On Every Side Part 3

And standing proudly in the center of the gra.s.s was the Jesus statue.

Joshua climbed out of his car and walked toward it, remem-bering all the times he'd worked or played or loved or laughed in the shadow of that chiseled, ten-foot piece of stone. A few years ago the Bethany Chronicle ran a story about the statue, detailing the history of the piece. Created by a local artist, it was donated to the city before the turn of the twentieth century Of course, back then Bible lessons were taught in public schools and the Ten Commandments hung in every cla.s.sroom. The townsfolk received the statue gratefully, in awe of the artist's ability to capture Christ's expression of compa.s.sion.

Over the decades stories had risen and become part of the town's folklore-stories of people pa.s.sing through town, spotting the Jesus statue, and being so moved they gave their lives to the Lord then and there. Or of people who'd been to the park a hun-dred times suddenly seeing something about the eyes of the sculpture that caused them to come clean with G.o.d and pray for a fresh start.

Joshua moved closer to the statue. It was no surprise.

The statue depicted Jesus, arms outstretched, palms up, beck-oning those with hurts or fears or pain to come to Him. There was something about the eyes...something steeped in love and peace and grace and forgiveness. Something that showed the way Christ would always yearn for the return of His people.

Joshua was at the foot of the statue now and he read the plac-ard engraved at its base: "Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy burdened, and I will give you rest... Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Jesus."

That was it. A person could actually feel his soul resting in the presence of Christ's words, in the shadow of His image. Not that the statue itself held any power, it simply directed one to con-sider the greatness of G.o.d, the peace one might experience if only he took Jesus up on His offer.

Certainly in light of the political climate and in light of the persecution promised in Scripture, it was understandable that some might find the statue offensive. But remove it from the park? Joshua thought about other public places he'd visited, parks with statues of famous generals, influential Native American leaders, or great men and women in the Civil Rights movement. If those statues were allowed, what right did HOUR have to remove one that depicted Jesus Christ?

Regardless of whether people took Him at His word, Christ was real. He lived and died and made a tremendous impact on people, both in His day and in the present. That alone should be justification for keeping the statue up. Christ was an historical figure.

But Jesus was so much more than that. And Joshua was willing to bet the people at HOUR knew this. Certainly they were aware that no other man in history had affected mankind as much as Christ. No other had demonstrated the power to instill such deep emotions and widely varying reactions from people. His presence was life-changing for some while it filled others with violent hate. There was no one else who evoked such a dra-matic response from all who came to know of Him.

But then no other man was the Son of G.o.d.

Joshua sighed, studying the statue's eyes. They seemed so life-like. So full of love, of compa.s.sion.

Joshua closed his eyes. Don't let them file suit against us, G.o.d. What if we lose? What of the cost to the people of Bethany if the statue is forced to go?

Joshua blinked and turned his back to the statue. Gazing into the blue sky over Bethany he begged G.o.d again to keep HOUR from filing, painfully aware that the law was on their side, not his.

Be strong and courageous, Joshua. I will go before you.

The holy whispers resonated in Joshua's soul, bringing a sense of peace he hadn't felt since Bob died. Somehow he knew that whatever might happen Monday, G.o.d would see him through. He rested in that thought for a moment. Okay, Lord...I'll trust You.

After all, what choice did he have? Outside of G.o.d's intervention, if HOUR filed suit against Bethany on Monday the situation would be hopeless.

Whether Joshua was strong and courageous or not.

Five.

J ordan drove to Bethany Sunday afternoon and by ten o'clock that night had checked into a local motel. Normally seven hours in the car would give him time to review his caseload, strategize about upcoming lawsuits, and work on closing argu-ments for those in progress. This time, though, he'd been plagued by unwanted images, memories that had propelled him into an exhausting inner battle. Every few moments he was drawn to remember the past, to walk through it and touch it and savor life the way it had been. But just as quickly would come his determination to keep such thoughts at bay. He was a survivor, not a sentimentalist. He refused to live in yesterday's time zone.

If that wasn't enough, he was burdened by the uncomfortable feeling that his life's work was somehow flawed. His opponents were defenseless types, such as the New York schoolteacher or pastors or youth group leaders. Was there really victory in win-ning cases against such people? People who certainly had never intended to cause harm? Shouldn't he have been using his legal talent to rid the streets of real criminals?

Of course, anyone who encouraged public expression of reli-gion was a criminal in Jordan's mind. But still the feeling remained.

In the end he blamed his confusing thoughts on overwork and a lack of sleep. When he reached the hotel, he put away his things, brushed his teeth, and dropped into bed, where he immediately fell asleep.

