“Yes, sir,” I said, not sure what he meant.
“If you get good information, make arrangements to record a statement or prepare an affidavit. We’ll notice the best candidates for deposition as soon as the case is filed.”
“When will you depose Dabney?” Myra asked.
“What do you think?” Mr. Carpenter asked, looking at Julie and me.
My mind raced in several directions at once.
“Depose Dabney first,” Julie responded. “She might admit what’s needed to prove the case without realizing it. From what Tami says, she seems like an arrogant person who won’t consider the legal implications of her opinions and actions.”
I didn’t remember describing Reverend Dabney as arrogant.
“But what if the other deponents give me a lot of insight into what I should ask her?” Mr. Carpenter asked.
“Then take her deposition again based on newly discovered evidence. She might contradict her earlier testimony, which will be an added bonus.”
“Do you agree?” Mr. Carpenter turned to me.
“Uh, I still think we should make an effort to resolve the dispute.
All we have to go on is our client’s allegations, and they might prove unfounded. If that happens, we’ve wasted time and money.”
“So, you think I should write Dabney a letter and invite her to come into the office for a discussion about Paulding’s offer to buy the house and the church?”
“Yes, sir. It might make the expense and risk of a lawsuit unnecessary.”
Mr. Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. “After Jason’s blood pressure returned to normal on Friday, he called me and we discussed that very thing. He considered it, but in the end insisted we go straight to litigation, the sooner the better. He doesn’t have much confidence in lawyer letters, and I agree. They’re usually ignored.”
Myra’s fingers were rapidly tapping the keys of her laptop. I’d seen her memos of meetings in files. They were court-reporter accurate.
“Who will assume my role?” Myra asked.
“One of the associate attorneys,” Mr. Carpenter said. “I’m not sure who that will be.”
“Why is Myra not going to help?” I asked.
“She’s taking a leave of absence from the firm,” Mr. Carpenter said.
I stared at the paralegal, whose face was set like stone.
“Is it a health problem?” I asked.
“It’s personal,” the paralegal answered curtly.
“I wasn’t trying to be nosy,” I said, feeling my face redden.
“What about Ned Danforth?” Mr. Carpenter asked. “He’s outgoing and people like him, which would help when dealing with potential witnesses.”
“Could you ask someone else?” Julie said.
“Why?” Mr. Carpenter asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve worked with Ned on other projects this summer.”
“It’s personal,” Julie answered. I could see the side of her neck turn red.
“Zach Mays could do it,” I added quickly. “He and I worked well together in the Moses Jones case.”
“Zach’s not really a litigator,” Mr. Carpenter replied with doubt in his voice.
“But he’s very insightful when it comes to investigation. He steered me in the right direction when I got off track in the Jones case. He thought of issues that hadn’t crossed my mind, and if the supervising attorney doesn’t have to take the lead in court, he could supervise Julie and me.”
Mr. Carpenter studied me for a few seconds. I held my breath.
“I’d like an opportunity to work with Zach,” Julie added.
“Have either of you talked to him about the case?”
“I mentioned it briefly,” I replied. “He said that it sounded interesting.”
It was an incomplete truth, and I immediately felt guilty because Zach had also made it clear that he didn’t want to get involved.
Mr. Carpenter turned to Myra. “Organize the file and deliver it to Zach. I’ll send him an e-mail letting him know his responsibilities. I’ll give these ladies what they want and see how it works out.”
Julie and I left together but didn’t speak until we reached the library.
“I couldn’t believe I said that about Ned,” Julie said as soon as the door was closed. “It just popped out. Ever since the day on the boat, I’ve avoided him, but I think he’s mad at me, too.”
“Why would he be mad at you?”
“Because I made him feel like a rejected seventh grader.”
“You shouldn’t have to put up with any harassment.”
“Anyway, thanks for coming to my rescue with your suggestion about Zach. I don’t know what I would have done if Mr. C had started to cross-examine me.”
“And I don’t know what I’m going to tell Zach when he finds out what I did.”
“I thought he was interested in the case.”
“Yes, but only in a hypothetical way. We discussed it twice over the weekend, and I can bring it up again at dinner tonight.”
“That will work,” Julie answered, puckering her lips and touching them with her index finger. “Wait until he finishes eating; then make him forget about anything except being close to these.”
13
SISTER DABNEY HADN’T TAKEN A DAY OFF OR VACATION IN FIVE years. She didn’t rest because poverty and suffering respected neither clock nor calendar, and she told people, “God rested on the seventh day, but not me.”
Over the past two days, Sister Dabney had spent a lot of time with the boy beaten by his father. After the young man slept a few hours, ate a hot breakfast, and listened to her preach on Sunday morning, he cried tears of repentance at the front of the church. His aunt picked him up following the service and promised to come back in the evening. Neither of them showed up. Another member of the congregation told Sister Dabney they’d left town in the afternoon before the boy’s father could post bail.
