Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (9 page)

“Who does the firm represent?” Zach sat up in interest.

“The developer.”

I laid out the dispute between Paulding Development Company and Ramona Dabney.

“I know the area of town but can’t remember the church,” Zach said. “What does Mr. Carpenter want you to do?”

“Be his rabbi. He thinks I have special insight into what motivates Sister Dabney. I’m not sure how that helps the case, but he’s convinced it will give us an edge. On the practical side, I’m going to help Myra Dean with the investigation. The whole thing made me uneasy because I’m not sure Mrs. Dabney is as bad as our client claims. Who knows what he or his partners may have done to her? For all I know, they may be the bad guys.”

“Did you see anything she wrote about the client?”

“Paulding says it’s all verbal except for a letter to his wife.”

“A letter to his wife? What did it say?”

“I’m not even sure we have a copy, which seems odd. Paulding provided a lot of background information. But most of the case will be based on phone calls, conversations, et cetera.”

“Slander, no libel. That’s going to be hard to prove.”

“Yes.”

Zach pulled a long blade of grass and put it between his teeth.

“It’s good that Mr. Carpenter considers you his resident expert on religious fanatics. Every lawyer has to have a niche.”

AS THE SUN CLIMBED HIGHER in the sky Ellie and Emma each caught another fish. The red streaks on Zach’s hand began to retreat. We stopped fishing to eat cheese, crackers, and green grapes packed in the wicker basket. The grapes were tart and juicy.

“What kind of wine would these grapes make?” Zach asked, biting into one. “A Chablis?”

“Don’t go there,” I warned.

“Does your family drink wine?” Ellie asked.

“Not very often,” Zach said. “My mother never drinks. Her father was an alcoholic so she avoids it totally. I can live without it, especially if I have a cup of cold water like this one.”

“Our water comes from a well in the backyard,” Ellie said.

“It tastes great,” Zach answered, holding up his paper cup.

“That’s because it has trace minerals in it,” Emma said. “As a science project we boiled some water and tested the residue to find out what was in it.”

“There are underground rivers all around here,” Ellie added. “The water in this pond comes from a spring near the spot the butterflies like. You can see the surface of the water bubbling.”

“Okay, Zach’s lesson is over,” I said. “Back to fishing. We need to catch at least two more big fish if we’re going to have enough for a decent fish fry.”

The twins went to a different part of the pond. I threw my hook in the water, then returned to the quilt and shook the water jug. Almost all the ice packed in it had melted. I handed the last cluster of grapes to Zach.

“Why did you say that about wine?” I asked. “You knew it would be controversial. It’s one thing to challenge me, but the twins are so young.”

“And very smart, just like their sister. I’m just asking questions. Isn’t that the way your mother taught you?”

“Yes.”

“And one thing that makes you attractive is the strength of your convictions. Your goal in life is to be a godly woman. What Christian man in his right mind wouldn’t want to get to know someone like that?”

My faith had been a turnoff to boys for so long that it was hard to imagine any other response.

“Even if your legs are a bit pale,” Zach concluded.

I pulled down my dress. “Quit looking at my legs.”

“It’s too late,” he answered with a smile. “The image is etched forever in my memory.”

“I’ve got one!” Ellie called out.

By the time we reached the girls the fat catfish was flopping in the grass. I removed the hook and put it on a second stringer. As soon as I finished, Emma had a bite. She leaned back against the weight of the fish as she reeled it in. It looked like the other fish’s twin. The sun was nearing its zenith.

“The sisters have caught sisters,” I said. “Let’s go home before it gets too hot.”

I dipped the blue bucket in the pond and put the catfish in it.

They slapped against one another. The water would keep them fresh until supper. I set the bucket on the grass and folded the quilt. Ellie peered into the bucket.

“Do you want to name them?” Zach asked her.

“They’re not pets,” she answered. “That’s our supper.”

“Don’t you think we should set them free?” he said. “They were happy in the pond.”

My sister looked up at him with her blue eyes. “What would we eat? Chicken livers?”

“Never mind.” He laughed.

