There was nothing quite like the pain of watching officials from Social Services—and on some occasions even police offi-cers—show up at the house, take a child and all her belongings, and haul her off to live at a group home for an indeterminate amount of time. Whatever a child's demeanor was when he or she left for group care, inevitably it would be worse six months later. People who knew Sandy understood that her gruff voice and no-nonsense approach was merely a front to prevent chil-dren from getting too comfortable in her care. And to keep her-self from getting too comfortable with them.
Now as the man on the other end spoke, Sandy jotted the words Internet site and coughed into the receiver. “Okay, I heard ya. What's your point?”
The man drew a breath deep enough to hear over the phone lines. “We have advertisers, Mrs. Dirk. People who want to buy space on our Web site—especially the Wednesday's Child page.”
“What's that have to do with me?” Sandy peered out the back window to make sure Rosa Lee was still playing outside with the other children.
“We're taking Rosa's picture off the site. To make room for other kids.”
A flicker of understanding passed across Sandy's mind. “You mean because she isn't cute enough? What with her missing fin-gers and Asian blood, is that it, Mr. Baker?”
Sandy chuckled twice, though it sounded more like an exag-gerated huff. She'd been against the Wednesday's Child program from the beginning, convinced it would do nothing to increase Rosa Lee's chances for adoption and would most likely wind up hurting her in the process.
“The children who are getting attention from online users are younger than Rosa.” The man sounded as though his patience was running low, as though it was demeaning to talk to a woman of Sandy's stature. “The fact is, Mrs. Dirk, no one's even asking about Rosa. She'll be off the Web site as of tomorrow morning. I thought you'd like to know.”
Sandy thought for a moment. “Does Faith Evans know about this?”
There was a long pause on the other end. Apparently her question had hit its mark.
“No… the Wednesday's Child Web site has nothing to do with the program anchor. Unless you have other questions, Mrs. Dirk, I have appointments to keep.”
Sandy hung up the phone and stared at it a moment, knowing that after tomorrow, getting Rosa Lee adopted would be virtu-ally impossible.
In fact, it would be nothing short of a miracle.
Dick Baker hung up the station phone and buzzed Laura Wade, the young woman who manned the station's Web site. She was twenty-three, possessed a Microsoft certificate and a brain that seemed even quicker than the station's lightning-fast com-puters. Normally he had little to do with the Web site, but this was something special. Three days earlier, an anonymous caller had asked for him by name, offering to pay ten thousand dollars for a spot on the site under one condition: Baker had to keep Faith Evans from making any more opinionated outbursts.
At first Dick had balked at the request, assuming the caller was a nutcake. But after further questioning him, Dick learned that the man was from HOUR—the same group that had won the lawsuit against the town of Bethany. “Any suggestions?”
There was a pause. ‘Wednesday's child. That's Evans's project, isn't it?”
Baker was impressed. The man had done his homework. “Okay…so?”
“Remove the photos of one or two kids she's particularly fond of. That ought to get her attention.”
A strange rumbling began in the pit of Baker's stomach. “How do I justify removing a child? They all need homes. The staff'll ask questions.”
The caller chuckled. “That's up to you.”
Baker thought about the ad money and his mind raced. Certainly he could remove the little Asian girl's photo. The other featured children were younger, healthier. Not biracial. Certainly he could make a case that they would adopt easier. Besides, the Asian girl belonged on a Web site for special-needs kids, not in a showcase position such as WKZN offered.
“All right. I can take care of that.” Dick informed the man that the cost for the ad space was only seven thousand dollars per month. What he learned next cinched the deal.
“Well be sending out two checks. One for the first month and a three thousand dollar check made out to you. For…adminis-trative expenses.”
Dick hadn't needed any more information than that. He imag-ined the cruise he and his wife could take with the bonus. There'd even be enough for gambling money… souvenirs… time off.
The checks had arrived the day before, and he'd already spo-ken with Laura, the Web master, about the ad. HOUR'S insignia and hot line number had been displayed prominently at the top of the Wednesday's Child Web page since last night.
Getting the Asian girl's picture removed had been another thing altogether.
The station's standard permissions form for children who appeared on the Wednesday's Child program and Web site stated that a child's guardian had to be contacted before his or her picture could be removed from the Internet page. Dick hated having to contact Rosa Lee's social worker, but there'd been no other way. At least he hadn't lied to the woman. The fact was, there were younger, more desirable children whose pictures belonged on the Web site. Rosa Lee was something of a distraction, a mis-fit. Dick held his breath as the phone rang in the station's com-puter lab.
“Yes?” Laura's voice was robotic, as though she'd spent too many years in the company of a computer.
“Baker here. I notified the social worker. Pull the photo of Rosa Lee.”
Baker heard a series of clicking sounds as the woman's fingers raced over the keyboard. “Okay She's gone.”
