Someday

by Karen Kingsbury

  When he finished breakfast, first on his list of errands was a stop by the Monroe County Building Department. He’d gone online when he was in Mexico, so he knew exactly where he was headed. The Monroe County Courthouse that stood tall and proud at the center of the town square in downtown Bloomington. Room 310.

  Dayne hummed the refrains from a hymn he’d heard during the weeks of services at Bloomington Community Church. “Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father, there is no shadow of turning with Thee. . . . All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me!”

  The tune played again and again as he drove into town, careful to take the corners slowly since he wasn’t used to driving in these conditions. The streets were clear of snow, but there was still ice in spots. He wore old jeans, work boots, and a bulky brown winter jacket. The baseball cap for the day was not the navy one with Baja California embroidered across the front. It was one that read simply Bloomington Hardware. No one knew he was returning early, so he expected to get through the morning without being recognized.

  If he was careful, anyway.

  Dayne parked at one of the metered spots adjacent to the town square and stepped carefully from the 4Runner. His breath hung in the air in front of him as he navigated to the sidewalk. Only then did he realize how beautiful everything looked around him. He stopped, mesmerized.

  Christmas lights hung along both sides of the street. The place looked like a winter wonderland. Katy had told him about Christmas in Bloomington, how each year a designated Santa flipped a switch and ignited something the town called a Canopy of Lights. Now, anchored to the sidewalk, Dayne could see how the display got its name. From the dome of the courthouse, strings of twinkling white lights draped over the town square and across the bordering four streets, forming a canopy. The bare sycamore trees surrounding the courthouse were also covered in lights.

  Standing there, with only a few people making their way to and from the old building, Dayne felt like he was on the set of a movie too good to be true. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cool, clean air. I’m home, God. This is where I want to live.

  He remembered what he’d come to do, so he hurried to the front door of the courthouse and went inside. He had so much energy, so much joy bursting inside him, that he jogged up the stairs to the third floor, the song in his heart once again. When he reached room 310, he moved inside soundlessly, the bill of his baseball cap low over his eyes, the collar of the jacket turned up.

  Behind a counter decorated on either end with vibrant poinsettias was a pleasant-looking woman with gray hair and a red and green Christmas sweater. She was filing paperwork, but when he walked in, she looked up and smiled. Dayne hesitated, but she showed no signs of recognizing him, none of the usual gasps or fluttering hands. Just a warm Bloomington, Indiana, smile.

  Dayne relaxed and adjusted his baseball cap. “Hi. I had a few questions about one of the buildings in downtown Bloomington.”

  “Okay.” She set down her files and came up to the counter. As she moved closer, Dayne noticed the stencils on her office window. Right across the center it read, “Merry Christmas” and “Christ Is Born.” Dayne could hardly believe the atmosphere in the public building. Apparently through most of Bloomington, people celebrated Christmas as Christ’s birthday.

  The woman reached the spot opposite him and set her hands on the counter. “Do you have an address?”

  “I do.” Dayne liked the sparkle in her eyes. She looked like someone who would sit in the front row at Bloomington Community Church, embracing the message and the moment, singing louder than anyone else and maybe a little off-key. He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and handed it to her.

  She barely glanced at it before a look of recognition appeared in her eyes. “The old theater. Your questions might not matter. Let me check something.”

  Dayne had driven by the community theater late last night. Before they left to film their separate movies, Katy had kept him informed about the delays on the building project intended for the theater’s site. The developers had dealt with far more red tape than usual because the theater was so old. A state senator had filed papers proposing that the theater be listed as a historical landmark. That battle went on for months before the decision was made. The theater was a few years too young. It didn’t qualify. At that point, the developers’ plans were finally put through at the Monroe County planning office.

  He hadn’t heard that the building had been torn down, but he wanted to make sure. As of midnight, it was still standing, still surrounded by yellow caution tape. Now, though, panic grabbed hold of him. He swallowed, waiting while the woman took her time moving back to the filing cabinet.

  She checked the fronts of the drawers, then pulled open the third one down. A few more seconds of sorting and she lifted a file. Again she moved slowly back to the counter, staring at the contents while she walked. “Mmm-hmm.” She gave a sad shake of her head. “That’s what I thought.”

  “What?” Dayne wondered if she could hear his pounding heart.

  “Today’s the day.” She looked at him. “People don’t appreciate a landmark anymore. New construction and condominiums.” She gestured back at the filing cabinet. “Twice as many applications for building permits in the last six months as in all last year combined.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dayne was frantic to understand. “Today’s the day for what?”

  “Demolition.” She pushed the thick file across the counter and gave it a single tap. “It’s all right here. This morning the wrecking crews will reduce that old theater to a pile of rubble.”

  This wasn’t happening. Dayne couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t made it back to Bloomington early and rushed down to the courthouse only to find out he was too late, right?

  Dayne opened the file and saw a simple document on top with only a few lines of text. It was an approval from the Monroe County Building Department, granting permission for Hanson Development to begin demolition of the Bloomington Community Theater, in preparation for a condo project slated to begin in February. At the bottom of the document, the last line read only this: Demolition to begin Monday, December 17, at 10 a.m.