At home, Mama fixed an ice pack for Zach’s hand. Daddy and the boys came inside and washed up at the large sink in the downstairs bathroom. Kyle inspected Zach’s hand. The swelling had already gone down.

“Did Tammy Lynn talk to you about the possibility of an amputation?”

“Yes,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“She always brings that up when one of us gets popped by a cat-fish. Did she also mention the percentage of people who actually develop complications from a catfish sting?”

“No.”

“The chance of a serious infection from a catfish sting is about one in one hundred thousand.”

“I’m glad to know the true expert in the family,” Zach replied. “Ellie said I should apply a coating of pond mud to draw out the poison.”

Ellie, who was eating a banana, spoke up. “That’s what you said when we were fishing with Eric Newman.”

“If I said that to Eric it was a joke. He doesn’t need an excuse to get muddy. He likes to fish barefoot standing knee-deep in the water.”

Mama had cut up fresh fruit in a large bowl and cooled it in the freezer for lunch. I loved slightly frozen strawberries and peaches sprinkled with a hint of sugar. The mix also contained blueberries that had been picked from our bushes and stored in the freezer. The new blueberry crop would come in later in the summer. A few bites of the fruit made me feel like the day was starting over. Mama placed a loaf of homemade bread in the center of the table. The rich texture and nutty flavor of the bread went perfectly with the fruit. Three pieces of Mama’s bread could fill up Kyle’s stomach.

“How many fish did you catch?” Daddy asked.

“Five,” Emma answered. “I caught three, and Ellie two. Zach hooked a snapping turtle under the corner of its shell.”

“What did Tammy Lynn catch?” Bobby asked.

“None, but she took the fish off the hooks and put them on the stringers,” Ellie said.

The twins talked all through lunch about our fishing trip. To my relief, they left out Zach’s question about wine, and they’d not heard his comments about my white legs.“What are we going to do with Zach this afternoon?” Ellie asked as soon as she finished.

“Nothing,” Mama answered. “You girls are going to the garden.

We have rows of pole beans to pick and okra to cut.”

“What about Tammy Lynn?” Emma asked.

Daddy spoke. “I talked on the phone with Oscar Callahan while you were fishing. He’s at home recovering and really wants to see you.

I thought you and Zach could drive over for a visit.”

It was a great suggestion.

“I’d like to let him know how the job is working out. He gave me a great recommendation to Mr. Carpenter. I wouldn’t have gotten the job without it.”

“And there’s another reason to go,” Daddy added. “Take Kyle’s truck and trailer. Mr. Callahan wants to sell a couple of three-year-old steers at the auction in Dawsonville. I told him we can take them down with the dairy calves from the Moorefield place.”

“Who’ll load the steers?” I asked.

“The man who’s helping him during the week culled them from his herd and put them in the pen beside the barn. Just back the trailer up to the gate and shoo them in.”

I’d never gotten involved with Kyle’s cattle business. I looked at Zach.

“Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah.”

I helped Mama clean up the kitchen while Zach and Kyle hooked the cattle trailer to the truck.

“Change into something nicer,” Mama said when we finished.

“Mr. Callahan will want you to come in the house to visit.”

“What will I do if his wife starts criticizing the church?” I asked.

“Keep quiet. It’s not your place to correct her.”

I went upstairs and put on a blue-striped cotton dress that I’d left at home when I moved to Savannah. It was lightweight, yet nice enough for a house visit on a warm summer day. I slipped on a pair of white sandals and brushed my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d changed outfits so many times by the middle of the day.

When I returned downstairs Zach was washing his hands in the utility sink. I saw him splash his face and rub the back of his neck. Thinking he should have closed the door, I quickly looked away. He came into the kitchen drying his face with a hand towel. Mama had a paper grocery sack of fresh-picked corn on the counter.

“Take this corn,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve been able to keep up a garden this year.”

“Should I change clothes?” Zach asked.

“No, you may have to manhandle one of the steers,” Mama re-plied. “Black Angus can be stubborn.”

I glanced at Mama in surprise.

“I’m kidding,” she replied.

Mama’s efforts at humor were so infrequent I didn’t know how to react.

