Joshua let his gaze fall to his hands. So much for taking pride in being objective.
“Yes. It is our opinion—and quite obviously your opinion based on the earlier ruling—that the people who visit Jericho Park should not be subjected to the Jesus statue. We understand that although a small piece of property—along with the statue—now belong to a private citizen, there is still the problem of the statue seeming to be supported by the city of Bethany. In summary, that is our case and the remedy we seek.”
The judge looked comfortable and happy, like a man enjoying a favorite movie for the fourth time. He shifted his attention to Joshua. “Mr. Nunn, normally I would postpone making such a decision, but since its so closely linked to the previous matter, I will ask you to state the city of Bethany’s position.”
Joshua rose and locked eyes with the judge. “Your Honor, erecting a ten-foot-high fence around the base of the Jesus statue is a ludicrous suggestion. Not only would it be wrong to leave a private citizen with no access to her property, but it would also create an eyesore in a park that has been beautiful, generation after generation. A park in existence for more than a century.”
For the better part of an hour, the two men debated the issue until finally the judge had heard enough. “I will take a brief recess and return in a moment with my decision on this new action.”
Joshua buried his attention in the notes at his table and across the courtroom he could see Jordan doing the same thing. Joshua had expected him to use the time to entertain the reporters, to talk up the fact that Faith Evans had started this mess by purchasing the property. But Jordan was easily as intent on his notes as Joshua. The minutes flew by, and finally Judge Webster returned.
Once he was seated at the bench, the judge glanced at a sheet of paper in front of him and rapped his gavel a single time. “Court is back in session. I have made two decisions while in my chambers, both of which will affect all parties concerned in this case. First, I want to agree that Mr. Riley has a valid point about the people who happen to visit the park. It is wrong to assume the public will know that part of the park—the place where the Jesus statue stands—belongs to a private person. For that reason, most park-goers will believe the statue is supported and maintained by the city of Bethany.”
His glasses fell a notch lower on his nose and he looked hard at Joshua. “My understanding on the ruling that separates church and state is very simple: We cannot have a city park giving the appearance of having sided with one religion over any other. For that reason there must be a wall erected around the statue.”
Joshua thought about his short-lived victory and his stomach settled somewhere around his ankles. God, where is this going? Faith put her job and reputation on the line, but for what? What victory is there with a fence around the statue? There was no time for holy answers. The judge was moving on to his second point.
“However—” the judge shot a gaze at Jordan—“I’ve made another decision as well. I’m not sure that the statue requires a ten-foot high wall. That, Mr. Riley, I will leave up to you.”
The man beside Jordan pointed to something in a file on their desk, and Jordan nodded. He stood and faced the judge. “Your Honor, it is the opinion of the HOUR organization that nothing short of a ten-foot high fence will successfully hide the statue in Jericho Park.” He glanced at his associate, then back at the judge. “We don’t feel we need thirty days to make that decision.”
Joshua felt more like a silent bystander than a part of the proceedings, but he knew if he didn’t say something now he might not have another chance. “Your Honor, may I interject?”
Judge Webster shot him a surprised look and seemed to consider Joshua’s request for several seconds. “Very well, go ahead.”
“Since the property now involves a private party, I believe another hearing—between that person, myself, and Mr. Riley—is essential. Certainly we cannot come up with a final decision without consulting the person who now owns that property.” Joshua stepped back and resisted a smile. He hadn’t planned on making that argument; the words could only have come from God. Thank You, Lord … He blinked and waited for the judge to respond.
The muscles in Judge Webster’s jaw tightened and relaxed three times before he spoke. “We do have an unusual situation here, I’m afraid. Mr. Nunn is correct—we must involve the private citizen before I make a permanent ruling.” He checked his notes. “At the same time, I have already stated that the people must no longer be subject to a statue of Jesus Christ in the center of a public park.” He leaned his forearms on the bench and frowned. “For that reason I am ordering that a temporary ten-foot-high plywood wall be erected around the statue for thirty days, until our next hearing. At that time I will hear from Ms.—” he looked at his notes again—“Ms. Faith Evans, along with the plaintiff and defendant in the case. Only then will I make a permanent ruling.” He leveled his gaze at Joshua. “You will inform the Bethany city council that they have seventy-two hours to build the wall around the statue, and that the city is to incur the cost of building it.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Joshua did his best to hide his disappointment. At least the ruling was only temporary. Still … he was heartsick at the ground they’d lost. He’d come to court that morning certain the judge would throw out his earlier ruling, sure that Faith’s decision to purchase the park land had been God’s way of handing them a victory. Instead the city was now party to yet another lawsuit and in three short days the Jesus statue would be surrounded by a ten-foot wall.
The hearing was over and the reporters moved in with their questions, most of them directed toward Jordan Riley.
“Are you happy with the judge’s ruling?”
“Do you think the wall will become permanent?”
“Is it right for a newscaster to get involved in something this political?”
The air of tension in the courtroom lifted as Jordan smiled at the cameras. “We won’t be completely happy until the ruling is permanent, but it’s the best we could hope for at this point.”
