain that seemed even quicker than the stations lightning-fast computers. Normally he had little to do with the Web site, but this was something special. Three days earlier, an anonymous caller had asked for him by name, offering to pay ten thousand dollars for a spot on the site under one condition: Baker had to keep Faith Evans from making any more opinionated outbursts.

  At first Dick had balked at the request, assuming the caller was a nutcake. But after further questioning him, Dick learned that the man was from HOUR—the same group that had won the lawsuit against the town of Bethany. “Any suggestions?”

  There was a pause. “Wednesday’s child. That’s Evans’s project, isn’t it?”

  Baker was impressed. The man had done his homework. “Okay … so?”

  “Remove the photos of one or two kids she’s particularly fond of. That ought to get her attention.”

  A strange rumbling began in the pit of Baker’s stomach. “How do I justify removing a child? They all need homes. The staff’ll ask questions.”

  The caller chuckled. “That’s up to you.”

  Baker thought about the ad money and his mind raced. Certainly he could remove the little Asian girl’s photo. The other featured children were younger, healthier. Not biracial. Certainly he could make a case that they would adopt easier. Besides, the Asian girl belonged on a Web site for special-needs kids, not in a showcase position such as WKZN offered.