She didn’t blame them. The boy might not be back, but Sister Dabney had done her part. She warned him in advance, took him in when he suffered, fed and clothed him, and pointed him in the right direction. She’d planted many spiritual seeds since leaving the mountains as the seventeen-year-old bride of a flamboyant twenty-one-year-old redheaded preacher named Russell Dabney. She didn’t know whether the ground where most of her seed fell was rocky or fertile. Those questions wouldn’t be answered until harvesttime.
Sister Dabney’s version of the gospel didn’t sound like good news to most listeners. She used fearful illustrations of judgment to warn of coming wrath. Her preaching sounded dated in twenty-first-century America. A seminary professor from Atlanta brought a class to hear her one Sunday. He sat calmly through the threats of fire and brimstone, but several of the students squirmed in their seats. Afterward, he thanked her for the opportunity to experience what he called “primitive religion.” She responded with a piece of personal information about the professor’s private life that caused his face to pale before he quickly left the building.
Sister Dabney had limited opportunities to rail at the rich about the judgment to come. Most of her flock worked menial jobs, collected aluminum cans, dived into Dumpsters for discarded food, panhandled at traffic lights, and did anything else they could to make a few dollars or find something to eat. They were the type of people churches helped with Thanksgiving turkeys and donations of extra clothes in winter. Sister Dabney firmly believed the poor needed more than an occasional handout; they, too, were called to repent and live a holy life. Thus, she refused to let them hide behind poverty, either as a perverted seal of approval or an irreversible sign of judgment. Sin was the problem, and Jesus the solution. The road to heaven was narrow and hard. Get on it or abandon all hope.
Monday morning at eleven o’clock, she poured a cup of sweet tea and squeezed in the juice of half a lemon. She sat in the blue rocker on the porch.
And waited to see who the Lord would send by.
JULIE HAD TO MEET a deadline on another project, so I spent most of
the morning preparing interview questions for the witnesses in Paulding v. Dabney. One of my goals was to create a comfort level with the process. To do that, I decided Julie and I should begin each interview by telling the person a little bit about ourselves. Since we were only summer law clerks, the environment would be less intimidating for people than talking to an experienced lawyer like Mr. Carpenter and might give us an edge in uncovering information. Julie’s research memo was helpful in crafting questions that sounded innocent yet had legal significance.
“Got it!” Julie said, breaking a long silence. “It’s an Eleventh Circuit case directly on point. I can’t believe Ned didn’t know it existed. He should stick to legal issues simple enough for his postfraternity, keg-party brain to process.”
“Congrats.”
Julie pushed her chair away from the computer screen and stretched her arms up in the air.
“Do you think Zach has received the memo from Mr. C yet?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I hope he’s not mad.”
Julie touched her lips. “Don’t fear. Remember your secret weapon.”
I minimized the computer screen. “I’d better call Mrs. Fairmont and ask permission to have supper with Zach.”
“Tell her it’s an emergency.”
I dialed the number for the house. An unfamiliar voice answered.
“Is this the Fairmont residence?” I asked.
“Yes. Tami, is that you?”
It was Mrs. Bartlett.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Mother and I were just discussing your job performance this summer. She’s very pleased with the way things are working out, and I must say, I am, too. Your references assured me you were a responsible young woman who wouldn’t shirk her duties, and you’ve proven them right. I had my doubts, especially when I found out you didn’t have a cell phone. And then you got all wrapped up in that situation with the death of the Prescott girl decades ago, but as far as I know, you’ve not been sneaking out late at night and leaving Mother alone with that lifeline thing around her neck, which I doubt she’d be able to press if something happened to her.”
I looked at Julie and put my hand over the receiver.
“It’s Mrs. Fairmont’s daughter. I wish you knew how to pray.”
“Have you been practicing communicating with her through the intercom connected to the apartment in the basement?” Mrs. Bartlett continued.
“Yes, ma’am. We do it on Tuesday and Thursday nights when she goes to bed. The reception is scratchy, but I can hear her.”
“Does she always respond when you call? I can’t get her to answer the phone most of the time, leaving me wondering if she’s lying on the floor paralyzed or watching a TV show with the sound so loud it’s about to blow the speaker. If you’d been here the first time she had a bad spell and they diagnosed that multi-infarct thing, you’d be nervous about leaving her alone for ten minutes at a time. It’s hard for me to get in eighteen holes without thinking something bad might be happening to her. And the only company she has here at the house all day is that miserable rat of a dog—”
Mrs. Bartlett stopped talking into the phone. I could hear her speaking to Mrs. Fairmont.
“No, Mother, it’s just a figure of speech. You know I don’t like dogs, and it’s unfair of you to subject me to an attack from that vicious animal every time I come to visit. You’d think seeing me would be more important than keeping an oversize rodent in the house. Tami, does your family keep a dog in the house?”
“No, ma’am. All our animals stay outside.”
“There you have it, Mother. Tami lives in a rural area where people have the good sense to know that God intended wildlife to stay out-doors and civilized people to live in houses, especially when they have antique rugs like the one in the blue parlor. That thing is worth a fortune, and it bothers me no end that you insist on showing it off.
Remember when Tami threw herself on the floor to keep it from get-ting stained by coffee when that dog scared me half to death?”
