Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I don’t blame Maggie for that problem. She’s a fine woman and, from what I’ve heard, is doing a good job at the district attorney’s office.”

  Ms. Patrick left Zach and me.

  “Whew,” I said. “Was he really mad?”

  “He wasn’t happy. I’ve not worked much with him, and this case hasn’t made me want to volunteer for more assignments. Mr. Appleby is more even-tempered, even when we’re under pressure to put together a big deal. I’m going to stick to admiralty work.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

  Instead of reassuring me, Zach merely shrugged and left me standing outside the library door.

  I WORKED ALONE through lunch, worried the whole time that Zach was upset with me about the Dabney case, again. Julie returned in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Did you elope over the weekend?” she asked as she dropped a file folder on the table.

  “No,” I responded more lightly than I felt, “but we went for a motorcycle ride to Hilton Head on Saturday.”

  “Scouting out the honeymoon suite, I’m sure. I’d expect the two of you to plan everything down to the last detail.”

  “Then we went to church together.”

  “That sounds romantic. Bernie Loebsack and I used to hold hands in synagogue until our mothers found out and wouldn’t let us sit next to each other.”

  “I don’t think hand-holding would have gone over very well at Sister Dabney’s church.”

  “You went there?” Julie’s jaw dropped open. “That’s like walking into the lion’s den.”

  “We had no choice. Mr. Carpenter ordered us to go.”

  Julie sat down at the table and listened. She winced when I told her about the morning meeting with Mr. Carpenter.

  “It’s hard enough for one of us to beat Vinny out of a job without getting a demerit on our record.”

  “I’m not competing with Vince.”

  Julie rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers in my face. “I’m out of your life for three days, and you’re in a fantasy world.”

  “I’m not sure I want to work here even if they offer me a job,” I said, then quickly added, “but please don’t say that to anyone.”

  “I already knew that. It’s why I invited you to lunch with Maggie Smith.”

  “But I don’t think I want to be an assistant district attorney either. If you’d asked me about it before the summer, it would have made sense. However, after representing Moses Jones, my thinking about that type of work is confused, too. I’d never want to represent a guilty person, but it would be terrible to prosecute someone who was innocent.”

  “I’m not talking about being a prosecutor,” Julie answered, lowering her voice. “Maggie is thinking about leaving the district attorney’s office and starting her own firm.”

  I stared at Julie for a second.

  “What would that mean to you and me?”

  “She’s looking for someone who can invest the start-up capital in return for an instant partnership share.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “But I do, or at least my father does. He would pony up the coin. I think it would be neat having my name on the letterhead of a Savannah law firm the day I pass the bar exam. Maggie would make the switch to private practice, and I could specialize in divorces. There’s always room for a woman attorney willing to represent other women in domestic cases.”

  “Have you talked to your father about this?”

  “Enough to know that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but I haven’t really gone to work on him. He hasn’t turned me down for anything I really wanted since the eighth grade.”

  “Where would I fit in?”

  “You’d be our associate.”

  I chuckled for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. As I laughed, the tension flowed out of my body. I ended up close to tears and wiped my eyes.

  “What’s so funny?” Julie asked. “Are you too good to be an associate?”

  “No, just not that desperate. I’d rather work in a chicken plant than try to get guilty people off or help break up marriages. If you and Maggie Smith want to start that kind of a law firm, I won’t try to talk you out of it, but I’m holding on to my belief that being a lawyer will hold a higher goal for me.”

  “That’s arrogant,” Julie said, her jaw set.

  I knew I’d hurt her feelings.

  “It’s nice of you to even consider me,” I added.

  “Don’t go there. It’s condescending,” Julie said curtly. “But please keep this conversation between us. I’ll do the same for you.”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon in icy silence. I regretted laughing, but the idea of a three-woman law firm with me as the third wheel seemed so funny at the time. Now, both Zach and Julie were upset with me. Later in the day I thought about Sister Dabney, who had probably been served with the complaint. She wasn’t aware of my involvement in the lawsuit, but once she was, she would be mad at me, too. I shut down my feelings and focused on brain talks.

  I spent the rest of the week on a tight schedule, balancing work during the day and taking Flip to see Mrs. Fairmont in the evenings. The barrier between Julie and me lowered but didn’t disappear. Zach took seriously his promise to Mr. Carpenter that I should interact with other lawyers in the firm and set up two lunches for me with mid-level partners I’d seen only in passing. Zach didn’t come to the lunches, which were all business—my studies, interests, goals, and the future opportunities at the firm.

  On Thursday I contacted the Paulding Development Corporation employee who had been at Sister Dabney’s church. His name was Jorge Rivera. I didn’t let him know Zach and I had been there, too.

  “How did you choose the church?” I asked.

  “My parents went to a tent meeting years ago when Sister Dabney and her husband were in Texas. Sister Dabney called my mother out by name and gave her a message that changed her life.”

  Several weeks before I would have been instantly curious. Now it didn’t surprise me at all.

  “How did you find out she was in Savannah?”

