What Lies Within Page 5

  Lawton turned and walked toward the doorway, where he hesitated and turned back, concern heavy on his features. “You’ve got somebody working awfully hard to keep this project from happening. Are you sure it’s worth the cost?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He just walked out of the office.

  Fredrik stood there, folder in his hands, mind spinning. Finally, with a weighted sigh, he laid the folder on the desk and picked up the phone.

  Father, we need a miracle.

  “I see you’re praying again.”

  Fredrik turned as Willard walked toward him. “I’m Jewish. I’m in a temple. I should do something else?”

  With the ease born of long friendship, the white-haired man came to stand close beside Fredrik.

  Fredrik stated the obvious. “You got my message.”

  “About the contractor?” The older man’s words were as heavy as Fredrik’s heart. “Yes, I got your message.” They stood in silence for a few moments. What could either of them say? They both knew how hopeless the situation was.

  “By the way, you’re in a church, Fredrik, not a temple.”

  Fredrik glanced at his friend. “Yes?”

  “You said you were in a temple.” Willard shrugged. “Just thought I’d point out that it’s a church.”

  “Church, temple.” Fredrik lifted a hand to touch the wood of the sanctuary wall. “Youth center … it’s all the same to me. A house of God. Old habits die hard. Besides, they all point us to God, though my Orthodox brethren wouldn’t agree.”

  “On that, and a number of other things.”

  So true. But Fredrik knew the time would come for the truth to touch God’s chosen. He stared up at the wooden cross that had hung in the sanctuary for over a hundred years. How he’d hated that symbol as a child. Almost as much as he now loved it. “It has seen much of life, hasn’t it, old friend?”

  The eyes that angled his way held a depth of affection and humor. “It’s a cross. Inanimate wood. It hasn’t ‘seen’ anything.”

  Fredrik shook his head, tsking. “Ah, Willard. It must be a sad place, your mind. So lacking in imagination.”

  The older man’s lips twitched. “I’ll leave that to you, Fredrik. You have enough imagination for a dozen men.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  “It’s a nuisance.”

  Fredrik lifted one wrinkled hand to pat his friend’s shoulder. “Aren’t you glad I know you’re not serious?”

  Willard’s deep laughter rang out, echoing off the warm wooden walls as it had so many times over the years.

  How can we bear it, Father? We love this place. The ache in Fredrik’s heart was almost more than he could bear.

  As though he could read Fredrik’s mind, Willard released a sigh. “It’s too hard.” He looked around the empty sanctuary. “Closing the doors was bad enough. At least we had the hope of seeing this building turned into something good, something to help the community.”

  Fredrik nodded. Yes, a youth center would definitely help this community.

  “But to lose it now, after all we’ve done—” Willard’s voice choked.

  Fredrik tightened his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We’re not going to lose it.”

  “Fredrik …”

  “No.” He gave a hard shake of his head. “I will not listen to such talk. God brought us to this place and time for a reason. He’s had His hand on this old church for more years than even you or I have been alive. He made it clear to us that we were to have it renovated into a youth center. That has not changed. God has not changed.” Fredrik’s voice—and heart—filled with renewed confidence. “His purposes will be fulfilled.”

  “Without contractors?”

  Good question.

  “Why can’t the police stop him?”

  Fredrik didn’t ask who Willard meant. No need. He knew who was behind their woes. Some in the church thought it was the Blood Brotherhood, but Fredrik didn’t think so. The gang had left the small church alone so far.

  No, he was convinced their opposition came from a far more professional source. “No proof. Without solid proof, they can’t do a thing.”

  Willard swallowed, his gaze drifting back to the cross. “I just can’t believe one of our own would do this to us.”

  One of their own.

  Sam Ballat had definitely been that. His parents were married in this church. He grew up in it. It was Sam’s grandparents who donated the land for the church to be built nearly a hundred years ago. Land that had been in their family for years. Land they wanted to dedicate to God’s service. Which was why they’d put that clause in the deed. The clause causing all the trouble now. A clause that made it clear: should the land ever cease being used to benefit the community, ownership would revert back to the Ballat family.

  “We knew this day was coming.”

  “Yes, we did.” Attendance at the small church, located as it was in the midst of warehouses and a rapidly decaying neighborhood, had been dwindling for years. “I was so sure we’d lose this place, that it would revert back to Ballat when we had to close the doors.” He patted Willard on the back. “But your wonderful idea saved us.”

  It had been Willard’s idea to take the money saved up from donations—a substantial amount for such a small congregation—and convert the building into a youth center.

  The response was immediate: everyone loved the idea.

  “Saved us for a while. Until Sam heard about it.”

  Indeed. “Hindsight, it’s twenty-twenty, yes? I guess it was a mistake to invite him to our discussions.”

  They’d done so out of consideration for his family, but he did everything he could to discourage them. Pointed out how the church leadership was too old to manage a project this big. How such things always cost more than anticipated. How they’d be wasting valuable property. On and on he went, making point after point.

