The Presence

by T. Davis Bunn

  “If your policies are in line with his department’s, then the major objective on his mind will be to make sure you know who’s boss. His message will be, ‘There’s only one advisor to the President on education policy, and that’s me.’ “TJ waited, realized there was no more coming, asked, “So what would you do?”

  John turned to look at him for the first time, answered, “Stall.”

  The taxi let them off at a tiny triangle of grass that was struggling against the frigid weather to maintain a hint of green. TJ stepped out, saw they were across the street from the NASA exhibition and the Botanical Gardens, wished for a moment he could take time out to play tourist.

  As with most Washington government buildings, the imposing marble and granite exterior of the Department of Education gave way to sullen dinginess inside. A black woman in uniform left no question in their minds that she was singularly unimpressed by their having an appointment with the secretary. With total unconcern she pointed out the elevators and went back to her magazine.

  Upstairs the hallway was poorly lit and decked out in black linoleum flooring. The air had a musty odor, and many of the ceiling panels were stained and rotting. The only flash of color was the wood-grained seal above the spread of doors leading to the secretary’s office. They entered a room flanked by a receptionist’s desk and a set of government-issue sofas, gave their names, and were told that the secretary was expecting them.

  The Secretary of the Department of Education’s inner office was as opulent as his outer office was tacky. Rosewood panelling matched the massive desk and low-slung coffee table. Pictures showing the secretary with various dignitaries, including several past presidents, decorated the wall. Heavy drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows, and rust-colored carpet muted the sound of their entry. The black receptionist gave TJ Case a measuring gaze and a professional smile, asked if he would like a coffee, said the secretary would be right with them, closed the door as she left.

  Before they had time to choose between the sofa and chairs by the desk, the door opened a second time. A short, beefy, bullet-headed man walked in chewing on an unlit cigar. “You Case?”

  “Yes.”

  He stuck out a stubby hand. “Phil Edwards. Nice to meet you.”

  “This is my assistant, John Nakamishi.”

  “Right.” With studied reluctance Secretary Edwards shook the proffered hand. “I always prefer to have these first meetings in private.”

  “This is only my third week on the job,” TJ replied, refusing to let the man ruffle him. “John has been a big help in getting me settled.”

  “I’ll bet.” Secretary Edwards moved behind his desk, took out the cigar, set it in a polished crystal ashtray, sat down in his chair. “You need some help, let me send one of my boys over.”

  “Thank you for the offer,” TJ said.

  Secretary Edwards stared across the desk with gray-blue eyes as cold as two glass orbs, pressing the fingers of his hands against one another.

  Edwards picked up the phone, pressed a button, said brusquely, “Jane in the building?” He waited, said, “Tell her to come in here.”

  To TJ, he said, “I hear you’re pushing special classes for gifted children.”

  “I haven’t had an opportunity to push much of anything yet,” TJ countered, blessing John for his advice.

  The door opened, and Secretary Edwards shot to his feet. TJ and John quickly followed. “Like to introduce my Special Assistant for White House Liaison, Jane Patterson. Jane, this is the guy we’ve been talking about, TJ Case.”

  The woman was a rather hefty gray-haired lady in her mid-fifties, as solid as a brick wall. Her gaze was as icy as that of her boss.

  Once they were seated, the secretary said, “Jane’s been a primary schoolteacher for twenty-three years.”

  “And every child I’ve ever taught has been gifted in one way or another, Mr. Case,” her voice as cold as her eyes. “How much teaching experience have you had?”

  “Only Bible study, I’m afraid,” TJ replied.

  “Strange how a man with such little experience can feel he’s expert enough to advise the President on such a sensitive topic.”

  “Perhaps not being so directly involved allows me a more objective outlook,” he said mildly.

  “I fail to see the logic in that,” she snapped back.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve got in mind,” the secretary demanded.

  “To serve my country, my President, and the children within our educational system to the best of my ability,” TJ Case replied.

  Secretary Edwards stabbed the air in front of him with one finger, said, “There’s one thing I want to hear from you, Case, and that’s whether you’re going to be a team player. If some jerks in Congress think they can make some side-run on me, they’ve got another thing coming. There’s one policy this administration is going to have on education, and that’s the one formulated by this department. Too much is at stake here for some—” Secretary Edwards clamped down on what he was going to say, finished, “I gotta know whether you’re with us or not.”

  “I have no intentions of operating in secrecy,” TJ replied. It was amazing, he thought, how protected he felt at that moment. There was literally nothing that could breach his barrier of peace. “If I have learned anything in twenty years of public service, it is that men of honest principle can come to agree on anything, no matter how divergent their opinions may be at the beginning. All it takes is a willingness to join in prayer and honest discussion.”

  His reply took the wind out of their sails. Both Secretary Edwards and his assistant stared at him openmouthed. TJ decided it was a good time to take his leave.

  He stood, guided John Nakamishi up with his eyes, said to the secretary, “We have a little group that comes together every morning for prayer. If either of you are over our way, I’d be honored to have you join us.”

  They were in the elevators before doubt began to set in. TJ felt the calm slide, leaving fatigue and worry in its place. He asked his assistant, “Well, what do you think?”

  John Nakamishi met his gaze with steady black eyes, said quietly, “That was about the bravest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

  TJ covered his embarrassment by changing the subject. “So what happens next?”

  Once again it was as though John Nakamishi had been waiting for him to ask the question. With that steady low-key style, he replied, “He’s going to go straight to the President’s Chief of Staff. Have you met him yet?”

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t really matter; you’re new on the team and so you’ll be at a disadvantage anyway. Secretary Edwards and Chief of Staff Norman Greenbaum did their graduate work at the same uNIVersity and have worked together off and on ever since. Edwards will go to him and say, we can’t have two education advisors. We have to have one person making one cohesive policy for this administration. And I’m that person. So the only way to keep from having conflict is for your special assistant to go through me on everything. He has to report through me.”

  TJ thought it over most of the way back to the White House. It was not until they were at the OEOB entrance that he asked, “What do you think we should do?”

  John Nakamishi looked at him, asked, “Do you want to answer to Edwards?”

  TJ shook his head. “He doesn’t seem to be someone interested in rearranging his opinion about anything.”

  “He’s not.”

  “I don’t suppose he’s a Christian, is he?”

  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 behin
d 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 fish—the 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 basement—three 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 t
he 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?”