Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “We’re still checking it out,” I replied, dodging the question. “Would you be willing to sign an affidavit?”

  “It depends on what it says.”

  “A summary of her comments about Mr. Paulding, not what she said to you personally.”

  “Okay, but I’m not sure what’s going to be gained by dragging this woman into court. I can’t tell Jason what to do, but I may suggest that in this situation it would make sense to overlook an offense and go on with life. There’s a proverb that states, ‘Where there is no wood—’”

  “‘The fire goes out.’ Proverbs 26:20.”

  “You know the verse?”

  “Oh yes. I have two brothers and two sisters. We all had to memorize that one.”

  I left the church more confused than when I’d arrived. Since deciding to go to law school, I’d role-played hypothetical scenarios that might challenge my convictions and worked out a response in advance. I was prepared for a divorce case without the presence of adultery, a guilty client facing criminal charges, and a witness who refused to tell the truth. But there was no file in my mind for an out-of- control preacher like Sister Dabney.

  BACK AT THE OFFICE, I pushed Paulding v. Dabney to the side and dived into research about a secured transaction question for a bank trying to repossess equipment from a manufacturing company in financial trouble. Application of the complex rules of priority had an elegant simplicity. It was much simpler than unraveling human motivations. Julie walked in.

  “Did you talk to Paulding’s minister?” she asked.

  “Yes, more of the same. General characterization of our client as a crook and a thief accompanied by a twist or two about Dabney’s ministry.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing worth explaining.”

  “Well, I had a very nontheological discussion with Paulding’s wife.”

  “Did Dabney accuse Paulding of cheating on his wife?”

  “How did you know?”

  “The longer I work on this case, the more I’m beginning to think like Sister Dabney.”

  Julie nodded. “That makes perfect sense. Fifty years down the road, and you could be the defendant in a case like this.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Because it’s true. Have you considered this is your chance to look in the mirror and see where your religious fanaticism ends up?”

  I started to snap back, then stopped. There might be more similarity between Ramona Dabney and me than I wanted to admit. People with a high level of zeal for God could get off track and into major error in a short amount of time.

  “What else did the wife say?” I changed the subject.

  “That she cried for three days after receiving the letter. It contained enough known information to make it seem credible. Mary Paulding wasn’t able to discuss it in person with Jason until he returned from a business trip. Fortunately, Dabney’s accusations were all false. Jason had the hotel and phone records to prove it.”

  “Hotel and phone records?”

  “Yes, to show where he was and who he called on the dates Dabney accused him of coloring outside the lines. We need to throw a count in the complaint for malicious interference with the marital relationship. I know it’s an archaic cause of action, but Mary will make a great witness. She’s a nice lady who would bring a boatload of sincerity into the courtroom. Have a look.”

  Julie laid her folder on the table. I didn’t touch it. I’d been around enough of Sister Dabney’s work to avoid summarily dismissing what she’d written.

  “And maybe we should verify the alibi, too,” I suggested.

  “That’s not our job.”

  “Then how do you know the records are legit?”

  Julie opened the folder and slid several sheets of paper across the table. There were copies of phone bills and hotel check-in/checkout data.

  “Jason Paulding and his cell phone were in Phoenix when Dabney claims he was in Atlanta with his paramour. And the name Dabney gave for the other woman is one of Mary Paulding’s best friends. The friend is happily married with two children and a third on the way. Mary told the woman about the letter, and she was able to prove the impossibility of the accusations.”

  The idea of this type of sin, even if it wasn’t true, made me feel sick.

  “Okay, Mr. Carpenter can let us know if there’s anything else we should do. Did you hear anything from Brenda Abernathy at the paper?”

  “No. If I’d grown the biggest rose in the history of Savannah, it would have died and fallen off the bush before she called me back.” Julie paused. “That gives me an idea. We could contact the paper under pretense and see if we can reach her.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s an old trick used by the investigators who worked for the divorce firm where I clerked during the school year. The investigator would pretend to be someone else in order to find out information.”

  “They would lie?”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Just on the surface. Is it wrong to create a diversion in order to find out the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then cover your ears for a few minutes.”

  Julie picked up the phone. I bolted from the library, thinking perhaps my future in the practice of law should be limited to sitting in front of a computer terminal performing research on esoteric issues. Dealing with real people and their problems created too many moral land mines.

  21

  I RAN INTO VINCE IN THE HALLWAY AND KNOCKED HIM BACKWARD.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, putting out his hands to steady both of us. “Why the hurry?”

  “Running away from sin.”

  “What?”

  I told him about Julie.

  “If she thinks that’s allowed under the rules of professional con-duct, Julie won’t keep her license very long if she ever becomes a lawyer.”

  He stepped toward the library.

  “What are you going to do?” I asked.

  “Warn her. If this gets back to Mr. Carpenter, she could be fired on the spot. You could get into trouble for not turning her in.”

  I’d become so used to sparring with Julie that I’d lost touch with the actual implications of her ideas. Vince brushed past me and opened the library door.

