John Nakamishi shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It's not for me to say, but I don't believe you would call him a very devout man.”
“Since we're not likely to see eye to eye on either education policy or faith, I don't suppose it would be a good thing,” TJ decided. “So what do we do?”
His assistant showed the security badge to the guard, said, “Pray.”
When TJ entered the outer office, two young women he had never seen before jumped up from behind their desks. TJ halted and wondered for a moment if he had entered the wrong door.
“This is Amy Lou Sinclair on your right,” John Nakamishi said from behind him, indicating a woman of perhaps twenty-five with long auburn hair, a very sincere expression, and an attractive face. The other desk was occupied by a black woman of perhaps the same age, slender and sharp-featured and equally serious in demeanor. “And this is Linda Harris.”
TJ mumbled something about how nice it was to meet them, then noticed that the cartoons and the radio were no longer visible.
Linda had a Bible next to her dictionary and thesaurus. On the bulletin board behind Amy Lou's desk was a placard of the broken fishâthe sign used by Roman Christians seeking entry into the Catacombs.
“The two other girls decided they might be more comfortable somewhere else,” John Nakamishi said matter-of-factly. “And these two ladies were very eager to work for you.”
“Were they really,” TJ murmured, trying to take it in.
“This is a real honor, Mr. Case,” Amy Lou said.
“I've been going to your study sessions every morning since I heard about them,” Linda said. “We both have. It's been like an answer to a prayer.”
“They've been a real inspiration,” Amy Lou agreed.
TJ nodded his thanks, thought a moment, looked around, pointed at the wall above Linda's desk, said, “I've got a little needlework plaque my wife made for me. It's one of my favorite Bible passages. I think it's going to look fine right about there.”
Once they were in his office, TJ said, “I'm grateful for the change, but not for the way it was done. Next time you want to do something major like that, ask me first, please.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a total lack of resentment or defensiveness in the calm voice. “I would have, but I didn't find out until this morning after the prayer session that your two secretaries had packed up and left. I ran down to Personnel. They knew about it, of course. Didn't seem very bothered about it, though. And they didn't have anybody ready to take their places.” John Nakamishi shrugged. “I think maybe your reputation is growing around here. Lines are being drawn.”
TJ settled behind his desk, waved John into a chair, was very glad that he had not been curt with the man.
“These two ladies have been unhappy with their bosses ever since they got here,” John Nakamishi went on. “Amy Lou's been kind of subtly harassed, nothing you could put in words, but the message has been clear. The others in her office are young and pretty loose, and she's not been made real welcome. Linda's boss just plain doesn't like blacks.”
“So you told them about our little problem,” TJ said.
“It was like a dream come true to them,” John Nakamishi said. “They've been running around all day trying to work things out. I was going to tell you first thing, but with the meeting and all I decided it could wait.”
“You decided right,” TJ said. He wondered how he could tell this quiet man with his unruffable calmness how much it meant to have him there.
John Nakamishi saved TJ the trouble by changing the subject. “Chief of Staff Greenbaum was head of the President's campaign. I guess you already know that.”
“There's a lot about this place that I don't know,” TJ admitted. “Too much.”
“Secretary Edwards was one of the chief policy makers. He wrote a lot of the President's speeches, developed positions the President took on a lot of the major issues.”
“It's like a den of thieves,” TJ commented.
John Nakamishi did not deny it. “In their eyes, you're a newcomer to the club. You're going to be kept out of a lot of the major policy meetings. Access to up-to-date information will be hard to come by, especially if Secretary Edwards decides to stand in your way. From their standpoint, they've earned the badge of courage during the campaign. They see themselves like old warriors with ribbons on their chests, talking down to this unbloodied officer who's just stepped out of training camp.”
“Sounds as if I don't have much of a chance to break in,” TJ said.
“A lot of these people have mortgaged their homes, uprooted their families, suffered through separations and really bad traumas for this campaign,” John Nakamishi said. “They've paid their dues, or at least that's the way they see it. Their payoff is the opportunity to shape public policy and play with national power.”
“Power,” TJ muttered, leaning back in his chair. “I hear a lot about power, and almost nothing about service.”
“It's hard to keep your head when you've been set down on the top of the mountain,” John Nakamishi agreed. “And once they're here, they've still got to fight among themselves to keep what they feel is their slice of the pie.”
TJ asked him, “Is there any hope at all of getting our programs through?”
“Only if we can make it seem like it's of strategic importance to the President,” John Nakamishi replied. “That's the central rallying point for everybody. Appeal to the man on top, show that what we're doing will advance the President's popularity.”
“That's not it,” TJ said, more to himself than to John. “That's not the way I'm looking for.” He looked up, said, “The central rallying point is God Almighty.”
“Not in Washington,” John Nakamishi said.
“We are here to do His will,” TJ stated flatly. “It's up to Him to show us what to do, and how to do it.”
His phone rang. He picked it up, heard Amy Lou say, “There is a woman who wants to speak with you. She says she's with WBTV News.”
He asked his assistant, “Do you know WBTV?”
“The strongest station in the area,” John Nakamishi replied.
TJ pressed the button, said hello.
“Mr. Case? This is Sandra Hastings of WBTV News.” It was an eager, young, insistent voice. “I was wondering if I might be able to stop by and ask you a few questions.”
“What about?” He glanced up at John, who was watching intently.
“We've heard about the remarkable Bible study you've started in the White House. It sounds like something that would interest our viewers.”
“It's not really a Bible study,” TJ replied. “More like a small prayer meeting.”
“From what I've heard, Mr. Case, this is anything but small.”
“I mean brief,” he corrected himself, feeling cornered for no reason he could logically explain. “We only meet for about fifteen minutes, perhaps even less than that.”
“Would it be all right if I came by and asked you a few questions about it?” she pressed.
