Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (14 page)

Sometimes it was nice not having to be an adult.

10

IT WAS A HOT, CLOUDLESS NIGHT. THE SMALL AIR CONDITIONER in the window labored to convert the humid air of the Georgia coast into a cool breeze. Sister Dabney rolled over in bed and reached across to touch her husband’s shoulder. Even sleepy contact can have meaning for couples who have persevered in unity beyond the thrill of youth to maturity forged in shared experience. But Sister Dabney’s right arm fell with a thud against the thin sheets. The callous emptiness of the moment brought her awake with a slight moan.

He was gone. After almost forty years of marriage. Not just for a night, but for over three years. And with a woman Sister Dabney had pulled from the pit of despair. Betrayal heaped upon infidelity.

Sister Dabney pulled a tissue from a box on the nightstand and wiped more perspiration from her forehead. It was hot; however, the night sweats were fueled more by the black fire of abandonment that burned in her heart than the heat of the night. Unseen tormentors stoked the flames, spirits of accusation she could rebuke when awake but that crept back later to shoot their arrows into her defenseless dreams.

“You lie,” she muttered.

The rumblings ceased, but she knew they were there, crouching out of sight.

Sister Dabney rolled onto her back. All her life, she’d told the truth—to those who would listen and those who wouldn’t. She’d seen so many secrets of people’s hearts laid bare she’d grown tired of looking. There was nothing new under the sun. But the deception in her own home caught her unaware. That blindness had shaken her to the core.

She got out of bed. The floorboards popped and protested as her full weight rested on them. Sister Dabney didn’t own a bathroom scale or need one to tell her what anyone could see. She left the bed-room and walked down a short hallway to the kitchen at the rear of the house. She opened the refrigerator door. She wasn’t hungry, but food at any hour brought comfort.

There was a loud bang at the front door. She stopped, not sure if the sound was actual or imagined. Another bang followed. She walked toward the living room. Freedom from fear was one gift that hadn’t been stolen from her. She’d laid hands on people with infectious dis-eases and looked into the eyes of demoniacs. If death at the end of a robber’s gun barrel waited for her, it would be a welcome martyrdom. She peered through the spy hole.

It was one of the boys who had stopped in front of her house. He had a baseball bat in his hand. He lifted the bat and struck the door. Anger rose in her. After tormenting her with words, the boy had returned to assault her. She flipped on the porch light and flung open the door, prepared to deliver a proper rebuke that would send him scurrying away. The boy held up his hand to shield his eyes from the light. His shirt was torn and hanging off his back. He lowered his hand. One eye was swollen partially shut. Leaning against the steps was his bicycle.

“He came back, just like you said,” the boy panted, fear and panic in his eyes.

“What happened?”

“He beat me up; then I hit him in the head with the bat and ran out of the house.”

“Did you knock him out?”

“No.”

“Is anyone still at the house?”

“My little sister and my auntie. They’ve locked the door to the big bedroom. He says he’s going to burn down the house because my auntie won’t tell him where my mama is staying.”

“Come inside,” Sister Dabney said, looking past the boy’s shoulder toward the street. “I’ll call 911.”

The boy handed her the bat as he entered the house. There were more bruises on his back.

“You’ll be safe here.”

SUNDAY MORNING I rolled over and watched Emma and Ellie sleep in adolescent innocence. Every inch of the bedroom was familiar to me, down to the slight cracks in the wood floor caused by the settling of the house.

The twins didn’t need to get up for a few more minutes. While I watched them sleep, I prayed their hearts would awaken to romantic love in God’s perfect time. Prayer can be a long-term investment.

I slipped out of bed, threw on an old cotton dress, and tiptoed barefoot down the stairs with a pair of old sandals in my hand. I could hear the water running in the bathroom next to Mama and Daddy’s bedroom. They would be in the kitchen shortly. The door to the sewing room was closed. Picturing Zach lying in bed with his eyes closed and his head resting on the pillow, I shivered slightly in imaginary intimacy and pushed the scene from my mind.