When he awoke Monday he fairly sprang out of bed, show-ered, shaved, and had a cup of coffee two hours before he needed to be up. He had three very special visits to make. How they went would determine his final decision about filing suit against Bethany. His boss would agree with him either way. If Jordan called and said he'd changed his mind, that the statue was not as offensive as he remembered it to be, Hawkins would never mention it again.

Fifteen minutes later, he drove up in front of the Bethany courthouse and found a parking s.p.a.ce. As he made his way up the steps, Jordan caught his reflection in the mirror. He prided himself on looking nice and today was no exception. A professional wardrobe should make a statement and his consisted of Armani suits, starched b.u.t.toned-downs, and soft leather dress shoes.

He cursed himself for not driving to Bethany and doing this sooner. Five years sooner. Back when the clerks at the courthouse had first refused to find his sister's file. He'd made more than twenty calls in the months and years since then, but always the answer was the same: "The records are sealed, sir. No one can get that information."

Jordan's heart beat hard in antic.i.p.ation. He'd learned a few tricks since 1995. The only way past the fortress of red tape was to show up in person. He walked up to a counter labeled Records and waited his turn. Would this be it? In the next few minutes would he actually find out where they'd sent his sister?

"Next." A stout woman barked the word and cast an impatient glance at Jordan. He clutched his briefcase to his side as he moved up against the counter and smiled at the woman. Her name tag read Olivia.

Often women were moved to do what Jordan wanted simply because of his looks. Olivia scowled at him, waiting for him to speak. Somehow he feared this was not one of those times. "Hi. I'm an attorney working on a local case." He smiled as though that were all the explanation he needed to provide. "I need to check out a file."

She scrutinized him, her face a twist of wrinkles and bad atti-tude. "You new around here?"

Jordan tried to look unaffected by her frigid tone. "Actually, I'm from New York. One of your citizens in Bethany asked me to consult on a matter. Can I give you the file name?"

Olivia shifted her weight, her lips a single line of distrust. "What local citizen?"

There was a beat while Jordan's mind raced for an answer. "He asked me not to mention his name. The lawsuit is highly confidential."

"You got ID?"

Jordan pulled out his wallet and flashed her several pieces, including his Bar a.s.sociation membership card. Finally he tossed her a business card. Jordan Riley, attorney at law Come on, lady, what d'ya want? When he could think of nothing else to hand her, he smiled again and waited.

Olivia released a heavy sigh. "All right, what file do you need?"

Did all the clerks at the courthouse have Olivia's charming demeanor or was he just lucky? He cleared his throat." It's a Social Services file. Mother died, two kids were sent to different foster homes. Should be two files, actually. I need the one under the daughter's name-Heidi Riley. No relation."

He hadn't spoken his sister's name for years. The pounding of his heart was so loud within him he figured everyone in the room could easily hear it. He watched Olivia write down the information and waited for her to turn around and head into the archives room for the file.

Instead she shook her head and set down her pen, like a judge rapping his gavel on the bench. "Social Services cases are closed to the public."

Jordan forced a chuckle to cover up his frustration. "I told you, I'm an attorney. I need the file for a case I'm working on."

Olivia planted her hands on her hips. "I don't care who you are, or what high-falutin' big city you're from. You're not getting a Social Services file. Cases where children are placed with foster families are of the utmost privacy in the state of Pennsylvania."

Panic replaced frustration as Jordan saw his opportunity slip-ping away." Listen, I can see the file if I want to. But all I really need is one piece of information. Maybe you could check it your-self and give me that detail."

Olivia stared at him, not answering one way or another.

"I need to know where the girl, Heidi, was placed. Who she was placed with." Give me a break, here, lady...

Olivia's eyes grew wide and she laughed out loud. "That's exactly what the state wants kept private." She thought a moment. "How old did you say the case was?"

Jordan's shoulders fell. "Sixteen years." Would he never find Heidi? Was there no way to see the file?

A deep chuckle rang from behind the counter again as Olivia shook her head. "A case that old wouldn't be at this courthouse anyway. Those files are at the state's microfilm library. You'd have to pet.i.tion them if you want a chance to be heard. Even then, I've never heard of opening a placement case. Only the person whose file it is has a right to see those records."

"Fine, I'll try the microfilm library." Jordan smiled, wondering if it hid the pain that racked his heart. Heidi, don't give up on me... I'm trying to find you.