“Run along,” she continued with a nervous cough. “Go straight to the Callahan place and return. No side trips.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kyle kept his truck beside the equipment shed. Zach held the door open for me. The gentlemanly gesture seemed out of place out here in the country. The door groaned and popped as it swung wide. There was a clean towel draped across the passenger seat.

“I saw something you might not want to sit on,” he said.

“What?”

“Nothing alive. Just some grease and dirt.”

Zach started the engine and slowly let out the clutch. The truck jumped forward, causing the trailer to jerk. The engine died.

“Do you know how to drive a straight shift?”

“Only on a motorcycle. But then, I’m a fast learner. It’s the same principle.”

“There’s no shame in letting me drive.”

“Give me another chance.”

I sat back in my seat. Zach started the motor, revved the engine higher, and let out the clutch. The truck shot across the yard, veering toward the basketball goal.

“Look out!” I screamed.

Zach slammed on the brakes and slowed the truck but forgot to push in the clutch. The truck lurched several times, then died. Zach leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel.

“I’d do worse if I tried to drive your motorcycle,” I offered.

“Okay. Your turn.”

We exchanged places, and I slipped behind the wheel.

“And if we were in Los Angeles, I wouldn’t be able to drive any-where,” I added, trying to assuage his male ego.

Zach didn’t answer. I drove around to the front of the house. Flip and Ginger ran alongside barking.

“Are they mocking me?” Zach asked.

“No.” I chuckled. “I need to run into the house and get my license.”

Leaving Zach in the truck, I went inside. When I returned, he was behind the wheel.

“One more try,” he begged. “I’ve been visualizing it in my mind.”

“You don’t have anything to prove to me.”

“This is for me.”

I got in the truck. He gingerly engaged the clutch. With a slight jerk, the truck rolled forward with the trailer bouncing along behind.

“Now we’re on our way,” Zach said.

He pushed in the clutch and pulled the shifter backward. Deep in the gearbox there was a collision somewhere between second and fourth gears. The grinding noise was so loud I covered my ears. Zach quickly pushed in the clutch and turned off the engine.

“End of lesson one. You take over,” he said.

I drove to the end of the driveway and turned northward onto the highway. I smoothly shifted into second gear, then, for fun, slightly gunned the engine between second and third.

“Show-off,” Zach said. “Pride is a sin.”

7

SISTER DABNEY OWNED FOUR WOODEN ROCKING CHAIRS. SHE kept one in her bedroom, another in the living room, a third on the front porch, and the oldest on the platform in the church. Each one was painted a different color: bedroom, yellow; living room, red; front porch, blue; and church, purple.

The old woman claimed to receive revelation while rocking. Thus, when Sister Dabney sat in the blue rocker on the front porch, people in the neighborhood knew she was available for consultation. How-ever, asking the preacher a question carried risks. Her answers could create more problems than they solved. And many considered her words nothing more than bitter imagination wrapped in judgmental opinion.

A frequent companion as she rocked was a large sweet tea in a recycled thirty-two-ounce convenience store cup. The calories didn’t help her weight or her slide toward diabetes.

This afternoon three boys not yet in their teens stopped their rickety bicycles in front of the house.

“Tell our fortunes,” one called out.

Sister Dabney took a sip of tea and kept rocking. The boys waited but didn’t leave the sidewalk to come closer.

“She ain’t no fortune-teller,” another boy said. “She’s a preacher.”

“Aren’t you Ruby Matthews’s son?” Sister Dabney said in a loud voice.

“Who, me?”

“I know your mama from the thrift store. She wouldn’t want you hanging out with those troublemakers. You get on home before one of them steals something and you all get into trouble.”

“We ain’t going to steal nothing,” the third boy said.

“You already stole ten dollars from that man who paid you to cut his grass the day before yesterday,” she replied.

The Matthews boy punched the speaker in the shoulder and nodded his head.

“You can’t prove it,” the boy said.

“I don’t have to. God is watching, and he knows the hairs on your head and every sin you’ve committed. You’d better repent and get right before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“For what’s going to happen when your daddy comes home tomorrow.”

“My daddy’s been in prison for five years.”

“You wait and see. He’ll be home tomorrow, and you’re liable to be sleeping in the street when that happens.”