I went into the kitchen. We didn’t do unnecessary work on the Lord’s Day. The coffeepot was ready to go; all I had to do was press the button. I grabbed the blue egg bucket. Taking care of our animals was a seven-day-a-week responsibility. I slipped on my sandals and walked across the dew-covered yard. The wet grass tickled the ends of my toes. I knew the scientific explanation for dew, but I still considered its early-morning appearance during a hot Georgia summer a mannalike miracle. I collected six eggs and returned to the house. Mama and Daddy were sitting at the table with their coffee. I put the eggs in the sink.

“I’ll finish in the bathroom, then get the twins going,” I said as I walked past them.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Daddy said.

“Just a minute, Tammy Lynn,” Mama said.

I stopped at the door leading toward the hallway.

“I’ll rinse the eggs off before we leave for church,” I said.

“Will you join us?” she asked.

“You know I don’t drink coffee.”

“That’s okay,” Daddy said.

I came over to the table.

“I’ll slide in next to your daddy,” Mama said, moving to the other side of the table. “That way we can both see you.”

“Is this a good time to apologize for how I acted last night?” I asked.

“It’s always a good time to confess your sins,” Mama said.

I’d confessed my sins to Mama and Daddy innumerable times. Keeping short accounts was essential to a healthy spiritual life. Forgiveness was freely granted once they determined my repentance was genuine. I folded my hands and put them on the table.

“I’m sorry that I got upset and walked out of the house last night.”

“And slammed the door,” Mama added.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What else?” she asked.

This type of spiritual cross-examination, although embarrassing, effectively uncovered the root causes of rebellion.

“I dishonored both of you by not allowing you to function as my parents in the way God intends. I’m supposed to submit to you cheerfully until I marry and start my own family. Even then, the commandment to honor you is a lifelong obligation.”

They didn’t speak.

“And I didn’t set a good example for Zach,” I continued. “He’s watching, and we have an opportunity to influence him toward the truth. I acted out of my sinful nature and gave in to the flesh when I should have submitted to God’s patience and peace.”

I took a deep breath, glad to have everything out in the open.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“That’s a lot better than I could do,” Daddy said, rubbing his chin, “but it’s not the main reason we wanted to talk to you.”

“But why else would you want to—?” I began in surprise, then stopped.

“Tammy Lynn, do you still want our permission to court Zach?”

Daddy asked.

I paused for a second to collect myself. “Even though he doesn’t want to go to church with us?”

Mama looked at Daddy, who nodded. She spoke.

“That decision proved more about his understanding of our beliefs and ways than pretending to agree with us when he doesn’t,” she said. “He’s the product of his family, just like you are ours. Your daddy and I aren’t out of touch with reality. There may not be a man in our church for you to marry, which means you’ll need to look elsewhere. Last night we saw something more important about Zach than the length of his hair. He has respect for our beliefs and consideration for our family. That’s rare among outsiders. If you’re going to court someone who didn’t grow up in Powell Station and go to our church, that kind of attitude has to be present for us to allow a relationship to develop.”

“Like Melissa Freiberger?” I asked, referring to a young woman in the church who had a good marriage to an outsider.

“And remember, permission to court isn’t consent to marriage.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, you have our blessing to get to know him better,” Mama concluded.

I felt like pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

“What potential do you see in him?” I asked, trying to uncover more of their thinking.

Daddy smiled. “The same as you.”

I looked into my soul and came up empty. “Could you help me out?”

“A man after God’s own heart.”

“Yes, but his conduct—”

“Needs improvement. That’s where the honesty comes in,” Mama said.

“It took me awhile to come around,” Daddy said, putting his hand on Mama’s shoulder.

“But Zach may not want to adopt our ways and beliefs.”

“Neither did Melissa’s husband, but he’s a good man who loves God,” Daddy said.

“How this is going to turn out isn’t clear to us,” Mama continued, “but we know it’s a new opportunity for all of us to exercise our faith.”

Daddy took a sip of coffee. “We’ve placed your future in God’s hands. His grace is sufficient. I think you’re the greatest daughter in the world.”

I was still confused, but Daddy was so sweet. I wished I could meet a man just like him.

Mama leaned forward and smiled. “And put last night behind you. I don’t condone sin, but I was young once, and the fire in you isn’t much different from the one that burned in me.”