“I didn’t mind,” I interjected. “And frankly, I wish I’d had a dog in the house when I was growing up. The only way to get close to an animal is to share as much of your life with it as you can.”
“I can tell you’ve been listening to Mother’s animal psychology rubbish,” Mrs. Bartlett said. “And it’s not just the fact that he has a bad attitude. Most of the food that goes through this house is wasted because Mother drops half her meals on the floor for the dog to eat.”
“Flip’s stomach is about the size of a walnut,” I said.
“Which Mother is trying to turn into a tree.”
I wanted to be respectful, but it was hard not to defend the loyal little animal.
“Listen, I’ve got to be on my way,” Mrs. Bartlett continued. “Ken and I are going to a benefit dinner at a new golf club down the coast near Brunswick, and I have to find an outfit to wear. What time are you going to be home for supper? Gracie brought a small roast but didn’t have time to fix it before leaving. You’ll need to cook it when you get here. Surely the firm will let you leave early? The last bill Ken and I received from Sam Braddock had enough padding in it to allow you to bill a few less minutes.”
“I’ll do what I can,” I said, my heart sinking.
“Make sure you do. Mother isn’t feeling well, so I want you to keep a close eye on her tonight. And don’t let her propaganda about animals ruin the good upbringing you’ve gotten from your parents. Simplicity isn’t the same thing as being simpleminded.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what Mrs. Bartlett meant.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The phone was silent for a couple of seconds.
“Oh, yes—and if you see Sam Braddock, Mother sends her regards. Don’t mention what I said about the bill. He might double the next one out of spite.”
“Mr. Braddock isn’t that kind of—”
“No, Mother,” Mrs. Bartlett said. “Sam Braddock doesn’t own the house near the pier anymore. He sold it over ten years ago to—”
The line went dead. I hung up the phone.
“Well?” Julie asked.
“Dinner with Zach isn’t on the menu for the evening. I have to be with Mrs. Fairmont.”
“Maybe you should ask Zach to go to lunch,” she suggested.
I glanced at the clock.
“Good idea.”
I picked up the phone to dial Zach’s office number, then stopped.
Other than my father and brothers, I’d never invited a boy or a man to do anything with me. Modern conventions of male-female behavior hadn’t penetrated the social milieu of our church. Girls were always responders, never the aggressors.
For a moment I hung suspended between the propriety of a woman calling a man and the need to communicate important information. Mama wasn’t in the room to ask. I knew what Julie would say. I punched the first two numbers for Zach’s extension, waited, and pushed the third. I nervously listened while the phone rang. On the fifth ring, it went to Zach’s voice-mail message.
“This is Zach Mays. It’s Monday, and I’ll be out of the office until four o’clock this afternoon. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as I can, or, if you need immediate assistance—”
I hung up the phone.
“He’s not there,” I said.
The library door popped open. It was Vince.
“Are you free for lunch?” he asked, directing the question to me.
“Uh, Julie and I are going to grab a bite if you want to join us,”
I answered, nodding in Julie’s direction. “And thanks for the flowers.
They’re beautiful. Mrs. Fairmont put them in a vase in the blue parlor.”
“Flowers?” Julie asked.
I managed a weak smile. “Vince brought by a gorgeous bouquet of fresh flowers while I was out of town visiting my parents. And then he was nice enough to spend some time with Mrs. Fairmont. She loved talking to you about Charleston.”
“Let’
s see,” Julie said, putting her finger to her temple. “Was it on Saturday that you and Zach tried to catch the runaway calf and fell on top of each other in the grass?”
I cut my eyes toward Julie and wished I were close enough to kick her under the table a second time.
“That’s not exactly the way it happened.”
“Why don’t you two go to lunch?” Julie continued. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about without me getting in the way.”
“I’d like to go,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Vince hesitated, his face serious.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
The door closed. I turned toward Julie.
“Don’t start,” she said before I opened my mouth. “Did you really believe you could keep it a secret?”
“No, but I hadn’t decided what to tell him. I like Vince and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“And Vinny obviously likes you, which on TV soap operas is called a love triangle. If you’re going to be so righteous and unselfish about everything, you’d better be up front with Vinny and tell him that he’s not in the running before the race gets started. He’ll be hurt, but it’s less cruel than if you lead him on before kicking him to the curb.”
“That’s not the way I think.”
“But it’ll happen. I’m speaking from experience. I’ve been on the giving and the receiving ends of this type of tango.”
“Then you could have talked to me when he wasn’t in the room. Why bring it up like you did? It embarrassed both of us.”
“Because you have to learn to face things. You would have gone to lunch and kept him in the dark.”
I had to admit she was right, but I was still annoyed. She should have been more discreet.
“At least I’m honest,” she added. “You could stand a dose of that.”
Julie left the library. I put my head down on the table and closed my eyes. I heard the door open and looked up.
It was Zach.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“This is where I work.”
“But you’re supposed to be out of the office until four o’clock this afternoon. I just listened to the message on your voice mail.”
Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope Page 15