The Lights of Tenth Street (2 page)

The swinging door was slightly ajar, and Ronnie could hear voices lowered in intense conversation. She padded softly down the hallway.

“But, Seth, she—”

“No. That’s it. He’s dangerous to this family, and I won’t stand for it.”

“But it’ll
kill
her not to—”

“So you want to risk it, is that what you’re saying?” Seth’s voice rose just slightly. “I saw the bruises he left on you. You want that to happen to Veronica?”

Ronnie stopped a few feet from the kitchen door, eyes wide, straining to listen.

“He wouldn’t do that to Ronnie.”

“And that’s another thing. You need to get over this juvenile nickname. Her name is Veronica. She’s almost eight, for crying out loud. The sooner we stop mollycoddling her, the quicker she’ll grow up and accept her new life.”

“But to cut off all visitation—”

“Tomorrow morning,” the voice lowered again, “you call the court. It shouldn’t take long to convince the judge, once you show your police pictures. Especially since he’s not even her biological father.”

There was a long silence, and Ronnie stood still, trembling, afraid to move.
Daddy!

“I can’t—I can’t do that. She needs her father.”

“If you won’t, I will.
I’m
her father now, and it’ll be better for her if she’s not confused by two loyalties. Discussion over.”

Seth pushed through the swinging doors, heading toward the living room. He saw Ronnie at the entrance to the hallway, and stopped.

He gave her a long look, then walked toward her. He crouched down and put a hand on her arm.

“Veronica, were you eavesdropping on us? Did you hear that? … Veronica?”

Ronnie could only stare at him. Her eyes turned toward the kitchen doorway
where her mother had appeared, pain and defeat etched into her expression. Ronnie’s lips began to tremble.

Her arm began to throb, and she realized that Seth had tightened his grip. He was gazing at her with a strange look, his eyes wandering over her face.

“Veronica, don’t ignore me.”

A dim voice from the kitchen. “Seth, don’t.”

“Veronica, I asked you a question. If you don’t obey, there are consequences.”

Her tongue was stuck. Even when he stood up and pulled off his belt, she was frozen. Even when he turned her against the wall and her tears dripped to the carpet. Her mind was numb.

Daddy
 …

A shining figure bowed his head, his voice soft with grief. “The heavenly Father weeps for His child.”

Another great being, his high-ranking garments glinting like the sun, stepped forward. “And another spirit is wounded. Loriel, she is now your charge. You have been chosen to lead this campaign.”

“Yes, General.” The first angel nodded his acceptance, but his eyes remained fixed on the scene before him. Then he sighed, repeating the man’s words in a low voice. “
If you don’t obey, there are consequences
.” He shook his head. “If the Father’s children don’t obey
His
heart, there are indeed consequences. But the consequences fall not just upon themselves. The sins of the earthly fathers truly are passed down for generations.”

“But God has promised that the righteous will inherit His blessing down to the thousandth generation! His mercy triumphs over judgment.”

The two angels watched the little girl retreat to her bedroom and crawl under the covers.

Loriel’s eyes darkened as he felt again the pain of the One he was created to serve, the Father’s grief over a child’s suffering.

“Loriel, this cycle must be broken. The consequences of this campaign are great, greater perhaps than we have seen since the battles for the establishment of this one nation under God. The enemy’s plan is massive, but he is prideful, assured of his success in twisting the hearts and minds of men to destruction. He is expecting opposition, but he is not prepared for the war to be fought apart from his usual front. And on that front lies our hope.”

Loriel looked back to the small girl sniffling under the covers. “If only they will listen.”

The General smiled and laid a strong hand on his arm. “That, too, is your charge.” He stepped back and gave the traditional salute. “It is time, Commander. You must be strengthened for this journey. Clothe yourself in the armor of God!”

Loriel lifted his head and opened his arms wide. A melody of praise poured forth from his lips, catching him up before the Throne. He lost himself in the beauty and the power of worship before his Maker, captivated by the glory of the Ageless One. He could feel himself growing strong with the power of the Spirit, his wings unfurling with sparks like lightning.

How long he reveled in worship he did not know, but the time came—as it always did—when he felt the Lord’s release. He was created for the fight, but still he longed to stay before the Throne, longed for the day when all creation would bow before the humble King.

And his purpose was to hasten that day. Loriel bent his knee and heard his call.

As I set aside My glory and dwelt in the land of the shadow, so must My servants also go. The darkened lands are thirsting for My living water. I am calling to My bride, My church! Carry My message! And minister … minister to My precious lambs
.

Loriel closed his eyes at his Master’s longing for those He had died to save. A heavenly resolve began to burn in his breast, and he lifted his head, his eyes fierce with determination. He was created to serve and protect these who were so precious to his King!

He launched himself upward, a great cry on his lips as a shining host rallied to his call. They wore no weapons, for the Prince of Peace was their standard. This campaign was not yet a battle against the enemy. This campaign was to awaken a sleeping bride.

High school. Ten years later
 …

R
onnie ran her last lap with the other girls, grateful that the physical effort spared her from thinking. A girl in front glanced toward the stands, and despite herself, Ronnie’s head jerked sideways. The two men in the stands were still intent in conversation with their coach.

All three pairs of eyes were fastened on her.

Ronnie looked forward and tried to keep an even pace. She could hear her heart thudding, feel her ponytail swinging at her back.
Please … please
 …

The pack reached the stopping point and tailed off, each girl slowing, walking, hands on hips, taking subtle gasps of air and trying to look as if they ran that pace every day before breakfast.

Ronnie leaned forward and stretched her back and legs, then kept walking, moving easily in the warm-ups each cheerleader wore on cool days. It would be December soon. The end of the season; no more Friday-night games.