As he hung up the phone he smiled to himself—but even as he did, Baker felt a twinge of regret. What heartless person at HOUR had sent in the request that Faith's favorite child or favorite children be removed from the site? He let the thought pass. The benefits far outweighed any damage to his conscience over the issue. WKZN would come off looking like it approved of HOUR, a fact that would help balance the conservative on-air views Faith Evans continually spouted. Baker could use HOUR to maintain an unbiased position, thereby pleasing the network executives in Philadelphia. His station had picked up an extra seven thousand dollars and he'd made a tidy bonus in the process.
Satisfaction filtered through Baker's veins. There was one other benefit, the icing on the cake, really. If the HOUR group was intent on pressuring Faith Evans to quiet her religious views, then that would take the burden off him.
In the end, it was a win-win situation for everyone.
At just past eleven that morning Faith sat by the fireplace in her parents’ house sipping hot, steamed milk and second-guessing herself. She stared at the dancing flames, and though the warmth from the fire spread over her body, an icy wind resonated in her heart. The idea that had seemed so perfect the night before now felt impulsive and shallow and more than a little dangerous.
Faith curled her legs beneath her and considered the outcome if she went ahead with her plan. Certainly it could cost her a chunk of her savings—as well as any pretense of impartiality she might still have among her coworkers. She drew a deep breath and sank further back in her chair, her lips pursed together.
She had to be realistic about it… it could mean losing her job.
The image of Rosa Lee filled her mind, and she picked up the phone. Maybe an afternoon with the little girl would make Faith's decision more clear, help settle her priorities into place. She dialed a number she had long since memorized and waited while the phone rang.
“Yup.” As far as Faith could tell, Sandy was an upbeat woman who dearly loved the children she cared for. The fact that she wasn't as tender or soft-spoken as Faith might have been didn't make her any less valuable in the lives of the kids. It merely under-lined the fact that Rosa and the other children needed families.
“Hi, Sandy, it's Faith. Any calls for Rosa yet?” Faith held her breath. It was the same question she asked every time she called, praying all the while that someone had seen the Web si
te, a mom or dad who wanted to make Rosa their daughter.
“Nope, and it don't look like it'll happen any time soon.”
Faith clenched her teeth and felt her heart sink halfway to her knees. Poor Rosa. Why, God? Why isn't there someone for her?
Silence.
There was no time to question the lack of holy reassurance. Sandy sounded more discouraged than usual, and a strange sense of alarm rippled through Faith. “Did something happen?”
“Yeah, something happened. That boss of yours down at the station called this morning and said they were pulling Rosa's picture from the Web site.” Sandy paused, and Faith felt as though the fire had spread straight to her soul. “Something about her being too old.”
Faith's hands began to tremble and her mouth went dry. “Dick Baker called you?”
“He's the one.” Sandy's voice rang with cynicism. “Get the little girl's hopes up and then pull the rug out from underneath her. Don't tell me Rosa Lee's too old. If she were a white girl with a normal hand she'd be on the Web site as long as it took her to find a home.”
Faith's mind was reeling. Why hadn't anyone from thb station called to tell her about the decision? How come she hadn't known they were looking to keep older children off the site? “I'm sorry Sandy I'll see what I can find out and I'll give you a call back.”
Five minutes later she had Dick Baker on the phone. “Why didn't you tell me you were pulling Rosa's picture?” She didn't bother masking her anger.
“Nothing says I have to contact you first.” Baker sounded flip and unyielding. “I'm too busy to get involved with matters such as this.”
Faith could feel her heart pounding in her throat. “Not too busy to call Rosa's social worker earlier today and get the child's picture removed. Why would the station manager have to take care of something like that? Isn't that the webmaster's job?”
“Listen, your job's on thin ice as it is, Evans. I don't need some two-bit anchor questioning my decisions.” His anger came like a sudden storm and she felt her heart rate quicken in response. “Not that I have to tell you this, but it wasn't my call. We had complaints from advertisers, and honestly they had valid points.”
“Complaints?” Faith pressed her fingers up along her scalp and let her forehead settle in her hands. “About Rosa?”
Mr. Baker sighed as though he could barely tolerate her. “About her age. She belongs on a special-needs Web site; not the WKZN Wednesdays Child page.”
A dozen questions jockeyed for position and Faith tried to articulate the most important. “What advertiser could have possi-bly cared about that?”
“This conversation is over. I'll expect you in at the regular time this evening and I don't want to hear another word about the matter. It's your job to locate orphaned children; it's our job to manage the Web page.” He might have been a rabid bear for the way he growled at her, but this time Faith's fear dissolved, leaving in its place a growing determination as foreign to her as the idea of arguing with her boss.
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” Faith gulped silently; considering her options. She had to know who the advertiser was, what company would single out a lonely child such as Rosa and have her picture removed from the Web site. “I'll see you at the station.”
Faith moved across the room to the computer and accessed the Internet. Typing in the correct address she pulled up WKZN's home page and clicked onto the Wednesday's Child link. What she saw made her sit back in her chair, her heart hurting as though it were bound and gagged.
Across the top of the page was a banner advertisement for HOUR.
