The Veritas Conflict (9 page)

Claire’s face was red when she finally got to the cashier.

“Whaddaya want?”

“A-a-a Coke, please.” The man was turning around with the bottle in his hand when Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry. I meant a Diet Coke.”

The cashier heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He switched the drinks, slamming the Coke bottle back into the case, and punched at some numbers on the register.

Claire read the total. A dollar twenty-nine. She handed over a twenty.

“Need something smaller!”

Claire hesitated, confused.

“Smaller! Need something smaller than a twenty!”

“I’m sorry. That’s all I—”

“
Fine.
” The cashier stuffed the bill in his drawer and slapped the change on the counter. He looked over her shoulder as she scrabbled to keep the coins from rolling away. “Whaddaya want?”

She scurried out of the kiosk just in time to see her train approaching.

As Claire prepared to board the train, Gael nodded to another angel slowly going the other direction. A toddling boy and his mother were walking just in front of their unseen watch-carer, the other angel’s smile indulgent as the boy stopped repeatedly to explore objects on the floor and on the walls of the kiosk.

The other angel caught Gael’s eye and gestured toward his young charge. “This one has been gifted to serve the Prince of Peace as an evangelist.” His voice was proud, though purposely muted from any enemy ears.

Gael made a congratulatory gesture. “May his gift be realized. And may the Lord of hosts strengthen you in your work.”

The T began to move. Gael folded his wings and dropped into the car. Claire was perched on the edge of a crowded bench seat, her back ramrod straight. She looked at her watch.

Peace, Claire. God is in control
.

Claire looked at her watch again, her mouth tightening. Gael stood in the swaying car, mingling with the suitcases of an airport traveler, considering his charge. Not only was Claire letting pride have sway; she was not listening, not praying, had not gone before the Throne in days. The Lord of hosts longed to pour out all His love and wisdom
on His adopted child, but she was not seeking it.

Gael shook his head. Every member of the heavenly host longed always to be in that golden throne room, to sing holy, holy, holy to the King! And here these children of the King dallied and strayed like that toddler he had just seen, letting anything distract them from going into His presence.

And she wasn’t just any toddler, either. Kai’s words rang in his head.
Our Master intends Claire Rivers to go to Harvard. Before her birth, I was told that a place and a special purpose had been prepared for her there. A purpose for the ages
. The angel’s countenance grew solemn, a subtle gleam appearing in his eye as he pondered his next move.

Claire shifted from foot to foot, staring at the numbers above the elevator doors in the lobby. She picked up her purse, then returned it to the floor. She pulled her zipper up to the neck of her jacket, then down again.

The elevator must have been put into service fifty years ago.

A grandmotherly lady was resting her arm on an ornate railing bolstering the lobby wall. She cast a kind eye at Claire.

“All aflutter today, are we?” Her voice carried the gentle hint of an Irish brogue.

“Yes.” Claire kept her eyes on the creeping numbers.
Seven … six …
Suddenly, she shook herself and turned around. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” Her smile was sheepish. “I’m trying not to be anxious about this meeting—a meeting that just has to be on the
top floor
when I’m already running late!”

The grandmother smiled. “Maybe God is trying to teach you patience, child.”

“Yes. I’m sure He is.” Claire forced herself to take a calming breath. “Are you a Christian, by chance?”

The wrinkled eyes lifted in a smile. “I am a servant of the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“So am I. And it didn’t take me long to figure out that there aren’t as many believers here in Boston as I thought there would be. People don’t usually bring up God out of the blue. This whole city just seems colder, harder, than I had expected.”

The elevator dinged, the doors opening to discharge a group of people. Claire tried not to be impatient as the elderly lady shuffled quietly on board. The doors slowly closed, and Claire punched the top button, looking over at her companion, who nodded for the same floor.

The car began its tortoiselike movement. Claire gritted her teeth, again staring at the numbers above the door.