She glanced toward the stands again, her skin prickling in the cold. She tried not to fidget. She’d made it this far; maybe fate would make a way.

There was a sudden murmuring among the girls. The coach was climbing slowly down from the stands, her face shadowed. Ronnie hardly listened to his words. “Each of your routines was great, but at this time …”

The two men gathered their things and headed toward the parking lot, taking her college dreams with them.

The other cheerleaders shared disappointed chatter as they collected their books and clothes from the locker room. One or two patted Ronnie on the arm as they passed. “If anyone would’ve made it, it would’ve been you.…”

Ronnie exchanged pleasantries, unable to remember a moment later what she had said. She slung her backpack over her shoulder as her friends climbed into the cars waiting in the parking lot; their parents’, their boyfriends’, their own.

She started on the long walk home, thinking of Tiffany’s e-mail that morning. Maybe a blond ponytail and blue eyes could do what fate couldn’t.

A brassy car horn broke Ronnie out of her reverie as she waited to cross the street.

“Hey, Ronnie! Need a ride?” An elderly grocer she’d known since childhood was leaning out his pickup trucks window.

“No thanks, Mr. Dugan.” She smiled at the old man. “I’m almost home.”

“Come on, Ronnie. I know you better than that. You still got two, three miles yet.” He leaned over and swung the creaky door wide.

Ronnie hesitated, then sighed and clambered up into the truck. “I am pretty tired. And I do have to work tonight. Thanks.”

“I’m heading past your place anyway. As long as you don’t mind if I take five minutes to drop off some equipment on the way.”

“No problem.” Ronnie sank back into the cracked vinyl seat with a sigh of gratitude.

They rode in silence as they approached the center of town. There wasn’t much traffic. The McDonald’s and the liquor store were doing a brisk evening business, but few cars lined the strip of other storefronts. Even the parking lot of the local supermart—once, the towns main attraction—was sparsely populated. A sheet of plywood had recently gone up over the entrance to the dance studio where she had spent so much of her time.

“So you just come from cheerleading practice?” Mr. Dugan asked.

“No … not exactly.”

“You look like you did.”

“Yeah.” Ronnie looked out the window.

“I’ve known you since you were born, child. What’s wrong?”

Tears crept into the corner of her eyes, and she kept her head turned so the old man couldn’t see her face.

“I just …” She took a deep breath and tried again. “I just lost my last chance at a college scholarship.” She saw Mr. Dugan look sideways in silence, giving her time to form the words. “One of the big state schools has this famous cheerleading team, and they hand out scholarships every year. They just had tryouts. None of us made it.”

“Ronnie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you wanted to go to college.”

“Well, I do.” Tears threatened to erupt again. “I have to. I
have to
. Look at this place, Mr. Dugan!” She jabbed her finger toward the windshield. “Half the storefronts are boarded up. And all my classmates want to do is hang out in the McDonald’s parking lot and smoke weed.”

She caught herself and glanced sideways. “Oh—I probably shouldn’t say that in front of you.”

He gave her a sad smile. “It’s not like it surprises me, Ronnie.”

“And then they’ll have babies too early, or get stuck in some minimum-wage job at the factory for the rest of their lives.” She closed her eyes. “I want
more
than that! I want to get out and do something important, something that helps people.”

“Like what?”

Ronnie didn’t answer for a moment, then she continued in a quiet voice. “About three years ago, I hurt my back really bad in that car accident.”

“I remember. You had that cast thing on for a while.”

“Yeah. Well, it only got worse, even though I saw a couple of doctors about it. Finally, someone referred me to this physical therapist. She worked with me for a whole year, until I was back to normal. And she didn’t even charge me the whole fee, only what the insurance would cover from the jerk that hit me. That’s the kind of thing I want to do. That therapist knew so much cool stuff, and she could help people with it! I don’t want to work at the pizza place for the rest of my life. I don’t want to end up stuck here like—”

She caught herself before the words slipped out.
Like my mother
 …

Mr. Dugan glanced at her and then looked back at the road. The wheels of the truck bumped over the entrance to a small parking lot, and he steered the truck to a gentle stop.

“I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Ronnie watched in the rearview mirror as the elderly man began hauling a heavy industrial cooler out of the back of the truck. She jumped out and ran around to the back.

“That’s so heavy! Can I help—”

Mr. Dugan braced the chest against the tailgate and lowered it to the ground. He grinned at her as he slid a dolly under it’s base, secured it with a few straps, and wheeled it away, whistling to himself.

She watched him go, heading toward Big Al’s Fix-It Shop. The other storefronts had worn signs proclaiming Shepherd Christian Books—
All Your Christian Needs for Less
, Oasis Tanning Salon, and Guns Galore—
Guns Guns Guns!

She rolled her eyes and climbed back into the pickup. Maybe she should think about changing jobs. Tiffany had hated working at the tanning salon, but sure had loved looking sun-bronzed in the dead of winter.

Ronnie made a face. Just another dead-end job. Why was it that she was the only one of her friends who wanted to look beyond the next paycheck, the next boyfriend? Last year when she’d had her final back checkup, she had sat in her
doctor’s private office and stared, transfixed, at the diplomas on the wall, the books on the shelves behind his desk. She listened, envious, as he rattled off the dosage and instructions for patients’ medicine from memory. Now
he
was making a difference, and was helping people and making great money at the same time. Just like her physical therapist. They weren’t trapped: they could do anything they wanted to do.

Why on
earth
were they doing it in this town?

The driver’s door creaked open and Mr. Dugan settled in behind the wheel. “Okay. We’re out of here.”