The Veritas Conflict (16 page)

What a bunch of jerks! What a condescending, infuriating TA! She was never going to make it here. Her first grade, an F! What would her parents think? What would her peers think? She’d never gotten an F on anything in her life!

Suddenly, her hand flew to her throat. What would the scholarship office do when they heard?

She began to shiver. What was she thinking going to Harvard anyway? She was fooling herself to think she could hack it.

More tears came, and she clutched her comforter like a lifeline.
O God, O Jesus, help me!

With a mighty cry and a sweep of his sword, Gael knocked a half dozen demons aside. He stepped quickly beside his charge, shielding her with his wings. His tone was urgent
as he spoke a single word to her over and over, his words cutting through a dark and malevolent fog.

Claire’s anguished mental merry-go-round stopped on one thought:
Pray
. She needed to pray. She started to bow her head, then slipped to her knees, almost whimpering. The second she focused her mind on the Lord, the thoughts rushed in like a wave.

She groaned and put her head in her hands … and suddenly knew a small piece of what had happened. She had made the same exact mistake as before when she committed to the choir without first seeking the Lord.

She began to weep again, rocking back and forth.
God, forgive me! I’m so stupid so prideful. Why do I keep
doing
that? Almighty God, protect me from myself! Protect me from my pride!

She thought of all the trouble she had gone to to get into the class and to impress her scholarship committee. She had also oh-so casually let a bunch of her hallmates know that she was taking a graduate-level course. Her face grew hot with humiliation.

O God
, the tears came again,
You know me. You know my weaknesses and my pride, my fears and my constant failings. Forgive me, Lord. Give me a direction that I can follow
, knowing
that it is from You. That’s all I want
.

For several long minutes Claire stayed on her knees, pouring out her heart, earnestly praying for direction.

Eventually the turmoil passed, but there was no peace. She sensed no answer from the Lord and glumly rested her forehead on the bed. Why was it that sometimes she felt the Lord so strongly in the midst of turmoil, while other times prayer brought about no change at all?

Behind her, Gael stood close watch, sword out, fiercely shielding her from the demons that still sought an audience. He spoke gently to her.
“Patience, dear one. The Lord loves you so tenderly. You must learn to stand in faith, in the evidence of things not yet seen. He is teaching you. Trust in Him.”

These little ones struggled so hard, so unnecessarily. He put a hand on her shoulder. “
Trust, Claire. He is working even now.
”

Claire shook off her melancholy, rose to her feet, and stretched. Maybe she’d feel better after the first meeting of Harvard Christian Fellowship that night. Being with other
Christians might help her feel less off-balance in this crazy environment where up was down and down was up.

“It looks like heaven, doesn’t it?”

The voice behind her startled Claire, and she jumped, turning toward a smiling male student with a backpack slung over his arm. He was half in, half out of the doorway that she had inadvertently blocked as she stared at the animated crowd in the room.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, it looks like heaven.” He gestured toward the students crowding into the large room. There had to be almost two hundred of them. Many were hugging and slapping backs, greeting old friends after the long summer hiatus. “Uh … lets move out of the doorway, shall we?”

Claire looked over his shoulder and saw several other students waiting to enter. She blushed as she allowed the stranger to guide her into the large classroom “Sorry. I just didn’t realize there would be so many people here.” She stuck out her hand. “Claire Rivers. Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I had much the same reaction myself two years ago. And the group has only grown since then. My name is Brad Jacobson.”

Claire found a seat to set her backpack on, and Brad set his stuff beside hers. She nodded toward the crowd. “What did you mean, ‘it looks like heaven’?”

“Well, for instance … look at those five girls over there.”

He pointed to a far corner, where a group of female students were posing, arms around one another, for another girl holding a camera. One student was white with long, silky blond hair. Another was tall and dark-skinned, wearing clothing that looked African. The girls next to her looked Japanese and Hispanic, and the last one in line was white. A flash went off. The girl holding the camera was black too. Claire watched all six girls cheer and huddle around the tall African, who was displaying a diamond engagement ring.

