On Every Side (5 page)

“Rosa Lee's life has never been easy. Not since the morning her mother abandoned her on the steps of a Philadelphia hospital days after her birth.” The camera zoomed out from Faith strolling the park grounds, her face serious, eyes on the camera, to Rosa running alongside three other children, chasing butterflies across the park's grassy hillside. An edit showed the same children eating a picnic lunch and a close-in shot gave the television audi-ence a first glimpse of Rosa's deformed hand. “Rosa was born with just two fingers and a thumb on her left hand, making her one of thousands of special-needs children up for adoption across the United States.”

The monitor showed Rosa brushing the crumbs from her play clothes and running back to the swings and slides. “Rosa will always have special needs, but don't tell her that. When it comes to using her hands, she's more determined than most kids twice her age.”

The footage showed Rosa using a pencil, catching a ball, and playing tennis at the city courts. The segment finally cut to Rosa, her head tilted, long silky eyelashes batting shyly at Faith as they
sat together on a park bench. “… A mommy who'll stay with me forever. That's what I want.”

What?

From where Faith sat staring at her monitor she felt the piercing sting of betrayal. Someone had gotten to the segment and edited out the first part of Rosa's statement. She remembered how the.girl's words had pierced her heart when she'd smiled and said, “I'm praying for a mommy who'll stay with me forever. That's what I want.”

God, I can't fight this battle any more…

Be strong and courageous, daughter, I will go before you in the battle you are about to fight

What battle?
The muscles in her stomach tightened at the thought. Had she correctly heard the still small voice she knew so well? I
can't fight the system, Lord… You must be thinking of some-one else.

Be strong, daughter. The battle belongs to Me.

Faith felt the reassuring presence of the Lord and her anger eased. It's
so unfair, Father…

How could the station allow references to everything but a person's faith in God? And how could that be considered unbi-ased reporting when it was nothing
but
biased. Bias and censor-ship, pure and simple, and though Faith was not a fighter, it made her tempted to take a more vocal stand for her beliefs.

The footage of Rosa faded to a still shot of the child swinging high in the air against a deep blue sky, her eyes sparkling with love and hope and light. The camera angled back in on Faith live in the studio.

“Rosa is an Asian biracial child who is currently available for adoption to anyone with a valid home study If you're interested in adopting this precious little one call the number at the bottom of your screen and someone will help you through the process.”
She glanced at her prompt and looked pleasantly at her partner. “Ron?”

“Well take a break for a moment, but when we come back, a look at Julia Roberts's box-office hit,
Where Yesterday Lives”

Faith nodded. “Bring a
box
of tissues for this one…”

The break played out, and in five minutes the newscast was over.

“That's a wrap,” a director yelled from behind the camera. “See ya tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.”

A technician flipped a series of switches to cut the studio bright lights and stop the whir of the cameras just as Ron's smile faded.
Right on cue.
Faith watched, somewhat amazed. It was almost as though her partner's facial expressions were on the same electrical current as the camera equipment.

Faith studied him as he turned to leave. “See ya, Ron.”

He held a hand up in her direction, not even looking back.
At least he's a good actor.
She turned and was headed for her purse and car keys when Dick Baker caught her attention.” Come here, Faith. I need a word with you.”

She felt the familiar knot in her stomach. What had she done now? Had he read her mind and known she was praying just to survive the half hour? Could he see on her face the way Mike Dillan's name had made her feel? She approached him and felt the corner of her lips raise a fraction of an inch. “Yes?”

Mr. Baker was in his sixties, a gruff, hardcore veteran of television news determined to gain the favor of the network executives. For the most part Faith thought he was her ally, a professional who appreciated the quality of her work. But there were times when whatever pressure he must have been getting from the higher ups took its toll and turned him into a tyrant.

Faith had a feeling this was about to be one of those times.

She had only seen his soft side once—after her father's heart
attack the month before. The station covered the story, portraying her father in a flattering light, stating that he died chasing after his life's passion: maintaining rights for the people of Pennsylvania and the United States. Mr. Baker himself had helped edit the story making sure it included the fact that Bob Moses was survived by a wife, Betty, and two daughters—one of which was their very own Faith Evans.

The man standing before her now looked far less compassionate. “Haven't we warned you about references to prayer?” His words sounded as if they were leaking from a pressure cooker.

Faith was tempted to look ignorant, but instead she folded her arms and maintained eye contact with her boss. “Yes. But that wasn't
my
reference, it was—”

“Let me finish!” Mr. Baker's face was a mass of angry knots. “If I hadn't checked that
Wednesday's Child
segment first it would have aired that way, with that girl sharing her private prayers for all the world to hear.”

Faith felt her face grow hot. “It's what she wanted to—”

Mr. Baker raised his hand. “Don't speak. I'm not done.” His head was nearly bald, and in his frustration it had grown damp with sweat. “We've been over this before, Evans. It's bad enough that our Bethany
viewers
know your religious stance. But surely you understand the network execs know about it, too. ‘Watch her, Baker,’ they tell me.” He shook his head and a choked, sar-castic huff escaped him. “And to tell you the truth I try, Evans, honest I do. You know why I had to fix that segment?”

“No, sir, it didn't need fixing if you'd—”

Her boss gave a quick shake of his head and glared at her. “I'm not finished! If I hadn't made that cut that would have been five God stories in two weeks. Five, for cryin’ out loud, Evans. Your stories include mentions of God and prayer ten times more than the stories from other reporters. If that doesn't change, you
and I both know the executives will talk.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You remember that contract you signed?” He paused, but not long enough for her to answer. “You start giving biased reports, and if I don't fire you the network executives will fire me. It's that simple.”

His voice was louder than before, and Faith noticed various cameramen and technical staff members scurrying off the sound-stage. “Do I make myself clear?”