Unsure of what he should do, he glanced at his watch, said, “I'll be leaving for home very shortly, I'm afraid.”
“Fine,” she replied, clearly satisfied. “We'll see you there.” Before he could stop her, she had said goodbye and hung up.
He put down the phone, confused, said to John, “Do you know what that was?”
John Nakamishi smiled for the first time, said, “Who knows? Maybe a miracle.”
****
Jeremy put the last case in the backseat, then slid into the driver's side to make sure he could still see out the back window. He shook his head at all the things a woman considered indispensible. Besides the three big suitcases and four little ones, there were a half dozen boxes of various sizes, three hanging bags, two extra totes, and fourteen framed pictures of the family.
He rose from the car, stretched sore muscles. It had been a long day. First there was the busted pipe in the basementâthree inches of water to mop up, plumbers to call in and push to get the job done fast and right the first time, a careful check to make sure there was no structural damage. Then the car was packed. And repacked again, when Catherine couldn't remember whether she'd put in her Sunday go-to-meetin' hat. Naturally it was in the last case they checked.
He would be sorry to leave the next morning. It was hard to believe the difference between here and Washington. While the nation's capital lay wrapped in a cold and wet and miserable climate, North Carolina was enjoying the warmest winter in decades. He stood there in short sleeves and took a moment to savor all he would be giving up.
Jeremy looked over the car, saw Catherine standing beside the trimmed hedges that marked the entranceway. She stood with shoulders all hunched over and fragile-looking. He walked up beside her, started to reach out, then hesitated. Grief was every person's privilege, and if there was anything at all etched deep upon that good woman's face, it was grief.
Jeremy waited until he was sure she was aware of his presence, then asked, “Sister, are you all right?”
She took a moment for a shaky sigh. “I don't know, my head says it's silly, but my heart is crying like I'll never see my home again.”
Jeremy looked up at the old place, spent a moment wondering what he could say, started discarding things left and right, decided on honesty. “We're in the Lord's hands, Catherine.”
“I know,” she said, her voice so very, very quiet.
“You still feel like we're doin' the right thing?”
She was silent for a time, then said, “Every morning I ask myself that, Jem. It's the first question I have every single day. And it gets clearer all the time. We've got to do it. TJ does, you do, I do. It's His will. I can question the why's and how's all I want, but it doesn't change a thing. I know in my
bones
that this is His will.”
“So do I,” Jeremy agreed.
She looked at her friend, asked, “Then why do I feel so bad?”
Jeremy laid a comforting hand on her shoulders and searched for words. “Having it be God's will doesn't always make it easy,” he told her solemnly. “It just makes it
right
.”
****
TJ had not been home long enough to take off his tie before the doorbell rang. He opened the door to a beautiful young lady with shining violet eyes and honey-colored hair.
“Mr. Case?”
“Yes.” TJ noticed the van in his driveway and the two bearded young men pulling gear out of the side door. He felt the first tremor of nerves.
“I'm Sandra Hastings of WBTV News, we talked on the phone this afternoon. May I come in?”
As she was already shouldering past him, TJ let his inbred manners take over, and ushered her into the den.
“What a lovely home. It certainly is nice of you to let us meet you here.”
“I'm not sureâ”
“We could set up right here in your study, and be through in less than an hour,” she said, her pretty eyes pleading.
“I thought you just wanted to ask a couple of questions,” TJ stalled, alarmed by the prospect of facing a camera and discussing his faith.
“Well, that's right, I do.” She gave him a practiced smile. “But we have to get your answers down on film, don't we?”
“I suppose so,” he said, defeated.
“Wonderful,” she said. Hurriedly she signalled to the crew waiting by the door before TJ could raise another objection.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, and fled to the bathroom.
Once the door was shut and locked, TJ leaned against the wall, covered his eyes with one hand, prayed as directly as his pounding heart and frantic mind would allow. Television, Lord, oh Lord, what on earth am I supposed to say? That you called me up here? They'll laugh me right out of town, are you listening to me? I know you've set this interview up for a purpose. It's too crazy to think about any other way. And I know I've been on television before, but that was politics. That was in another life. This is now, Lord. What am I supposed to say?
The answer was silence. No inspiration, no guiding light, no comforting presence. Nothing. TJ uncovered his eyes with a sigh, felt a thousand years old.
There was a knock at the door. “We're ready any time you are, Mr. Case.”
Shoulders bowed, he opened the door. She greeted him with another smile, but this one did not cover the steely glint in her eyes. She was clearly looking forward to this.
“May I?” She reached up, straightened his tie, put a small hand on his arm and guided him forward.
Two tall tripods supported enormous television lights, glaring eyes focused on the two chairs flanking the coffee table. She waited for TJ to sit down, settled herself, all business now.
A technician fitted a lapel mike on both of them; the cameraman did a light check and set his focus; the technician asked for a sound check.
“Test, one, two,” she said crisply, nodded to TJ to do the same, sat straighter when he complied.
“Ready,” came the signal.
“Oh!” TJ sprang from his chair as though propelled by an invisible hand. It startled everyone. “Just a moment.” He walked toward the bookshelves, and in doing so pulled off his microphone.
“Hey!” The technician ripped off his headphones, hurried over, picked up the mike, inspected the wiring.
“Excuse me,” TJ apologized, searching frantically. “Here it is. I'm sorry. I forgot something important.”
The technician looked at the newscaster, shrugged, said, “Seems okay.”
TJ came back over, sat down, waited while the technician refitted his mike, endured the newscaster's exasperated look in silence.
“Could you say something again, Mr. Case? Make sure your mike still works.”
“I thought I might need a Bible,” he said, and set it down on the table between them.
Her sharp retort was cut off by the technician saying calmly, “Loud and clear.”