“In the early days,” the old lady said, “this area was the seedbed for great devotion. But that gradually changed as so many became sure that they knew so much. They
began to look for enlightenment in so many other places: to science, within themselves, to some counterfeit sense of reason from which almighty God was removed.” Her wrinkled fingers caressed the curve of her walking stick. “As if reason that dared to account for the Author of all knowledge somehow didn’t count.”

Her voice was gentle, almost sad. “Dark became light and light dark, just as Isaiah warned the wicked of Judah. Many people chose to look everywhere except to the only One who is truly able to light the way.” She raised her walking stick and poked it toward Claire. “Don’t you make that same mistake, my dear.”

Claire fought the urge to step back a pace. “I won’t. I won’t.”

“Once you take your eyes off Him, even for a moment, there’s nothing to hold on to, nothing to guide you. He is the only unshifting horizon by which you can find your way. Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and finisher of your faith.”

“Actually, that’s one reason I’m here. I’m going to a Christian Foundation Office. I have to meet with them once a semester for accountability, to keep my scholarship to college.…”

“And where are you in school, young lady?”

“At Harvard, actually.”

The response was not the usual awkward nod. Instead, her companion looked at her quietly.

“I, uh, I can’t afford the full tuition, and Harvard almost never gives grants, so I was really thankful to get the scholarship.” Claire fiddled with her zipper again, looking up at the flickering numbers. “But to keep it, I have to meet with these foundation people each semester. Like I said, it’s an accountability thing to ensure that I’m doing well in school, not slipping in my walk—that sort of thing. This is our first meeting. I had my first two classes this morning.”

The old woman nodded slowly. “Young lady, God has a special plan for your life. And it’s not about you; it’s about Him. You must remember that the best accountability of all is to lift your eyes to the hills every morning.”

A shiver ran down Claire’s spine. She had so disregarded the message of that psalm lately. Had she even read her Bible this week?

Claire’s voice came out as a whisper. “I will lift up my eyes to the hills—from whence comes my help? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth.…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes staring at nothing.

“He will not allow your foot to be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber.” Her companion’s voice was oddly strong. “Behold, he who keeps Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep. He is your keeper, the shade at your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.”

She stood straighter, capturing Claire’s eyes with hers. A wizened hand reached out
and gently cupped Claire’s chin in benediction.

“The Lord shall preserve you from all evil; He shall preserve your soul. The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and forever-more.”

Ding!

The elevator lurched to a stop. Claire rocked a little on her feet. She made no move toward the doors.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Remember, my dear: The Lord is your keeper. Spend time with Him; He longs for your company. And He knows your every need. Whenever you’re faced with a choice, make sure that you trust in God, not in man.”

The doors were creaking open. Claire shouldered her purse. “I will. Thank you.”

She stepped out onto the twenty-eighth floor, expecting her companion to disembark as well. She turned to smile at the old lady just as the elevator closed on her last words.

“Remember, Claire.” The doors clanged shut.

Claire!

For a long moment she stood, swaying slightly, and stared at the elevator doors. Finally, she forced her feet to move toward the signboard that pointed toward the various offices.

Dear God! What just happened?

“Can I help you?”

Claire was standing in front of a receptionist’s desk. The woman was looking at her with raised eyebrows, and Claire realized that she’d already asked the question twice.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am. I’m afraid I was lost in thought about something.”

“Yes. You looked it.” The receptionist picked up the phone. “Whom are you here to see?”

“Ms. Tabor-Brown. I’m afraid I’m about fifteen minutes late.”

“Okay.” She tapped out a few numbers and pointed at a comfortable-looking couch. “I’m sure she’ll be with you in a moment.”

Claire sank gratefully into the soft cushions. She set down her leather portfolio and ran her hand across it’s soft brown surface. Aunt Trudy always did pick nice birthday presents. She started to unzip the case.

“Claire Rivers?”

Claire started slightly and looked up. A very tall woman was standing on the other side of the table.

Claire jumped to her feet. “Yes. Are you Ms. Tabor-Brown?”