Faith had to fight back tears.

Go forth, daughter. Be gentle and take up the fight…

Not now, Lord, I can't…
Her knees began to tremble.

Her boss's face grew still darker. “I said, do I make myself clear?”

Be strong and courageous. I will go before you.

Send someone else, Father. I'm not strong enough.

Daughter, nothing is impossible with Me.

But it was no use. Her knees were already weak; if she stood up to Dick Baker now she was likely to faint flat across the man's feet. “Yes, sir.”

At Faith's compliant answer, her boss's scowl eased. “You're a dam good reporter. Don't get me wrong. We've…” He paused as though he didn't want to share this information with her. “Well, we've had calls about you and Chase. There's talk about moving you up.” He pointed at her, his finger inches from the bridge of her nose. “The network's watching, Faith. Don't do anything to ruin it for yourself.”

Her heart felt as though it had been shredded by competing emotions. The network? Was it possible? Were they really inter-ested in her for a potential national spot? Hope surged through her, then dimmed as her boss's words rang in her mind again:
Don't do anything to mess it up… to mess it up… to mess it up.

In other words, don't be a fanatic. Don't wear your beliefs on
your sleeve. Don't be sold out to God.

Faith sighed. “I won't, sir.”

Her boss smiled. “Thatta girl. When you look good, we all look good. Remember that.” He started to turn, but paused. “Don't let me see that prayer thing again, Faith. I mean it.”

She caught herself nodding, and the sensation made her picture Peter two thousand years ago sitting around the fire outside the room where his friend, Jesus, was being interrogated. I
swear, I don't know the man…
She could almost hear the ancient words of the apostle's betrayal, feel the way his heart must have sank as he met the eyes of Jesus at that very moment.

Faith walked slowly to her car. Was she any different from Peter? Drawn and pulled and tempted to give up pieces of her soul—bit by bit—in a proud climb toward a position of power. The feeling clung to her like a damp blanket in summer time, and she couldn't will it away no matter how hard she tried.
What's this feeling, Lord? As if trouble's brewing and I'm not hearing Your will for me. And my enemies are rallying against me on every side.

Be strong and courageous…
the days ahead will bring testing.

Testing?
Great.
Haven't I been tested enough, Father?

She climbed into her Jeep and headed back to Bethany wishing her father were still alive. Mom always turned in just after nine o'clock when she wasn't out at a fund-raiser or charity event. Once a week she'd tape the news and the next morning she and Faith would watch it over coffee. Her mother always said the same thing.
You look lovely, dear… your father and I have always been so proud of you.
Faith loved that time with her mother, but Dad…he was something else. He'd stay up until the news was over waiting for Faith's call. She would never forget those conver-sations as long as she lived.

She'd call him from her cell phone the minute she climbed in
her Jeep. “Dad, it's me. What'd you think?”

“Sweetheart, you were more beautiful than ever. One of these days the network suits are gonna give you a call, and then every-one'll know what a wonderful reporter you are!”

The memories dissipated and Faith drove home in silence. What would her father think of Rosa's words being edited? Or of the way Dick Baker had practically threatened to fire her if she used stories that mentioned prayer or God? The worst part of it all was that Baker was right—Faith
had
signed the contract knowing the rules up-front.

The heaviness grew worse. She knew what her father would think. He'd tell her the same thing the famous Jim Elliott said before he was killed on the mission field: “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”

It was her father's favorite quote outside of Scripture.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled into her driveway, climbed out, and headed straight for her bedroom. How strange it had been to hear Mike Dillan's name after so many years. Strange to think that she had survived not only the breakup with him, but also the accident that followed. No one had ever broken her heart the way Mike had. At least not since she was thirteen, the year she lost Jordan, Her heart drifted still further downstream. Jordan Riley The boy she'd grown up with, the one she thought she'd marry some day.

As she walked back through the milestones of the past, she realized that at every turn her father had been there. Always it was Dad who held her close and convinced her that through prayer and trust in the Lord her losses would turn into some-thing beautiful. It was only months after she'd taken the Philadelphia job that he quit working for the big city law firm and opened an office with his best friend.

“That way I can help keep an eye on you, sweetheart”

She could hear his voice even now as she lay in bed and uttered one last prayer before falling asleep. “Thank You, Lord, for all You've brought me through. And please tell my dad— wherever he is up there and whatever he's doing—tell him I said hi.” She paused.

“And tell him I miss him.”

T
he meeting took place at Alvin's because, other than the Jesus statue in Jericho Park, it was the most well-known landmark in all of Bethany Despite the smattering of fast food places that had sprung up along Highway 40, Alvin's had continued to thrive. It was the only place in town where you could still get a burger, fries, and Coke for less than three dollars and not go away hungry At a quiet table for six in the back corner of the diner, Joshua met Mayor Frank, three of the city councilmen, and an attorney who handled general matters for the people of Bethany The men exchanged pleasantries, talked about how big the trout were this time of year and the number of weeks until football season started. Then a silence fell over the table, and Frank cleared his throat.

“I'd like to explain the situation to Joshua.” Frank's face was a mask of somber lines, and Joshua felt his heartbeat quicken.
What could be this serious?

“Go ahead, Frank.” One of the councilmen nodded, and the others moved their heads in agreement.

Frank sighed. “You've heard of the HOUR group, right?”

Joshua's mind raced, trying to remember. “They're opposed to religious freedom…I'm trying to remember.” This was Bob's expertise, not his. He felt a sense of panic as the others waited for him to place the group. “Wait a minute, I know. Humanity Organized and United in Responsibility”

Frank nodded. “Exactly.”

A waitress appeared and took their order. When she was
gone, Frank continued. “I have a connection in New York who called me yesterday. He told me on Monday morning someone from HOUR is planning to file suit against the town of Bethany”