She turned back to Brad. “I see what you mean.”

“Every time I see these brothers and sisters in Christ from all different ethnic groups and Christian traditions, these friends coming together and hugging and greeting one another after a time apart, it reminds me of that great reunion we’ll all have someday in heaven.” He grinned again, reminding Claire of a little boy. “At least, that’s what it makes me think of.”

“What a neat thought.” Claire cocked her head. “So you’re a junior?”

“Yep. I’m an economics and history double major, and I’m from New York. What about you?”

“I’m from Michigan. I’m thinking of history or maybe biology.” She sighed, her melancholy returning. “But everything is so up in the air right now. It’s hard to know. Some of the classes are—well—different than what I thought.”

“How so?”

“Well, I have this advanced religion class, which I thought would be good since I had a lot of training at my Christian high school, but practically the first thing they did was start making fun of anyone who believed in the Bible.”

Brad snorted. “Ah … let me guess. Bible Writings and Interpretations?”

“How’d you know?”

“Oh, that one is notorious for beating up on Christians.” When Claire’s eyes widened, he laughed. “Hey, it’s just one of the many examples of how this university values tolerance over truth. Did you know that our motto,
Veritas,
is the Latin word for
Truth?
There’s a dynamite speaker scheduled to talk about that in a few weeks.” He shook his head, bemused. “It makes you wonder how we backtracked so far. Harvard places so much value on diversity, except when it comes to diversity of belief. People who believe in objective truth have a really tough time here because it’s just not accepted in the classroom.”

“I had begun to suspect that.”

He smiled at her, his eyes gentle. “You know, I’ve been planning to take that Bible Writings class for a while. Probably next semester, once I’ve gotten good and prayed up … but not before then.”

Claire was silent for a second. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, as if she were talking to herself. “I was thinking maybe I should wait and take it later myself. Even though that might look bad to my scholarship committee.”

“It’s not my place to suggest this, obviously, but waiting might not be a bad idea. I’ve seen a lot of Christians get really screwed up by that class and others like it if they take it before they’re ready to handle it. Scholarship requirements can seem scary, but remember that God knows your every need.”

The memory of the old lady in the elevator rose strong before Claire’s eyes.
He knows your every need. Whenever you are faced with a choice, make sure that you trust in God, not in man … Remember, Claire…

Suddenly, a great weight lifted from her mind. She was flooded with peace and knew what it meant. Teresa had been right. Brad was right.
Thank You, Lord
.

She looked back at her new friend. “You know, Brad, I think you were just an answer to prayer.”

FOURTEEN

I
AN REACHED THE END OF THE BLOCK AND SLOWED
to a brisk walk, his sides heaving. He squinted at his watch in the early morning sun, clicking off the timer. Six miles in forty-four minutes. Not bad, but he’d done better. He wiped his Face on his sleeve. He hadn’t run in nearly a week, he’d been so busy since classes started. He’d do better tomorrow.

He reached a quaint old road marker and steadied himself against it as he stretched out his call and hamstring muscles.

He turned down the next street, admiring the beautiful colonial-style houses. Many abutted the sidewalk, but some of the larger—and older—ones had long sweeping driveways. Trees shaded the streets with colors of red and gold.

The early morning was quiet. Only a few distant sounds from Massachusetts Avenue, many blocks to the east near the campus, penetrated the leafy shield. He loved this old neighborhood; it was why he had chosen to live here rather than on campus. After his daily struggles there, this area always gave him much-needed peace.

He stopped and stretched again, admiring a huge colonial-style house rising well back behind a solid iron gate. He didn’t remember seeing that house before. He peered into the property through the wrought-iron pattern near the top of the gate. Graceful flint-stone stairs descended from a shiny black door. A handsome gas lamppost burned weakly against the rising morning.

He noticed a gold plaque on one of the tall brick pillars flanking the driveway.
Grindley House. Hmm
. One of the historic houses that dotted that part of Cambridge, he supposed. Many of them were on the National Register For Historic Sites.