"You know-" Olivia's expression softened, as though what she was about to say might actually help Jordan feel better about his wasted effort- "after sixteen years she wouldn't be at the same foster home anymore. She's probably married and living halfway across the country"

"Yeah." A hundred knives pierced Jordan's heart as he stared at the woman. "Thanks."

He was in his car in five minutes, driving to his second visit. As he navigated the streets of Bethany the memories came again. He and his mother and sister riding bikes through the shady roads near their home.

I'll race you, Jordan... "

Heidi's voice echoed in the hallways of his memory, sounding as alive today as it had all those years ago.

Stop! Jordan ordered himself to remain in the present. Three more turns, and he was on Oak Street, the place where he and his family had lived for what seemed his entire childhood. He slowed the car, struck by how small and crowded the houses looked. We thought we lived in a castle back then. He kept driving, searching for signs of the house he still knew better than any other, the only place he'd ever felt at home.

Finally he saw it. It was beige now instead of white, with chocolate brown shutters instead of the blue his mother had painted the summer he was six or seven. It seemed to be about half the size he remembered, but otherwise it looked the same. He thought about walking up to the door and asking for a look around. Then he changed his mind. It would be one thing to walk once more through the rooms where they'd been a happy family. But there would be no avoiding his mother's room, the place where she'd spent most of her time in the months before her death.

Jordan felt tears in his eyes and blinked them back. That was years ago. He had moved on, and now there was just one reason for driving through the old neighborhood. His gaze shifted to the house next door, where the Moses family had lived. Was it pos-sible they still lived there? That maybe--just maybe-after all the years that had pa.s.sed... Faith was right here in Bethany?

He parked the car and walked up the sidewalk to the place where he had spent so many of his boyhood days. He knocked on the door, then took a step back, running a hand over his suit, smoothing the wrinkles. If Faith didn't live here, maybe the new owners remembered the Moses family.

The door opened and a man in his sixties-a man Jordan had never seen before-looked at him curiously. "Can I help you?"

His heart sank." Yes, I'm looking for the Bob Moses family. They... uh, they used to live here."

The man smiled, but it didn't hide his guarded expression. "You a friend of the Moses family?"

Jordan nodded and remembered his small-town manners. "Yes, sir. Lived next door when I was a boy I live in New York now, just pa.s.sing through."

"You haven't heard then?"

Heard what? Had something happened to Faith? Jordan fought the urge to turn and run before his memories could be altered by whatever the man was about to share. "No, sir. Last I knew, they were still living here."

The man swept his palm over the top of his white hair. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Bob Moses died not too long ago. Let's see, it's been about a month now Had a heart attack at his law office here in town."

Jordan could think of nothing to say Bob Moses had been the only father figure he'd ever known, a man who personified everything good and honorable and trustworthy Even if he had lied to him. And now he was gone. A thickness in Jordan's throat made it difficult for him to talk. "The...the rest of the family? They moved, I guess?"

The stranger waved his hand as though he were chasing off flies. "Oh, they moved years back, bought a nice place in the country five miles out of town."

What about Faith? The question perched on his lips ready to take wing, but Jordan contained it. He'd had enough bad news for one day. He reached out and shook the older man's hand. "I'm Jordan Riley I should have introduced myself."

"Joe Cooper." The man's handshake was firm and strong despite his years. "Good to know you."

Jordan took another step back. "Well, I guess I'll be going. I'm... I'm sorry about Mr. Moses."

"All of us were. Whole town showed up at his funeral. Never saw two young women cry harder than those girls of his."

Faith! Maybe she did live somewhere nearby "Girls?"

"Bob's girls. Faith and Sarah. You musta known 'em if you lived next door."

"Yes, sir, I did. Do they... are they still in the area?"

"Sarah married herself a chemist and moved a few hours away, I believe. And Faith...well, son, everyone knows about Faith."

Again Jordan fought to keep control. He loosed a quick laugh. "Like I said I've been away for a while now. Lost touch, I'm afraid."

Joe's eyebrows lifted. "Faith's a local star. Does the eleven o'clock news every weeknight. I think she married some football hero, but don't hold me to it. Not sure where she lives, either, but it must be close."

Jordan fought the urge to race for his car and drive to the news station. So what if she was married? With everything they'd shared as kids he was sure she'd want to see him now. He jingled the keys in his pocket. He had come this far...

Suddenly he wanted to find Faith so badly he could barely stand to wait another moment. "What station is she with?"

The man c.o.c.ked his head back and squinted." I believe it's WKZN." He leveled his gaze at Jordan. "Yeah, that's it. WKZN."