She gave one nod and a brief smile. “Please join me in my office.” She turned and set off down the hallway.

Claire scrambled to follow her, hooking her purse strap with one finger and juggling the half-open portfolio and papers with her other hand. She was just catching up to her host when the woman abruptly turned and entered an open door to her left. Claire managed not to bang into her.

The office was sparse and seemed as brisk as her guide.

“Have a seat.” The lady closed the door behind her. “Well, let’s get right to it, shall we? Miss Rivers, you were chosen by the foundation’s national office as one of just twenty participants in our annual scholarship program.” Another quick smile. “I have been assigned to be your program officer for as long as you are with us. As you know, the program is both merit based and need based, and we give scholarships only to students going to secular, top-rank schools such as Harvard.”

She sat down and folded her hands on the desk. “Our founder likes to support Christian students who will someday be leaders in whatever professional field they pursue, who will raise not only the standard of excellence in their arena, but also that of Christ.”

Claire nodded. She had the feeling Ms. Tabor-Brown had said this all many times before.

“As such, a condition of your scholarship is that we meet with you once a semester to monitor your academic progress. We require you to maintain a B average or better and to carry a course load that reflects your dedication to hard work and professional leadership in some field. Do you have your class registration schedule with you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Claire opened the portfolio on her lap, hoping her program officer couldn’t see it’s disarray.

The woman took the yellow paper and set it in the center of her empty desktop. “Let’s see. Okay … okay. Monday, Wednesday, Friday … biology at eight in the morning, British literature at ten and—” she looked up at Claire—“is this a school choir in the afternoon?”

“Uh … yes. I’m not 100 percent sure of that one; my final audition is coming up tomorrow afternoon.”

“Is that one of your five actual classes this semester?”

“Yes. I get academic credit for it.”

Ms. Tabor-Brown raised an eyebrow, and her gaze moved back to the yellow printout. “Then on Tuesdays and Thursdays you have sociology at nine-thirty and European history at eleven. This looks like a good start, although it’s a bit unfocused. We prefer to see a trend leading to excellence in a particular professional field.” She glanced up at
Claire, and her eyes lightened with a smile. “Of course, we don’t expect you, as a freshman, to know exactly what you will be doing with the rest of your life. We just want to see that you aren’t taking Basket Weaving 101.”

Claire tried to return the smile.
Is she comparing choir to basket weaving?

“The more you seem dedicated to the ideals of our scholarship, the better chance you’ll have of being awarded it again next year, and so on. A multiyear award is hoped for but certainly not guaranteed. Our founder has been known to not renew scholarships for students he believed were not focusing, not cutting it. He is very fair, but he has high expectations and expects them to be met.”

Claire’s smile was confident, her tension dissipating. “That’s fine. I believe Christians should be committed to excellence.”

“He believes that, too. In fact, he is convinced that Christians who are well respected professionally can transform our culture at the highest levels. So he has committed his considerable resources to finding and supporting those students who will impact our society for Christ. We believe that you, Claire, are one of those people.”

Claire sat a little straighter in her chair.

“Are you able to support your tuition without the scholarship?”

“No.” Claire cleared her throat. “No, I’m not. My parents have saved a little, and I have enough for about half the tuition to a state school. But not Harvard, no.”

Ms. Tabor-Brown tapped a pencil briskly on the desk. “Well then, we’d better make sure that you don’t lose the scholarship.” She pulled a brochure out of her drawer. “Here are a few guidelines that you might find helpful.”

Claire listened and took notes as Ms. Tabor-Brown talked.

“… as many advanced classes and high grades as possible …” “… must maintain your integrity and a good Christian witness on campus …” “… overcome the many challenges to your faith …”

She focused on their confidence in her and pushed aside the niggling doubts. She’d always been able to cut it before.

EIGHT

M
ANSFIELD STEPPED AWAY FROM THE CASHIER
, a full plate in one hand, a drink in the other. He scanned the elegant tables of the faculty dining room. It always got busy the first week of class.