  “I was with a demolition crew working not far from the church and saw her name on the sign out front. I had to find out if it was the same person. Is her husband dead?”

  “I’m not sure, but I know they’re divorced. Tell me about the congregational meeting this past Sunday.”

  “I was about to leave when she said they had church business to discuss. She said Mr. Paulding had hired some crooked lawyers to sue her and that God’s judgment was going to fall on all of them.”

  “Okay.” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. “Did she describe the type of judgment?”

  “No, but she quoted some verses about God’s wrath against the wicked.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She said Mr. Paulding was a crook, and the lawsuit was his way of trying to steal the church property.”

  “Did she explain what she meant by stealing the property?”

  “No, but it bothered me a lot. I’ve only been in Savannah for three months, but Mr. Paulding has been a great boss. When I had to be off work for a couple of days for a family emergency in Texas, he let me go home even though I hadn’t accrued enough vacation or sick days.”

  “Did Sister Dabney find out you worked for Mr. Paulding?”

  “We didn’t talk, but she’s the kind of preacher who knows stuff even if no one tells her. I know that sounds weird, but it’s the truth.”

  “I believe you.”

  “It’s none of my business, but I think this should be worked out without a big lawsuit.”

  “Most lawsuits are settled before they get to court,” I said. “Pray that’s what will happen here.”

  “Are you a Christian lawyer?”

  “I’m a law student working here for the summer. One of the senior partners is handling the case.”

  “But are you a Christian?”

  The man’s bold
persistence impressed me.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “There’s a boss over your boss and Mr. Paulding. That’s who we need to talk to.”

  “I will.”

  “Me, too.”

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I knew that in addition to praying there was someone else I had to talk to.

  25

  THE PHONE RANG SO MANY TIMES WITHOUT THE ANSWERING machine picking up that I thought I’d dialed a wrong number. I was about to end the call when a slightly out-of-breath male voice answered.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Mr. Callahan?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Tami Taylor, I mean Tammy Lynn Taylor.”

  “Hey, I just walked in the door. I was checking on a new calf. And don’t worry. Your name change is safe with me.”

  “My parents know. It came out when Zach Mays and I were in Powell Station a few weeks ago.”

  “How is the ponytail preacher doing?”

  “He’s not a preacher.”

  “Not yet. When will I get to see him again?”

  “We don’t have another trip planned.”

  “You’d better get on it,” Mr. Callahan answered emphatically. “It takes a unique man for a woman like you. He might fit the bill. Not that I’m trying to play matchmaker.”

  I smiled. I’d never considered Oscar Callahan the matchmaker type.

  “Yes, sir, but he’s upset with me because I got him involved in the slander case I mentioned when we came to see you. The defendant is Rachel Dabney, only now she goes by Ramona.”

  “You’re kidding. After all these years.”

  “It’s her.”

  “Is her husband, Russell, a defendant?”

  “No, he left town with another woman a few years ago. Zach and I went to her church this past Sunday to see if she was going to slander our client. While we were there, she talked about you.”

  “Me?”

  The lawyer listened as I told him everything Sister Dabney said about him.

  “And she didn’t know before the meeting that you knew me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you mention it later?”

  “No, we left before the service ended.”

  “Well, it sounds like she hasn’t lost a step. I’m a little stiff from the car wreck but thankful to be alive without any serious injury. My heart is ticking along fine. I still take blood pressure medicine and a cholesterol pill, but it’s more to keep my doctor’s blood pres-sure normal than my own. And as old as I am, I feel like the prodigal son.”

  “How is Mrs. Callahan?”

  “Trying to figure out what happened to her cynical husband. She’s warming up to the new man and starting to like me better than ever.”

  “You weren’t cynical.”

  “Behind my mask. Seriously, tell Zach how much I appreciate his obedience to pray that day in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  “And thanks for calling to check on me.”

  I realized he was about to hang up.

  “Wait, there’s one more thing. I need your advice about the law-suit. Isn’t it wrong to sue a preacher like Sister Dabney?”

  Mr. Callahan was silent for a moment.

  “Is there evidence she slandered your client?”

  “Yes, unless what she said was true.”

  “Do you know the answer to that?”

  “No, sir, but you can see how accurate she is about people.”

  “That doesn’t make her perfect. There’s accountability that comes with a gifting. This lawsuit could be God’s way of humbling her.”

  Mr. Callahan’s answer surprised me. “Is that what you believe?”

  “I have no idea, but it’s clear you’re not considering all sides of the issue. So long as you represent your client with integrity and don’t misrepresent the evidence, it may be necessary for the legal process to sort out the truth.”

  Mr. Callahan could see the different facets of a lawsuit from across a courtroom or hundreds of miles away.

  “You trust the legal process that much?”

  “It’s not perfect, but I don’t have illusions about my personal omniscience either.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled.

  “It can be a tough call,” Mr. Callahan said. “There were times when I withdrew from a case or sent a client on his way, but I’m not sure it was always the right thing to do. And remember, you’re not working for yourself. At Joe Carpenter’s firm those types of decisions will be made for you until your name moves to the partner side of the letterhead. That’s one reason I hung out my own shingle in Powell Station. I always wanted to have the last word on the work I took in.”