The realization took nearly a minute to sink in. Clearly Jordan Riley had placed the ad, but why? Was this how he'd chosen to pay her back for her televised animosity toward him and his group? Faith felt the enormity of their differences more sharply than ever. To think he'd take out his anger on a little child—a child as desperately lonely as he himself had once been. Faith had the strong desire to call him at work and tell him how she felt. Instead she reached into the cupboard and pulled down the phone book. Flipping to the list of government offices her eyes searched the page until she found what she was looking for.
Mayor Furlong answered on the third ring.
“Hey Frank, it's Faith Evans.” Her body tingled from the adrenaline racing through her system. There'd be serious reper-cussions, no doubt, but nothing could stop her now. This call was for the people of Bethany, in memory of her father. It was for little Rosa Lee, and most of all it was for Faith herself.
She had lived in the shadows long enough; this time her mind was made up.
Suddenly she knew that this feeling—the odd sensation that her heart was in her throat, the way her body pulsed with conviction—this was what her father had lived for.
It was a feeling that what was about to be done was inherently right.
No matter the cost.
“Hello, Faith. What can I do for you?”
Faith cleared her throat. “I'm interested in buying a piece of property from the city”
Fourteen
The meeting took place after hours in a spacious, well-appointed office on the top floor of the headquarters for HOUR. In attendance were all three partners, as well as five of the firm's top lawyers.
The notable exception was Jordan Riley whose case against the town of Bethany was causing more than a little concern.
A silence fell over the room, and Peter T. Hawkins, the oldest and most intimidating partner, rose from his seat and leaned against the wall. “Morris, tell ‘em about the phone call.”
T. J. Morris stood and slid his hands in his pockets. This was the year he'd been hoping to make partner and he knew he had no choice but to play the part asked of him in the Bethany case. There was the other detail as well… the bonus money.
What would Jordan think if he knew they were meeting behind his back? That they'd resorted to blackmail to make sure the press portrayed HOUR in a favorable light? He restrained a grimace, but not the thought that came with it: What have I become?
For a fleeting instant his thoughts nearly got the better of him. But with each man in the room waiting for him to speak, he had no time to answer his own question—and no answers, even if he'd had the time.
He stared at his notes and then lifted his eyes to meet those of his peers. “We received a phone call this afternoon from a reporter in Bethany Apparently the city council held another of its emergency meetings today, and the reporter caught wind of something he thought we'd find interesting.”
T. J. raised a piece of paper so he could see his notes more clearly. Beneath his shirt he could feel the perspiration building along his collarbone. The Bethany case was supposed to have been a natural winner, a simple, open-shut situation. Now he was at the center of what could wind up being a public relations nightmare. He exhaled slowly “Apparently a private citizen came forward yesterday and offered to purchase part of Jericho Park.” He glanced at the stone-cold faces around him. “The piece where the Jesus statue sits.”
There was a shifting of legs and glances about the room, and two of the partners whispered something to each other. T. J. waited until they were quiet again. “The city council chose not to inform the people of Bethany about the offer. Instead, they accepted it without question.”
Steve Nelson sat forward in his chair. “What was the offer?”
“Ten thousand dollars.” T J. glanced at his notes again. “That includes the statue. Joshua Nunn, the attorney for the city, has requested a hearing for early next week, at which time we expect him to ask Judge Webster to throw out the case against Bethany. By that time the statue will no longer belong to the city but to the private citizen, so there is no way a judge can rule separation of church and state.” He looked at the others and tossed his notes onto the table.
Hawkins had stood throughout T. J.'s announcement and now he stepped out to the front of the room. “Tell them who bought it.”
T. J. felt a drop of sweat rol
l down his right side underneath his dress shirt. “Faith Evans, the WKZN newscaster for the Philadelphia affiliate. Pretty girl with the whole town on her side.”
Everyone spoke at once.
“That's a conflict of interest…”
“Reporters can't get involved that way…”
“Does the station know what she's done?”
Hawkins slammed his fist on a nearby desk and the room fell silent again. “HOUR simply will not stand for this debacle of jus-tice. We cannot have it. The press will have a field day with us. Outsmarted by a bunch of bungling townspeople and some… some religious fanatic reporter!”
T. J. cleared his throat, and the attention shifted back to him. “Obviously Jordan Riley needs to know about this development. But for now—” he glanced at Hawkins— “we thought it was best to discuss this without him.”
Hawkins's face contorted into a frustrated mass of wrinkles. “Jordan's got—” he waved his hand in the air— “a personal inter-est in this case. I think we all know that. He wanted the statue gone in the first place.” Hawkins looked as though he'd swal-lowed something that was still moving in his stomach. “But he let something slip the other day in a conversation with T. J. It seems back when he was a boy he was in love with the very same girl who's giving us fits.”
One of the other partners lurched forward, his face pale. “Faith Evans?”
“Yes.” Hawkins spit the word as though he had a bug in his mouth. “Faith Evans.” Hawkins shifted his gaze back to T. J. “I assume you took care of that little item I requested.”