On Every Side (23 page)

“True.” They both smiled and glanced back at the television.

“Another hearing in less than a month to determine what type of wall would make the best permanent barrier. And in other news, the president told the public this morning—”

“What wall?” Heidi lowered her eyebrows.

Charles smoothed her bangs off her forehead. “I wasn't listening. It's a slow news day. Most of the stories are just filler.”

Heidi reached for the clicker dangling on the side of her hos-pital bed and turned off the television. “I've got you and Jordan Lee and a new home waiting for me in Bethany, Pennsylvania…” She leaned up toward her husband's face and their lips met. The kiss lingered, and when he pulled away she knew she'd never been happier in all her life.” The last thing I need is filler.”

I
t was just after seven o'clock in the morning and a thin layer of fog hung over the town of Bethany as Faith arrived at Jericho Park. She positioned her car so she could see the Jesus statue. In a few hours, ten-foot-high plywood walls would surround it, and Faith wanted to be there early, wanted to mingle with the locals as they arrived by van and bus for the prayer rally. They'd decided to march around the park, singing hymns and stopping every ten minutes to pray This would go on throughout the construction of the wall, and Faith was certain their peaceful protest would make all the local news shows.

She leaned back against the headrest. How had things gotten so crazy? Her father's face came to mind, and she smiled even as she released a heavy sigh. “Dad, you wouldn't recognize me…” She gave a short, soft laugh. “Mom says I'm trying to take your place, but you know me, Dad.” Her smile faded and tears filled her eyes. “I'm scared to death.”

Memories drifted in on the fog and filled her heart with images from days gone by. A sunny afternoon began to take shape, the year she and her sister, Sarah, were seven and thirteen years old, and had been ordered not to play catch in the house. Their mother was in the backyard working in the garden when Sarah found a Softball and grinned at Faith. Sarah was on a park-league softball team that year and was always looking for some-one to play catch with.

“Let's pretend we're trying out for the World Series.”

Faith could see her own little pixie face contorted in grave concern. “Outside. Mom says we have to play outside.”

Sarah peered around the wall and gazed into the backyard. “Mom won't know. Besides, it's too hot out there. Come on, don't be a baby.”

Faith remembered her stomach hurting from the conflict. Stay inside and risk getting in trouble, or refuse to play with her big sister and be labeled a baby. Finally Faith gulped back her fears and nodded. “Okay but be careful.”

Sarah grinned and grabbed the ball, tossing it at Faith. Her heart beating wildly in her little girl chest, Faith snagged it from the air and smiled. “Good throw.” She remembered feeling better about the game after that. It wasn't so bad, throwing the ball in the house. What was their mother worried about, anyway?

They played that way for five minutes, but then Sarah caught the ball and held it. “Let's pretend I'm the pitcher and you're the catcher, okay?”

Faith shrugged. “Okay. I'm the catcher.”

Sarah wound up like a mountain lion ready to spring and fired the ball straight at Faith's nose. In a split-second decision, Faith fell to the ground, missing the ball—and the spray of glass that exploded in her direction as the ball soared straight through the window.

The timing couldn't have been worse, for at that moment a key turned in the front door and their father walked in. At almost exactly the same time, their mother entered the house from the backyard and peeled off her work gloves. “Hi, honey how was your day?” Her smile lasted only until she made her way into the front room and found the girls and their father staring at the pile of glass and a jagged, gaping hole in the window Their mother stepped around the broken pieces and stared outside. “What happened?”

“I was just asking that question myself.” Their father set his things down, his face stricken with disappointment.

“Obviously they were playing ball in the house.” She looked from Faith—still cowering on the floor—to Sarah, huddled against the opposite wall. “Whose idea was this?”

Faith looked at Sarah and waited, expecting her to come clean with the story Instead, her sister was staring at her shoes as though she had no intention of saying anything. Their father was not a man who raised his voice except with laughter when he was playing cowboy or horsie games with them. But that after-noon he came close. He ordered Sarah and Faith to the sofa and stared at them long and hard.