“Can I help you?”

Ian started and whirled around. A wizened face peeked out from behind the gate.

He put his hand on his heart. “Whoa! You startled me.” He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry to disturb you. I was just stretching out from a run and admiring your house.”

The gate opened slightly, revealing an elderly man in slippers clutching the morning newspaper. He was frail and slightly bent, but his gray eyes twinkled. “You didn’t disturb me. I was just getting the paper and saw you inspecting my property. I thought I’d find out if you were friend or foe.”

“Definitely friend, sir.” Ian extended his hand. “Ian Burke. I’m a student at the law
school, and I live just a few streets over. You just happened to be where I ended my morning run, and your beautiful house caught my eye.”

The wrinkled face smiled. “An esquire-to-be, eh?” He shook Ian’s hand. “I’m Edward Grindley. And young man, if you appreciate the family home, you’re definitely not foe.”

“Definitely not. But just out of curiosity, sir, what would you have done if I was? You weren’t planning to fight off a burglar with just your newspaper?”

The smile widened and Edward pushed open the heavy gate a bit more. “No, that wouldn’t have been necessary.” He made a clicking noise through his teeth and two Doberman pinschers appeared behind him, their teeth bared.

Ian stepped back a pace. Two fierce pairs of eyes followed him. “Uh … well, yes sir. You’d have been right about that.”

“Meshach and Shadrach don’t like any visitors that
I
don’t like. Normally we don’t think so much of Harvard lawyers, but perhaps we’ll make an exception for you.” He turned to the two dogs and murmured something, snapping his fingers. After one last glare at Ian, they backed away and trotted off. “Feel free to drop by anytime. Maybe someday you’d like to see the house.”

“Maybe someday I’ll do that, sir. Thank you. Well, I’d better get back to my studies.

“You do that, young man. And may the Lord bless your work.” Abruptly, he disappeared behind the gate, which clanged gently shut.

Ian stood staring at the gate, a bemused smile on his face; then he turned and headed for home.
I wonder if he’s a Christian?

Anton Pike smiled to himself as he watched the students board the plane. Although they were probably all tickled pink to be riding in a private Learjet, they looked deliberately casual, as if this were something they did every other week. He had selected them well.

Martin boarded right behind him. He drew his longtime TA aside and gave him some instructions for the cabin crew. There was to be no expense spared on this flight; he wanted the students treated with the utmost luxury. Let them see the considerable fruits that came with loyal labor.

Thirty minutes later the wheels touched down on the small strip at the Nantucket airport. He ushered the students from the plane to the four black Lincoln Towncars waiting out front, dividing up the group for the ride. As always, he watched their every move—from the way they treated the drivers to their comfort level in heading off to an unknown destination.
So far, so good’
he mused. They might be able to take all six this
year. And there might still be a few more from other schools.

They made their way across the island, the procession winding among quaint homes with gray boarding and white trim. The gray houses grew larger and more elegant as they turned toward an area on the bluffs, their facades nearly hidden behind high hedges and gates. At the end of a long cul-de-sac lined with sand and sea grass, the cars pulled into a circular driveway in front of a three-story home. Dormer windows peeped out from many angles, and a white-railed widows walk lined the roof. An immaculate green lawn stretched back to the windswept bluffs beyond the house.

Anton noticed the students smile with delight as they stepped from the cars and took in their surroundings.

“Welcome!”

The students turned to see a tall man who resembled their professor walking up from the side of the house. A large but wiry dog trotted at his side. The man threw a thick stick, and the dog raced after it.

Anton stepped forward and clapped the man on the back, then gestured toward the students. “This is my brother Victor, the CEO of Pike Holdings. Victor, these are some of the student candidates for the Pike Fellowships this year.”

He introduced them one by one: Nathan the marketing whiz, Tomoki the Japanese genius with computers, Amy the spreadsheet jock … Sergei … Myron … Donelle … He nodded toward his aide. “And of course, you also know my teaching assistant, Martin.”