“What type of wall are you going to request at the next hearing?”
He glanced at his friend and flashed another smile for the reporters. “Brick.”
“Do you feel justice was served today?”
Jordan hesitated, and from where Joshua was gathering his legal files several feet away, he could see the air of professionalism in the way Jordan angled his head, his eyes suddenly serious again. “Justice will be served when we don’t have to go to court to see that the Constitution is honored. There are still hundreds of thousands of citizens across America who hold to a dangerous belief that the government should advocate a state religion—Christianity, to be specific.” He shifted his attention to another camera. “We attorneys at HOUR refuse to rest until that belief has been eradicated from the public conscience of these great United States.”
Across the room, Joshua resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jordan couldn’t have sounded more polished if he’d been running for office. The reporters seemed to be finished with the plaintiff’s point of view and the group of them migrated across the courtroom and fell in around Joshua. But whereas they’d smiled and bantered easily with Jordan, they seemed to have just one question for Joshua Nunn and the Religious Freedom Institute:
“How can we get in touch with Faith Evans?”
16
Jordan hadn’t expected to be back in Bethany so soon, but now that he was mere he planned to spend the night and return to New York in the morning. When the press had finished with him, he dismissed T. J., explaining he had to take care of paperwork at the local courthouse.
“I’ll take a room next to yours,” T. J. said as they made their way to the parking lot. The men had driven to Bethany in separate cars since T. J. needed to finish a case he was working on before driving up. “You never know, you might need help. Besides, that way we can find some all-night Italian diner and catch up on the other half of life—you know, the hours we actually spend at home.”
>
Jordan looked at his friend, convinced again that something wasn’t right. Without a doubt Jordan and his assistants could have handled today’s hearing on their own. Dozens of times he’d handled more demanding hearings without the help of an associate. And now—instead of heading back to New York to be with his wife and baby daughter—T. J. wanted to spend the night in Bethany?
They walked in silence and arrived at their cars, parked side by side at the back of the lot. Jordan leaned back on his and faced his friend. “What’s up, T. J.?”
Jordan had known T. J. for years. They were hired at the same time and had spent at least one Saturday a month fishing the rivers and lakes outside the city. They’d double-dated on occasion. In all of New York, T. J. was Jordan’s best friend.
So why wouldn’t his best friend make eye contact?
“Nothing’s up. I mean, why hurry back to the office?”
T. J.’s voice lacked conviction, and Jordan felt a fluttering in his gut. What was this?
Jordan slid his hands in his pocket, leaned harder against his car, and crossed his ankles. “Level with me, buddy. I’m serious.” He positioned his head so he could see T. J.’s eyes.
Even above the occasional gusts of wind in the maple trees that lined the parking lot, Jordan could hear the heaviness in T. J.’s sigh. “Hawkins asked me to stay.”
Jordan felt the ground beneath him give way. “What do you mean? Why would he do that?”
T. J. shrugged. “I’m not sure anymore, Jordan.” He looked up, his gaze level. “Maybe you should ask him.” T. J. turned his head and stared across the parking lot, as though watching invisible monsters closing in. “Sometimes … I think we’re losing our focus.”
“What d’ya mean, buddy?” Jordan’s voice was softer than before, and he searched his friend’s face. What wasn’t T. J. telling him?
T. J. gave a few quick shakes of his head and looked at Jordan again. “Nothing.” He forced a laugh. “It’s been a long couple days.” He glanced at his watch. “Tell you what, you stay here and take care of business and I’ll head home.” The corners of his mouth lifted and he winked once at Jordan. “She misses me when I’m gone more than one night.”
Without saying another word, T. J. fished his keys from his pocket and climbed into his car. Jordan was torn between relief that he had some time to himself and concern about whatever it was T. J. wasn’t saying. “Wait a minute—” he grabbed hold of his friend’s open car door and stooped down—“what aren’t you telling me?”
T. J. looked at him, then pursed his lips and angled his head. “It’s all for a good cause, isn’t it, Riley? Isn’t that what they tell us?”
A ripple of panic shot through Jordan. “What’s for a good cause? You’re losing me here, Teej.”
“The whole thing.” He motioned toward the courtroom. “The fight for human rights. Battling the little guys. It’s all for a good cause.” He put his hand on the steering wheel. “Look, I gotta get going or I’ll never make it home for dinner.”
Jordan got the message. He let his hand fall from T. J.’s car door and stepped back. He nodded at his friend as he turned the key and backed out of the spot. Maybe Jordan had been looking too deeply into things. Maybe Hawkins merely wanted to make sure they won the case. But something about that thought felt as comfortable as bad seafood in his gut. Jordan blinked, trying to see the bigger picture. Whatever it was, he knew he could count on T. J. If something was eating at him, Jordan would find out sooner or later. “Drive safe.”
Not until T. J.’s car turned out of the parking lot and disappeared down a narrow side street toward the freeway did Jordan release the air that had been building up in him since the old lawyer’s revelation. Faith Evans had purchased the park property? How was that possible?