  “Hi, Vinny,” Julie said perkily as she returned the phone receiver to its cradle.

  “Tami told me you made a call to a newspaper reporter under pretense—”

  “Of course not.” Julie sniffed, cutting her eyes toward me. “That would violate more ethical rules than I could cite, including the Ten Commandments. I was kidding.”

  “I didn’t think it was funny. Neither did Vince.”

  “Tami,”—Vince touched me on the arm—“could I talk to you for a minute?”

  As soon as we were alone in the hall, I burst out, “Sometimes she makes me furious. If you hadn’t jerked me out of there, I would have exploded.”

  “I know. The steam from your ears was burning the side of my neck.”

  “There’s a time and a place for righteous indignation.”

  “And this was one of those times?”

  “Please, you sound like Zach. He’s always analyzing my feelings and treating me like an insect under a microscope.”

  Vince took a step back. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to tell you what to think or feel.”

  “No,” I sighed. “I guess it takes two men to keep me from running off a cliff. I’d wanted to see you anyway. And tell you about Mrs. Fairmont.”

  “That’s what Mr. Braddock’s secretary told me.” Vince glanced down the hall. “Let’s go to a conference room.”

  There were two small conference rooms on the main floor. One was occupied by a group of lawyers taking a deposition; the other was empty. We went inside and sat down.

  “How is she?”

  “Better than I’d hoped for, but she had an unusual experience.” I told him about Mrs. Fairmont’s “journey” and hearing the voices of those wh
o prayed for her.

  “Before the ambulance arrived, I was praying and crying out so loudly you’d think I believed volume was important to receiving an answer. Maybe that penetrated her consciousness.”

  “It all sounds positive to me,” Vince said thoughtfully, “but you’ll have to see how it affects her over time.”

  Talking with Vince made me wish I’d been sharing the library all summer with him instead of being imprisoned with Julie.

  “And I’ll be praying for you and Julie,” he added. “I don’t think she realizes the impact her words have on you.”

  I suspected Julie knew exactly what she was doing.

  “How will you pray?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Loud enough to be heard.”

  I RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY. To be with Zach, and now Vince, when God touched a sick person was a tremendous blessing. People could go years without a hint of a miracle. I’d seen two in two weeks. That was a lot more important than my frustration with Julie.

  “Did you have a nice chat with Vinny?” Julie asked.

  “Yes,” I answered curtly.

  Julie pushed her chair away from the computer terminal.

  “Hey, what I did was over-the-top. It was a random thought and I ran with it. I pushed it too far. I’m sorry.”

  I searched her eyes for a hint of mockery.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “Do you think I should say something to Vinny?”

  “Probably.”

  “Vinny is a prince. If he could see anyone but you when he opens his eyes, I’d plant myself in the center of his vision. Could you see us as a couple?”

  I couldn’t stifle a smile.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “I can’t figure out whether I’m supposed to be a couple with Zach or Vince. Trying to fit you in the picture makes it really crowded.”

  AFTER WORK, I spent a half hour playing with Flip in the garden. As I was coming inside, the phone rang. I ran into the kitchen and checked the caller ID. It was Mrs. Bartlett.

  “Tami?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mother needs to finish her supper. She’s having trouble swallowing, so they have her on a thick liquid diet that requires supervision. I’ve got to be at a reception for a friend who returned from six weeks in France. I’m going to be late as it is. What time are you going to be here?”

  “I haven’t eaten, but I can come anytime.”

  “Make it now. I’ve been waiting for a nurse’s aide to help. It doesn’t look like anyone is going to show. You can be here in five or ten minutes and get Mother through mealtime. She’s not talking to me because I won’t put up with her foolishness. I knew it would come to this eventually, but that doesn’t make it any easier.” Mrs. Bartlett lowered her voice. “You almost wish the stroke had taken her to avoid all this.”

  The “you” referred to by Mrs. Bartlett didn’t include me. I’d seen pathetic situations of failed health. Mrs. Fairmont’s condition wasn’t one of them. Not yet.

  “I’m on my way,” I said and hung up the phone. I didn’t want to listen to anything else Mrs. Bartlett might have to say.

  Mrs. Bartlett’s attitude toward her mother, me, and life in general had deteriorated since I first met her. If she’d been so negative then, I might not have agreed to stay with Mrs. Fairmont. That thought brought me up short. Both my parents and I agreed living with Mrs. Fairmont was probably one of the main reasons God had brought me to Savannah. Compassion for the elderly woman flooded my heart. When I entered Mrs. Fairmont’s room, a nurse’s aide was, in fact, helping her eat.

  “Thanks so much,” I said to the aide. “I’ll take over from here.”

  “Are you her granddaughter?” the aide asked.

  “No, but I wish I was.”

  “That’s nice,” Mrs. Fairmont said as soon as she swallowed a bite.

  “I went to sleep on you last night while you were here. I’m afraid I wasn’t a very good hostess.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m just so glad you’re better.”