  Dayne looked at the clock on the office wall. It was 9:47. He was already halfway to the door, nodding at the woman as he went. “Thank you. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas and a happy—”

  He didn’t wait around long enough for her to finish. He flew down the wooden stairs and out into the cold morning. Again he was careful of ice, but he had no time to waste. Please, God . . . not yet. Delay them just a few minutes longer. Please.

  A sense of urgency came over Dayne like nothing he had ever experienced. He slid into his SUV and drove as fast as he safely could, down College, over to 3rd Street, and down Woodlawn toward Bryan Park. The theater stood across the street.

  At least that’s where it had stood last night.

  Bailey could hardly believe it had come to this.

  She and Tim Reed and two dozen kids from CKT and many of their parents gathered at Bryan Park, across the street from the theater, the one where they had spent countless hours rehearsing and performing and bringing stories to life for the people of Bloomington.

  They shivered and tugged their winter coats tighter around themselves, but they were helpless to do anything other than what they were already doing—gathering together to pray for a miracle.

  Bailey held Connor’s hand on one side and Tim’s on the other.

  One of the girls who had played an ensemble role in CKT’s version of Narnia was praying. She had tears on her cheeks, and her nose sounded stuffy as she begged God for intervention. “Don’t let them tear down our theater, Lord. We know You’re here and that You see us.”

  When she finished, a middle school boy to her left took over, asking God with a clear, calm voice to save their theater from demolition.

  Bailey tilted her head up just a bit, open
ed her eyes, and stared at the building across the street. Two police officers stood guard on either side of the structure. It was protocol, according to the article in yesterday’s Bloomington Press.

  Her parents had encouraged the prayer circle. If God didn’t choose to intervene with a change of heart on the part of the developers, then He must have another plan. The same way He’d had another plan for Cody. That’s what her mother said, but here in the freezing wind, her feet stuck in snow, Bailey wasn’t so sure. Cody still wrote to her every week or so, but he was missing home badly. How could that be the plan God wanted for him?

  Same thing for the kids of CKT. They needed the theater if they were ever going to start performing again, and the talk among parents was that they would find a way. Even if it meant having parent volunteers act as temporary directors.

  There was more yelling across the street, more instructions being shouted through the megaphone. Trucks were moving in closer.

  Bailey looked up at the ominous gray steel ball hovering from a solid chain, right next to the theater. God . . . please. There has to be a way.

  She glanced to her left and saw that her mother had her eyes open too. She looked at Bailey and shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  At that moment, there was another shout from the man who looked to be in charge, and someone at the controls set the wrecking ball in motion, pulling it back and into the air. It was a matter of minutes now, maybe seconds. When they released the ball, it would tear through the theater and that would be that.

  The end of an era.

  Bailey couldn’t watch. She hung her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She could already imagine what it would sound like—the crushing of brittle wood and windows, the collapse of the building. But that wasn’t the sound that filled the air. Instead there was the squealing of tires as a vehicle pulled up across the street, followed by the slam of a door.

  The boy praying stopped midsentence, and everyone opened their eyes and looked.

  By then, the man had his back to them, flying from the SUV, holding up his hand as he ran toward the wrecking crew. “Stop! Wait!”

  The workers continued as if they couldn’t hear the man or didn’t care.

  Still the man ran toward the theater. Soft gasps came from the members of the prayer circle. Parents put their arms around the shoulders of their kids, and a couple of moms covered their mouths, too surprised to speak.

  Bailey watched with the others. She was shivering harder than before, stunned at what she was seeing. Both police officers went into alert at the sight of a man running toward the site. They met him near the curb, and an animated conversation broke out.

  Bailey held her breath. Whispers came from her friends and their families surrounding her. All of them wanted to know the same thing. Who was the man, and why did he think he had any control over the demolition? A minute passed, and one of the police officers escorted the man to the lead worker, the one with the megaphone. Another conversation took place, and the man in jeans pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. For what seemed like forever, the supervisor stared at the paper the strange man had given him. Then he waved at his fellow workers, calling them over and creating an impromptu group conference.

  “What’s happening?” Connor leaned close to her.

  “I don’t know.” Bailey moved forward, making the circle smaller so she could draw from the warmth of Connor and Tim on either side of her.

  “The guy looks familiar.” Tim was shivering too. “Don’t you think?”

  “Maybe he’s an angel.” Connor squinted, trying to see what was happening.

  Around the circle, the adults began speculating in whispered voices. Whatever was happening, it had put a sudden and dramatic end to the actions of the wrecking ball. Another minute passed and the supervisor nodded. Even from across the street, Bailey could see that the guy was smiling as he shook the stranger’s hand.

  The supervisor lifted the megaphone to his mouth and pointed at the man behind the controls of the wrecking ball. “Lower it! We’ve got a change in plans.”

  Almost immediately, the controller set to work on a panel in front of him, and the huge ball lowered harmlessly to its original position.