“In this life we all make mistakes,” he began, his voice a low growl.” But I did not raise my daughters to be liars. Someone bet-ter tell me what happened or you'll both be punished.”

For three minutes—three whole minutes—he stood there, hands on his hips, his eyes shooting invisible guilt rays down upon Faith and her sister. They were quite possibly the longest minutes of Faith's childhood, and she remembered feeling like she might be sick all over the clean carpet. She was about to open her mouth when her father pointed a finger at Sarah. “Young lady, you're the oldest and I'll have to assume this is your fault. Now why don't you tell me what—”

“No, Daddy.” Faith was on her feet and she threw her arms around her father, her eyes squeezed shut as though she couldn't stand his anger for one more minute. “It was my fault. I told Sarah we could play catch and I didn't catch the ball. Don't be mad at her, please, Daddy. Please…”

The memory made Faith chuckle under her breath as she wrapped her jacket tighter around her shoulders. She thought back to how Sarah had cast her a surprised glance, but it didn't matter. Their father's face relaxed, and he patted Faith's hair, run-ning his hand down the back of her head and onto her back. “Thatta girl, Faith. Thanks for being honest. Now you know the
rules, and I'm still going to have to punish you. You'll spend the rest of the day in your room, but you told the truth and that should make you feel good about yourself.”

Faith wasn't sure she'd told the truth, but she certainly remembered feeling better. Much better than sitting on the sofa squirming beneath her father's angry gaze. She gladly took the punishment, content because no one was mad at her anymore.

It had been that way as far back as Faith could remember. She hated conflict, couldn't tolerate people being angry with her or anyone else for that matter.

Another memory came to mind. Her father ran in fairly influ-ential political circles and once in a while he'd have friends with opposing views over for dinner. Faith recalled several times when after the meal they'd gather in the living room over hot coffee and even hotter conversation.

“Aw, Bob, you lean so far to the right you'd make a minister look liberal.”

Her father would raise his hand.” Now, wait a minute, don't forget about that tax you people invented to cover the—”

The longer they talked, the louder they grew Faith under-stood now that the banter was all in good fun, and that her father's visitors left the house with their friendships intact. But back then, from her childish perspective, the discussions had made her worse than nervous. Typically she'd work her way into a corner of the kitchen and sit on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chin until her mother found her that way.

“Faith, honey, what're you doing?” She'd stoop down and place the back of her hand against Faith's forehead. “Are you sick?”

Generally Sarah would be helping with the dishes and she'd toss out a sarcastic comment about Faith finding any excuse to get out of doing chores. But that wasn't it at all. Faith finally
explained herself one evening later that year when the conversation between her father and his friends again grew heated. That night, Faith ran from her spot in the kitchen to her bedroom upstairs, tears streaming down her face.

Minutes later her mother found her in bed, the covers pulled up over her head. “Honey, whatever is the matter? Is it something you ate? Don't you like it when Daddy has his friends over?”

Faith pulled the covers down a few inches so that only her eyes and the top of her head were showing.” It scares me…”

Mom pulled the blankets down further and looked at Faith's arms and neck. “Why, sweetie, I think you're having an allergic reaction. You have hives all over your body.”

Immediately she summoned a doctor who confirmed the thing Faith understood better now. “It's nerves, Mrs. Moses. Is there something happening in the home, something that might be upsetting her?”

By that time, her father's friends had gone home, and Daddy stood alongside her bed, frowning his concern at both the doctor and her. “I can't think of anything; Faith's a very happy little girl, doctor.”

But after the doctor was gone, her parents sat down with her and drew out the truth. “It scares me when Daddy and his friends fight.”

Her father looked at her and then put his hand over his mouth. Just when she thought he might burst out laughing, his eyes grew sad and dark, like the deep places of the river that ran outside of town.” Honey, those men and I like talking about things we don't agree on.” He cast his gaze at the ceiling as though he was searching for the right words. Then he looked at her once more. “We might sound like we're fighting, but we're only sharing our different views.”