Daddy put his arm around Mama’s shoulders. “You know, your mama could have been a lawyer.”

“A better one than I’ll ever be.”

“No,” she replied sharply. “You’re the sum of our parts, and a jewel in the Lord’s crown. You stand on our shoulders through your influence in the places God sends you. We believe there are great things ahead for you.”

“That’s right.” Daddy kissed Mama on the cheek. “Very great things.”

UPSTAIRS, I WENT through the steps of getting ready for church with-out conscious awareness of my actions. Even though my actual future was cloudy, my parents’ permission to court Zach Mays transported me to a place of fantasy. By the time I finished rubbing my head with a towel after a long shower, my mind had raced through the possibilities of long walks on the beach in the moonlight, a beautiful house in Savannah, and cute, chubby babies who always smiled and never cried.

When I opened the door, Emma was waiting outside.

“You take longer than you used to,” she said. “I’ve been standing here for at least five minutes.”

“You could have used that time to pray,” I replied, putting my hands together in front of me.

“I did. That you would hurry up. Ellie and I have to do our hair, too.”

Fixing our hair on Sunday was different. Mama always kept her long hair in a bun, but younger, unmarried women and girls only had to pin up their hair on Sundays. It wasn’t necessary to wind it as tight as a tennis ball, and I usually caught mine up loosely with a few wisps hanging out the back. I selected a light blue skirt and white blouse that Mama had ironed and hung in the closet while I’d been away for the summer. Some people said our clothes looked like the 1950s; others believed the 1940s were our era. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that my clothes didn’t go out of style because they’d never been in style in the first place.

I took my Bible downstairs. Kyle and Bobby were in the kitchen eating cereal. They were wearing dark pants, white shirts, and dark ties.

“Have you seen Zach?” I asked.

“He’s on the front porch in jeans and a T-shirt,” Bobby said. “Didn’t you tell him to bring church clothes?”

“He’s not going.”

“Why not?” both boys asked at once.

Wondering why it usually fell to me to do all the explaining, I went through a brief version of the previous night’s conversation. When I finished, Kyle turned to Bobby.

“Do you know what this means for us?”

“Yeah, we don’t have to pick a girl from the church,” Bobby replied.

“You’re in good shape,” I said to Bobby. “There’s Marie, Sarah, Nancy Kate, and Sylvia.”

“Sylvia? Are you kidding?”

“Sylvia Bremen is a wonderful person. She helped me last year in vacation Bible school. She’s great with children.”

“Have you ever heard her sing?” Bobby replied. “She sounds like a dying cat stuck in a tree.”

I’d found something else for Sylvia to do during music time with the kids.

“But you shouldn’t make fun of her,” I said, trying to keep from laughing.

“And I don’t have to court her either.”

Kyle put down his spoon. “Tammy Lynn, I like Zach, but I’m not sure he’ll ever fit in with our family.”

I LEFT THE KITCHEN. Zach was sitting in the porch swing with a cup of coffee in his hand. I rested my hand against one of the porch posts.

“Mama and Daddy talked to me this morning,” I said with what I hoped wasn’t a silly smile on my face. “They’ve given permission for us to court.”

Zach stopped rocking the swing. “Really?”

“Yes, what do you think?”

Zach rocked the swing once more before answering.

“That God answers prayer and works miracles.”

The porch swing rocked back and forth several times.

“What are you thinking?” Zach asked.

“That what you just said was one of the nicest things anyone has ever told me. It’s hard to believe.”

“Tammy Lynn!” Mama called out. “Come here, please.”

“Don’t go away,” I said hurriedly.

“That won’t happen until we leave for Savannah.”

“I know, but—” I stopped, not sure what to say. “I’ll be right back.”

I rushed inside. Mama was in the hallway near the sewing room.

“Sister Belmont called. She has the gout and wondered if you could teach her Sunday school class.”

“What age?”

“Fourth and fifth grades.”

“Sure,” I said, turning back toward the porch.

“Hold on,” Mama said, holding out a sheet of paper. “I took notes about her lesson for the day. The twins aren’t in that class any-more and won’t be there to help you.”