  None of which changed their minds. They wanted to give back to the community, to help the families still living there. They all knew gangs were a growing concern among the parents, especially since the Blood Brotherhood had been gaining membership.

  “And this gang. We had no idea it would grow so much in just five years.”

  “Has it only been here that long?” Willard nodded, and Fredrik sighed. “Time. So fast she goes when you’re old, eh, my friend?”

  The gang came into the neighborhood not much more than a graffiti crew. But it had grown from just a few members to, as best they could figure, over fifty now. Suspicion abounded that the gang was no longer penny ante, that they’d gotten into theft and street drugs, but no one could ever prove anything. All the neighbors and church members knew was that the gang was doing everything it could to recruit kids from the neighborhood. Providing an alternative to hanging with the Brotherhood would be a definite help.

  “I really thought Sam Ballat would be proud of what we wanted to do.”

  “So he should have been.”

  But he wasn’t. When Sam realized they were moving ahead with the youth center plan, he was furious.

  Willard lowered himself to a pew. He was less and less able to stand these days. One more worry for Fredrik.

  “I don’t suppose we can fault him for that, Fredrik. After all, there were companies champing at the bit to level this place and put up any number of warehouses.”

  “True, true. Should Sam sell this land, it would fetch more than a tidy profit. I should blame a businessman for doing good business? No. But I do fault the good Mr. Ballat for the underhanded way he made sure he got what he wanted.”

  Willard didn’t reply. There was no use. They couldn’t prove Sam was doing anything wrong. He was too clever for that. But they all knew who was behind the problems. The threatening phone calls that motivated the first contractor to quit. It took awhile, but Fredrik and the elders finally found another contractor. That one lasted six months, but he didn’t get anything done. When Fredrik and the elders finally challenged him, he gave a host of excuses. None made any sense. They w
ere left with one conclusion: someone had paid the man to waste time. It had seemed a miracle when they found James Lawton. Finally, they could see progress being made. They were all so excited. And now, just two months shy of their deadline for completing the project, to have the third contractor walk away …

  It was a deathblow.

  Or it would have been, if not for God.

  “If not for God …” Fredrik repeated the thought out loud.

  Willard turned to him. “What?”

  “Mr. Lawton, the contractor, asked me an interesting question before he left. He said someone’s working to stop us. Asked if I thought the cost was worth finishing the project. I admit to you, old friend, I wasn’t sure it was.” He let his gaze wander to the cross. “Not until this very moment.”

  “And so?”

  “If not for God.” He patted Willard’s stooped shoulder. “We’d be defeated, if not for God. But with Him”—Fredrik’s heart lifted, and he grinned—“we have more than we need to accomplish the task He’s called us to.”

  Now Willard was smiling. “If God be for us, who can be against us?”

  “Exactly. So come.” Fredrik started down the aisle toward the front door. “We have much to do.”

  “And time is running out.”

  Indeed, it was. But time wasn’t the determining factor in their success.

  God was.

  That fact should be enough to calm all their fears. At least, that’s what Fredrik told himself as he held the door open for his friend to pass through. But as he closed and locked the door behind them, he couldn’t help wondering.

  How much time did they really have left before they had to close this door for good?

  FIVE

  “Change is the essence of life. Be willing to surrender what you are for what you could become.”

  ANONYMOUS

  “Leave your foolish ways behind , and begin to live; learn how to be wise.”

  PROVERBS 9:6

  God is in control … God is in control … God is …

  Kyla leaned back against the car seat, eyes closed. It wasn’t helping. No matter how much she repeated it to herself, she still felt as though everything was spinning out of control. Especially her.

  “Get some rest. You don’t sound right.”

  Annot’s words kept ringing in her mind. She’d assured her sister she’d do that, then rung off. But as she dropped the cell phone into her purse, she knew it was more than fatigue. More than not sounding right.

  She didn’t feel right. She hadn’t for a very long time.

  Kyla glanced out the windshield, staring but not seeing anything. Finally she turned to her day planner and started to flip the cover shut, then noticed the photo she kept tucked at the front. She tugged it free … and smiled.

  It was a picture taken a few years ago of Kyla and her two siblings—Kyla in the middle, Avidan and Annot on either side. Her brother and sister wore teasing smiles as they mugged for the camera, pretending to throttle Kyla. Kyla studied her own expression.

  Tolerant. Enduring. Long-suffering.

  She turned the photo over and read what Annot had written there: “To our beloved Sister-Mommy. From the brats, Annie and Dan.”

  Emotions swarmed through her, and Kyla bit her lip again. This was getting ridiculous! She was not an emotional woman. She tucked the photo back in place and noticed her hand was trembling.

  Stop it. You have no reason to be so upset. It’s been a good day. You’re doing your job, and doing it well. Dad’s business is everything he wanted it to be. You should be proud.

  But she wasn’t.