Jordan backed up another two steps. "Listen, I gotta run, but thanks for the tip. Maybe I can find her before I leave town."

Joe waved and let his hand hang in the air. "Nice meetin' you, Jordan. Now don't go and get yourself lost in that big city of yours."

Jordan waved one last time and climbed in his car. Maybe Faith would know what happened to Heidi. He was out of the neighborhood and on Main Street before he realized that Faith wouldn't be at the station yet. It was only ten thirty in the morning. Besides, Jordan had one more visit to pay Even if it was the hardest one he'd make all day he had no choice but to go. He stopped at a local florist, purchased a dozen long-stem yellow roses-his mother's favorites-and headed for the cemetery.

He had only been to the place where his mother was buried three times. Once on the day they buried her and twice after that-in the weeks before Social Services stepped in-when he had needed her strength and had ridden his bike to the cemetery to sit by her simple grave, marked by a flat, square stone sup-plied by the state. Jordan had promised himself he'd replace the marker with a proper tombstone when he had the money but he hadn't been back to Bethany to take care of it. Now the idea seemed to belong to another person.

Carrying the roses, Jordan tried to remember where his mother's plot lay His eyes fell on a grave that looked newer than the rest, with tiny blades of gra.s.s just starting to poke through a fresh mound of dirt. Jordan meandered toward it and saw a large, bronze plaque at the base of the plot. "Robert Samuel Moses, 1944-2001, Lover of Betty, Sarah, Faith, and Jesus, most of all. Religious freedom fighter."

What?

Jordan's gut recoiled at those last words. Religious freedom fighter? Bob Moses? Hadn't he worked corporate law back when their houses were next door to each other? If he was a religious freedom fighter, that meant...

Jordan hunched down near the stone and hung his head. It meant he and Bob Moses had been waging battle on opposite sides of the war. They could even have wound up in court against each other. The reality cut Jordan to the core. How disap-pointed would Mr. Moses be if he knew the truth about Jordan's occupation? Especially after the Moses family had done so much for Jordan, his mother, and his sister...

Jordan studied the tombstone again. Jesus, most of all... Jesus, most of all. Jesus, most of all...

His mind flooded with images of his dying mother, of Heidi driving off with the social worker-and Jordan's heart steeled itself again with determination. What good had Jesus done for his mother? For him or his sister? For that matter, what good had He done for the Moses family? Faith and her parents and sister had lived for G.o.d, trusted in Him, depended on Him, and where had it gotten them? Bob Moses was buried just as deep under-ground as Jordan's mother. Two people who loved G.o.d more than life, yet here they were. Their lives cut short by the very same G.o.d they'd spent a lifetime serving.

He stared at the roses in his hands and scanned the burial grounds. The image of a willow tree appeared in his mind and he looked over one shoulder, then the other until he saw it. There, at the back of the cemetery...the pauper's section, where they buried people with little money People forgotten over time. Jordan clenched his teeth and strode in that direction, not stop-ping until he found it. The white marker was dirty, dulled by the years and neglected. Weeds-though cut back-grew around the plot.

Tears stung at Jordan's eyes. Mom...

He knelt and laid the flowers on the ground, noticing how they dwarfed the small stone. "Evelyn S. Riley mother." That was it; all that was left to remember her by. Jordan ran his fingers over the rough marker and ached to have her at his side again, yearned once more to be the boy who would run home from school and share his day with her, feel the validation of her hug.

Jordan pictured her, pretty and pet.i.te, a brown-haired woman whose hardships in life he'd known nothing about because she'd never once complained about them. Jordan's father had aban-doned them before he and Heidi were out of diapers. Two years later police notified his mother that Earl Riley had been killed in a head-on collision with a cement wall. Drunk and out of work, behind the wheel of a stolen car. Jordan's mother had been care-ful to spare him and Heidi the sordid details, but after she died- when Social Services stepped in and took them-the facts were repeated before judges and social workers a number of times.

"Jesus will take care of us, kids... don't you worry about us... "

His mother's words rang simply, sweetly through the whispering fronds of the willow tree, as though she were still speaking them now. A teardrop rolled off Jordan's cheek and landed on the grave marker and he rubbed it with his fist, cleaning off some of the dirt.

Jesus. Jordan released a short laugh. Yes, lot of good He'd done. Left Jordan's mother to raise two kids alone, then sat back and watched while she died of cancer. What kind of G.o.d would let that happen?

"I'm going home, Jordan... this isn't my home and it isn't yours, either. Cling to Jesus, son... Don't let walls grow around your heart because I'm sick... because I'm sick... because I'm sick. "