He stared at the scant leaves still clinging to the branches above him. Why would Faith make so bold a move now, when she held a prestigious position with WKZN and sat poised on what could be a move to national television? He remembered something Faith had said back when they were kids, back when Jordan had spent every evening praying at Jericho Park: “That statue isn’t Jesus, you know that, right? It’s just a picture of Him … ”
Surely she felt the same way today. So why the fight? What did it matter if the statue came down? He thought about all she could lose, the way she would likely be mocked and held up for ridicule before the public eye after today’s hearing.
“Ah, Faith … ” Her whispered name took to the wind like one more dead leaf. He’d spent sixteen years searching for some sign of his past, some remnant that would help him connect those early days with the life he was living now. His mother was gone; Heidi too. And until that fall, Faith had been little more than a distant memory, a symbol from a time when everything was as it should have been.
Before God had pulled the rug out from underneath him.
And now that he’d found Faith, there was more distance between them than ever before.
Jordan squinted and tried to see through the barren branches to the sky beyond. Was He there, that mighty God, the one Faith clung to so blindly? Did He know that the lovely Faith Moses was about to take a fall, about to be the sacrificial lamb in a media event that was far from played out?
Another breath eased its way through Jordan’s clenched teeth, and he slid into his car. He was an attorney at the top of his game, a man who after tonight’s news would be credited with single-handedly foiling the plans of an entire city. A human rights advocate to be reckoned with and admired in legal circles around the country.
But for all that, as Jordan drove out of the parking lot he had to fight an urge that made no sense whatsoever. An urge he could barely acknowledge and would certainly never voice. The urge to call the judge and drop the case. Then to find Faith, gather her in his arms, and love her the way he’d wanted to do since that magical, long-ago fall. Back when his mother was well, and Heidi was there, and everything good in life seemed to center around one very special girl.
Faith was at the station all of two minutes when she realized there was a problem. Cameramen and stage hands omitted their usual greeting and scurried out of the way when she entered the building. Before she even had time to hang her coat in the dressing room, there was a knock at the door.
“Yes … ” She had no reason to be fearful. After all, she’d survived two newscasts since buying the property and still no one had said a word about it at the station. By now she’d decided that maybe they wouldn’t find out; maybe she had the right to buy property like any other citizen. So what if she was an anchor for the nightly news?
Her certainty fell away like a poorly built house of cards when she saw Dick Baker’s secretary at the door. “Mr. Baker wants a word with you.” Normally the older woman was friendly, but this time her tone was curt and after delivering the message, she left quickly.
Faith made her way down the hallway and found the door marked Station Manager. The moment she knocked, Mr. Baker’s voice boomed from behind the door. “Come in!”
Faith’s stomach felt like it was being trampled by a herd of cattle. She crossed her arms tightly, gripping her sides with the tips of her fingers. “You wanted to see me?”
She expected him to be mad, but his face lacked any expression whatsoever. Someone’s told him. Dear God, give me strength. You promised You’d get me through this … Faith froze, unblinking, waiting for her boss to speak.
Mr. Baker leveled his gaze at her, and Faith saw that his features were hard and cold as steel in wintertime. “It came to my attention a few days ago that you’d done something incredibly stupid, something I hoped wasn’t true.” He paused, and she saw another emotion filter across his eyes. Disgust … even disdain. “As I told you before, the network has talked of bringing you up, giving you a reporter position on a national level. A move like that would have looked good for us, given the network moguls a reason to keep their eyes on the Philadelphia station.”
Faith’s knees felt weak and she shifted her we
ight. Help me be calm, Lord … I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength … I can do all things through Christ who—
“Today, however, I learned from several reporters—including ours—that the information I’d heard the other day was true.” The man made true sound like profanity. Faith could see he was working to remain calm and though she was tempted to join the conversation to defend herself, she kept silent. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d found out about the Jesus statue. She kept her chin up, her eyes on his, and waited for him to continue. I can do all things through—
Mr. Baker suddenly stood and began pacing near his desk, rubbing the back of his head as he spoke. “When I hired you, Faith, I warned you that being an anchor would require your unbiased attention. That there was no room here for your religious views. You signed the contract promising as much.” He stopped and pointed at her. “You’re a public figure as long as your face is on television every night. I made that clear to you from the beginning.”
He resumed his pacing, staring at his feet as he walked. “Our reporters must be intelligent, law-abiding citizens who, though they cover the news, must steer clear of ever being the news.” He glanced up at her. “You understood that when I hired you, am I right?”
“Yes.” Faith could feel God’s peace working its way through her being, could feel God’s promise for strength being fulfilled.
I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength …
The verse she’d relied on since her breakup with Mike had never felt more real than at this moment. Certainly this was not the worst situation a believer ever faced … How had John the Baptist felt when he was called in and asked to lay his neck across King Herod’s dinner plate? And how about the martyr, Stephen, who refused to answer even one complaint lodged against him, not even when the rocks started to fly?
Of course, the greatest example of all was Jesus … called in and questioned about His identity, knowing full well the deadly fate that awaited Him before the weekend was through.
A Kingsbury Collection Page 84