  She pounded the palm of her hand against the steering wheel. What on earth was wrong with her? She should be ecstatic with the way things were going. She’d fought long and hard to make a place for herself in the world of construction, a business that was still very much a man’s business. And she’d succeeded. The workers who’d been so hesitant to accept her when she took over her father’s company now respected her, counting her one of their own. In fact, the men on the crew who’d worked with her dad had all but adopted her. It was like having a team of dads watching over her, counseling her. She loved it.

  And she loved the work. Loved creating welcome and a sense of home no matter the environment. Loved bringing what looked to the untrained eye like a confusion of lines on the blueprints to full, glorious life.

  Yes, she was her father’s daughter. Building was her passion.

  A fact her clients confirmed over and over. Gregory Belkins wasn’t the only customer who’d been delighted with her work. As far as she knew, all of her clients in the last ten years had only praise for Justice Construction.

  Yes, she still had to overcome what sometimes felt like an abundance of prejudices against a woman working in a male-dominated field. But Kyla had never let other people’s prejudices hold her back.

  So why, then, when things were going so great, was she sitting here feeling so miserable?

  It didn’t take long for the answer to come.

  She’d lost perspective.

  It was at the beginning of her second year with the company that her father took her up on the steel girders, high above ground. Amazingly, she felt no fear as she looked down at the ground far below. In fact, she felt safe there, with him. With God.

  Her dad waved a hand out at the city beyond. “Look out there, hon. All the people, all the hearts, longing to be touched. That’s what it’s about.” His large hand would come to rest against the upright. “These buildings, they’re just steel and concrete. Wood and wallboard. It’s not the buildings that matter: it’s the people you touch with what you create. What God helps you create.”

  She could still see his tender smile as he turned and laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s about serving people, Kyla. Letting God use you to touch them.”

  She’d known, in those moments with the two of them together, that he was passing on more than just the tools to run his business. He was passing on his heart.

  When her father fell ill, though Kyla was only in her midtwenties, the mantle of leadership fell squarely on her shoulders. Her father remained involved, her constant advisor. But heart complications forced him out of the day-to-day operations. It hadn’t been easy. Not at all. But her dad had been a constant support, right up to his death nearly six years ago. During those last few months, she’d sit by his bedside and brief him on the events of the day, and nothing made her happier than to see that twinkle in his eye in response to something she’d handled well.

  “God has gifted you for this work, Kyla. And you’re using your gift well. I’m proud of you.”

  Her father’s words undergirded her when after his death, the employees questioned her ability to run Justice Construction … when during those first few months, clients pulled their projects, saying that without her dad, Justice Construction was on its way out.

  “I’ve run this company for years!” she’d stormed to Avidan and Annot. “And now not just the employees, but the clients doubt me?”

  “Give them time.” The quintessential sheriff’s deputy, Avidan was a man’s man, ready and able to handle whatever came his way. “You’ve been in charge, but to their minds, Dad was there in the background running things.”

  Before she could protest, Annot put her hand on Kyla’s arm. “We know that wasn’t true. Dad told us often enough you’ve been the heart and mind behind JuCo for years. Dad believed in you, Kylie. So do we.”

  “And so will others. In time.”

  She wished she were more like Annot, so she could do something to vent her frustration … like kick a table. Instead, she clamped down the irritation trying to push free and nodded. Annot was right. Her father believed in her.

  That was enough.

  Day by day, she showed up, did what her dad had taught her to do, and refused to give up. Thankfully, a number of Justice Construction’s major clients stuck with them. And when JuCo brought the jobs in not only on time, but under budget, the c
lients made sure everyone knew it. By the end of the first year without her father, the company had regained any lost ground. And last year, just five years after her father’s death, the company he’d founded was more successful than she—or Dad—ever dreamed.

  But the company wasn’t just about profit. As she’d learned during those times on the girders, it never had been. From the very beginning, her father decided that his company would do more than construct buildings. Justice Construction would work on projects that bettered the world. And Kyla had honored that decision. Yes, she’d do the commercial projects, the malls and subdivisions. But she’d always work on projects that mattered too. And anyone who came to work for her company would have to be willing to do both as well.

  In the last few years, though, as her reputation had grown, Kyla found herself working on more and more projects like the one she’d just finished.

  Projects that didn’t matter. Projects that skewed her perspective.

  She shifted in the seat, trying to evade the sense of weight on her shoulders. On her spirit. But unease had chosen her as its resting place, and she couldn’t dislodge it.

  Why this unrelenting restlessness, Lord? I’m doing good work. Work Dad would be proud of. And these projects may not matter that much to me, but they matter to the clients.

  As though some tiny devil’s advocate had flown in on the wings of her unrest, a response sounded within her almost before she’d finished the thought.

  Right. They matter because they bring in a great deal of money, both for you and for the clients. But is that enough?

  Kyla’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. No. It wasn’t. Not even close. It’s not that I don’t want to do the other projects. The money’s there. I’ve set it aside after every project, just like Daddy did.

  She should have known she wouldn’t get off that easy.

  Yes, but your father didn’t let the money just sit there. He used it. He helped people.

  Frustration—or was it guilt?—pierced her heart. I just haven’t had any opportunities come up lately.