  Passersby seemed to sense something big was happening. People stepped out from local businesses, and a crowd formed along the sidewalk across from the theater.

  The group of kids and parents erupted into a mass of cheers and shouts and spontaneous hugs. God had granted them the miracle they’d asked for, and Bailey couldn’t stop the tears from falling onto her freezing cheeks. Whatever had happened, the theater wasn’t going to be torn down—at least not this morning.

  One by one, the men in hard hats climbed into their trucks and cars and drove off. The stranger stayed, still talking to the supervisor. A few minutes later, the supervisor left, and after that, the wrecking ball was backed off the theater grounds and loaded onto a flatbed truck.

  As the truck pulled away, Bailey looked at the spot where the man’s SUV had been parked. “Hey . . .” She felt her head start to spin. “His car’s gone.”

  With the crowd gathered and the traffic slowed to a crawl around the theater, Bailey hadn’t noticed the stranger leave the site and return to his vehicle. Now his SUV was gone, and they hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him or thank him. She looked at the faces around her. “Did you see him leave? Did anyone see him?”

  Tim shook his head, and a few of the parents exchanged looks of astonishment. Whoever he was, he’d come at just the right time and taken part in a dramatic answer to their prayers.

  Across from Bailey on the other side of the circle, her father cleared his throat. “Let’s thank our God.”

  Again they held hands, this time with an electric excitement pulsing through the crowd. Some of the passersby wandered in their direction. An old woman wrapped in a wool coat and scarf, a group of young businessmen, and a family who’d been driving by moved closer to the circle, and as Bailey’s dad bowed his head and started to pray, the strangers around them prayed too.

  “God, we have no way to thank You for what just happened. We don’t understand it.” He paused, and Bailey could tell he was choked up. “We only acknowledge that without You, the theater would be gone by now. So we thank You. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Then, as easily as they drew their next breaths, the CKT kids began to sing. Softly at first, with shaky voices, and then with a sound that rose confidently toward heaven, filling Bryan Park and drawing more people closer. “‘I love You, Lord . . . and I lift my voice to worship You . . . O my soul, rejoice! . . . Take joy, my King, in what You hear. . . .’”

  The song built and grew, and the people of Bloomington who had stopped to listen joined in, some with tears in their eyes. Something very special had just happened, and though none of them knew exactly what or whether the demolition might still be rescheduled, they knew this:

  God reigned.

  The CKT group gave one another one more round of hugs and smiles before heading for their cars. Bailey and Connor walked together, their parents a few feet in front of them, talking with the Shaffers. Tim Reed had driven his own car and parked it on the other side of the theater, so he was no longer with them.

  “You know what I think?” Connor looked over his shoulder at the theater.

  “What?” Bailey wasn’t shivering anymore. Her heart felt light and free, as if anything truly was possible for those who believed. She reached up and put her arm around Connor’s shoulders. He was taller than her now, but he’d always be her little brother.

  Connor turned back to her. “I think he was an angel.” His expression was intently serious. “I mean, he shows up out of nowhere and stops the wrecking crew.” He snapped his fingers. “Then poof . . . just like that he’s gone.”

  Bailey gave him a look that said maybe. Angels were real, after all, and what had happened this morning defied any earthly logic.

  Bailey brought it up on the way home, and her
parents acknowledged that yes, the Bible confirmed the reality of angels.

  “There’s a verse in Hebrews.” Her father glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Thirteenth chapter. It says be careful to entertain strangers, for by doing so, some people have entertained angels without knowing it.”

  “Wow!” Connor slid to the edge of his seat and gripped his dad’s shoulder. “That’s the coolest thing. I never heard that before.”

  Bailey had read it sometime a few years ago, but she’d never given the Scripture much thought. The idea sent a new kind of wonder over her, and by the end of the day—after getting to school late and taking her math test, after coming home and learning that the whole town was buzzing about what seemed to be a change of plans by one of the city’s top developers—she could do nothing but believe that maybe angels didn’t wear flowing robes and have golden wings.

  Maybe they wore blue jeans and a baseball cap and drove an SUV.

  Ashley hung up the phone and gave a victory shout so loud that Devin responded with one of his own. Ashley laughed. “That’s right. . . . Thank God for answered prayers!” She caught her breath and tried to decide what to do first. Landon! Of course! She needed to see him right away, needed to tell him about the conversation before she forgot a single detail.

  “Devin, baby, let’s take a ride.” She swept her son out of his high chair, kissed his forehead, and hurried to the closet for his coat. She grinned at him as she fastened his zipper. “Our first big Christmas present just came through.”

  Fifteen minutes later, in a swirling cloud of snow, she pushed through the doors of the fire station and carried Devin to the back room. Landon was sitting by himself on a worn sofa, reading a magazine, but when he looked up and saw Ashley and Devin, he jumped to his feet. His face was suddenly marked with fear and concern.

  Ashley held up her hand and laughed. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s okay.” She set Devin down, walked to Landon, and hugged him long and hard. “You aren’t going to believe this! I had to tell you in person.”