  I’d fed patients who needed to use a thickening agent to help them swallow. Mrs. Fairmont had almost finished, and I helped her with the final bites. To my untrained eye, she seemed to be doing well.

  “A sip of apple juice would be nice,” the elderly woman said. “Even if it’s not as good as an after-dinner port wine.”

  The apple juice hadn’t been thickened. I started to stir in the powdery substance.

  “No, let me try it straight. I’ve been able to handle a few sips of water.”

  I held the cup close to her mouth so she could use the straw. She took a sip and coughed slightly.

  “I’ll be cutting into a rare steak before you know it,” she said.

  “I hope so. What’s the doctor telling you?”

  “That I have a choice to make.”

  A hollow feeling hit me in my stomach. I knew what was coming before she said it.

  “They can only keep me here a few more days. You know how hospitals are about kicking you out as soon as possible. After that, he recommends either a nursing home or an assisted-living facility.”

  Mrs. Fairmont reached up with a hand that trembled slightly and picked up the photo of Flip I’d brought the night before.

  “After the doctor left, I stared at that picture and wondered what to do. I really want to go home and sleep in my own bed with Flip curled up at my feet. I could have a stair elevator installed and promise to wear my lifeline all the time. I even considered turning the den into a bedroom and using the guest bath on the main floor. That would be totally against the decor of the house, but—” She stopped.

  “It’s your house,” I finished.

  “Tell that to Christine.”

  “What does she want you to do?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

  “Move out so the house can be sold and the furnishings distributed. Christine has her own things, but there are a few items that would fit in her house. Some of the antiques are museum quality and can be donated before my death. The rest would be placed with dealers on consignment. Is there anything you’d like to have?”

  Mrs. Fairmont’s question caught me so off guard that I couldn’t stem my emotions. It was impossible to keep two tears from racing down my cheeks. I quickly rubbed them away, but she’d seen them. She reached out her hand and touched my arm.

  “Tami, you’re a good girl, as sweet as anyone I’ve met in a long time. I didn’t think young people like you were still being made in this day and age.”

  Her words weren’t helping me calm down. I sniffed loudly and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

  “There’s tissue on the windowsill behind you.”

  I reached back and grabbed a couple, then blew my nose.

  “Would you be able to go home if you had a sitter who could stay with you twenty-four hours a day?” I asked through my sniffles.

  “I don’t know if it’s worth the trouble to try and put that together. Friends who’ve used agencies to staff that sort of thing have had lots of problems. That’s why I was reluctant to let you stay with me when Christine brought it up.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me, too.”

  Mrs. Fairmont closed her eyes. “If I shut my eyes, I can pretend that I’m sitting in my chair in the den with Flip at my feet and the TV tuned to a station I don’t really care about watching.”

  “I wish I could take care of you.”

  “You already have, but you have your own life to live. It’s going to take more than you can offer to keep me going.”

  “Would Gracie know someone?”

  “We’ve talked about it before. She has a great-niece who needs work, but she’s not reliable.” Mrs. Fairmont looked at me. “You know, I can’t talk to you like this when my brain short-circuits.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But even when you’re confused you have a good attitude. You just ask a lot of questions and have an active imagination.”

  “Like wh
at?”

  I remembered the time she was convinced a bird had flown into the house.

  “I’d rather not bring that up.”

  “All right.” She nodded, closing her eyes again. “Tell me how Flip’s doing.”

  She listened with a smile on her face as I told her what she already knew about the little dog’s routine. When I finished, Mrs. Fairmont turned her head slightly and made better eye contact with me.

  “May I tell you something?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She put her hand on her chest. “Something has happened in here. I think I’m more like you and Gracie.”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been thinking about my life. I’ve made plenty of mistakes, but I know God has forgiven me and loves me anyway. Isn’t that why Jesus came?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I could hardly believe my ears.

  “I knew there was something different about you and Gracie. But I couldn’t put my finger on it until now. I tried to explain all this to Christine. She wouldn’t sit still to hear me out.”

  “She’ll think about it even if she walks away.”

  “I hope so. She believes it’s an old woman’s crutch. I told her it’s better to go into heaven limping than not at all.”

  “There won’t be any limping in that place.” I smiled as my eyes watered again.

  “For a few seconds when I was watching myself in the den, I felt so healthy, so alive—and I wasn’t even dead.”

  I beheld the elderly woman, her body failing, yet God’s mercy coming to her before it was too late. And believed.

  “You’re right,” I said as tears flowed again. “And there won’t be any crying either.”

  All the way to Mrs. Fairmont’s house from the hospital, I repeated, “Thank you,” softly under my breath.

  Each time I said the words, another wave of gratitude swept over me. When I got home, I called Mama and Daddy.

  “We’re proud of you, Tammy Lynn,” Daddy said when I finished. “Proud in the right way.”

  When I awoke in the morning, I didn’t hear Chester crowing, but my heart cried out in greeting to the new day. The more I thought about my conversation with Mrs. Fairmont, the more amazed I was at God’s grace. During my morning run, my feet sprouted wings and I almost flew down the street as I circled Chippewa Square.