Mom stood off to the side, her chin lowered just
so,
a crooked
smile on her face as her father leaned over and snuggled Faith close to his chest. “I'm sorry we upset you, honey You should have told me a long time ago.”

Faith knew he was right, but the idea of approaching her father and complaining about his conversations with his friends was almost as frightening as the visits themselves. After that her mother made a point of keeping Faith and Sarah busy when her father had friends over, and she never again remembered hearing them talk that way There were other situations—her relationship with Mike Dillan, her refusal to stand up to Dick Baker at the station, her inability to confront the HOUR organization over their request that Rosa Lee be removed from the Web site…

She had always managed to find the easy route, the path of least resistance, the road that might keep life calm and even keeled.

Several cars pulled into the parking lot, and people she recognized began piling out, forming a circle on the grass in front of the statue. Faith shook her head. How was it, considering her determination to avoid conflict, that God had her here, in the middle of a political hurricane? Her, the weak-willed Faith Evans Moses?

As the crowd began to build she found herself sliding down in her seat. I
can't do it, God. They think I'm their leader, and I'm not I want to go home and hide under the covers…

Be strong and courageous, daughter. You will not fight this battle alone. I will go before you…the battle belongs to the Lord.

The words washed over her, giving her a strength that was not her own. She drew a deep breath and sat up straighten It was true. She would not fight the battle alone. She had God and Joshua and a thousand friends across the city. In the end, God's
will would prevail, whether the statue remained fenced or not. All He wanted of her was loyalty and obedience. Suddenly her father's words came back to her, words he'd spoken days before he died. He and Joshua had been hired to take a case involving prayer in a public school and the media involvement figured to be considerable.

“If it doesn't go our way it could break us,” Dad told her and Mom at dinner that night. His eyes shone with sincerity as he continued. “But you know I've learned something over the years of walking with the Lord. My best successes come when I am at my absolute weakest.”

His words had seemed strange, incongruous, as though her father couldn't possibly have uttered them. He had never been weak, at least not as far as Faith knew But he'd gone on.

“When I am weak, my God can be strong. And it's the battles He fights for me that end up being my greatest victories of all.”

In the end, the school district in question had agreed to settle out of court, fearing they faced a losing battle. Her father had cele-brated the news with them the day before his heart attack.

“See?” His cheerful voice filled their home with life. “I couldn't do it, so God went before me and look what happened. They dropped the case! Those students can go on praying, and the Lord wins a victory all because we were willing to step out on His behalf.”

Her father's words soothed the restless places in her heart, and Faith sucked in as much breath as she could muster. She climbed out of her car and headed toward the crowd as dozens of people turned and motioned for her to join them. Across the park she saw a construction crew and cringed as two of them nailed the first piece of plywood around the base of the statue.

The battle had begun.

It was time to meet the people, time to acknowledge that
she was out of ideas, out of options, and fully incapable of fighting.

Most of all, it was time to do whatever it was God had for her to do. Even if it put her squarely in the middle of the greatest conflict of her life.

Rosa Lee was putting together a puzzle on the kitchen table in the minutes before school started when she remembered something. “Faith told me I could see her today Is she coming for me?”

Her social worker wiped her hands on a dishtowel and walked closer, smiling at the puzzle. “Nice job, Rosa. You're almost done.”

Rosa brought her lips together and did a huffy breath. “Excuse me, ma'am, did you hear me? Is Faith coming to get me this afternoon?”

Sandy Dirk sat down at the table and looked sad for a minute. “Rosa, Faith's very busy today—” She stopped the way grown-ups do sometimes, and then kept talking. “Did Faith tell you about the Jesus statue, honey?”

Rosa's heart lit up and she could feel her face change into a giant smile. “Oh, I love the Jesus statue. Faith took me to the park lots of times and we looked at the statue and talked about it.” Rosa felt a little worried for Miss Dirk, in case she didn't understand. “It's not really Jesus, you know that, right?”