  “Have you ever regretted it?”

  “Sure. No matter the path you take in life, there will always be challenges.”

  I paused for a moment. “Do you think I could do that? I mean, come back to Powell Station. The two lawyers who took over your practice probably don’t need me, but I know a lot of people and—”

  “Tammy Lynn, you could come home and make a go of it. But you have a big advantage over me at your age.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re trusting God to direct your steps. My decision was my own.”

  AFTER I HUNG UP, Vince buzzed me and we made arrangements to see Mrs. Fairmont that evening. I worked alone for a couple of hours until Mr. Carpenter’s secretary paged me on the office intercom.

  “Julie and Tami, please come to Mr. Carpenter’s office.”

  I pressed the button.

  “Julie is out of the office at a hearing in federal court in Brunswick.”

  “Then he’ll see you alone.”

  “If it’s about the Paulding case, Zach Mays should probably be included.”

  “He only asked for the two of you. Do you want me to put you through to him?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I’m on my way.”

  Grabbing a legal pad, I walked down the familiar hallway. The interior of the law firm had been so intimidating and mysterious the first few days at the office. Although infinitely fancier than the inside of the chicken plant in Powell Station, there were similarities. One place handled birds; the other processed people with problems. I entered the waiting area for Mr. Carpenter’s office.

  “Go on in,” his secretary said. “He’s talking to Judge Cannon about the Paulding case.”

  I knocked lightly on his door and entered.

  “That’s right, Judge. I’ve served her with a notice to take her deposition next week. I suspected she wouldn’t hire a lawyer. Her conversation with you confirms it.”

  Mr. Carpenter listened for a few moments.

  “Yes, I know you don’t like pro se cases. None of us do, but we had to take action. I confirmed service of the notice of deposition about half an hour ago, but I have no idea if she’ll show up.”

  He was silent again.

  “No, given what’s transpired between the parties, I consider the possibility of settlement remote. However, I would agree to a bench trial, which would be quicker and less messy than steering the case through a jury proceeding. Do you want me to mention it to the defendant?”

  Mr. Carpenter listened.

  “Yes, sir, it would be better if you took the initiative. I appreciate the call and will keep you informed.”

  Mr. Carpenter hung up the phone.

  “Your friend Judge Cannon has been assigned to the case.”

  “He only saw me long enough to reject our first plea agreement in the Moses Jones case.”

  “He’ll see more of you before the summer is over. I was talking to him about Paulding v. Dabney.”

  “What did she say to the judge?”

  “Not what she should have. She warned him that he would be judged by God if he let the case go forward. Judge Cannon has been threatened by the best; she won’t faze him. He mentioned the possibility of a bench trial. What do you think about agreeing to
that from our side?”

  “Usually, that’s not the best for the plaintiff.”

  Mr. Carpenter raised his index finger. “Except when the defendant is going out of her way to antagonize the judge. Then it might be the fastest way to a judgment that will enable us to levy against that property.”

  At that moment, Oscar Callahan’s confidence in the judicial process sounded hollow.

  “Your job is to help me prep for the deposition. You know more about how this woman thinks than I do. Julie can prepare questions that cover the legal requirements for libel and slander, but I need you to get me behind her personal defenses. Everyone has buttons that when pushed reveal weakness. When weak, a party is more likely to give up valuable information. It sounds esoteric, but it’s practical. And since it’s a deposition, we can take risks I wouldn’t hazard at trial.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what Mr. Carpenter wanted me to do, but I suspected that was all the explanation I would get.

  “When do you want the questions?”

  “By the end of the day on Monday. The deposition starts Wednesday morning at nine. Put it on your calendar.”

  “You want me to be there?”

  “Of course.”

  “And Julie?”

  “No, I promised Jason I would try to keep costs down. It will be you and me.” Mr. Carpenter gave me a toothy smile. “The Reverend Dabney won’t intimidate either of us.”

  I left Mr. Carpenter’s office and returned to the library. Julie was there.

  “Sorry I missed the party,” she said. “I ran into Mr. Carpenter’s secretary in the reception area and found out you didn’t wait for me.”

  “You could have crashed the party,” I answered glumly.

  “What was it about?”

  I told her about the assignment.

  “That will be easy for me,” she said lightly. “I’ve already done the research and can plug in the information we’ve obtained from the witnesses. You have the fun part.”

  “Why is it fun?”

  “For the same reasons I’ve had fun goading you all summer. Only this time, it’s for the cause of justice.”

  IT WAS A WARM EVENING, but Mrs. Fairmont insisted on sitting outside with Flip. Vince pushed her in a wheelchair to avoid the possibility of a fall on the uneven ground. In one corner of the property there was a bench shaded by a live oak tree that had escaped the blades of the bulldozers. Mrs. Fairmont sat in the middle of the bench with Vince and me on either side. She held one end of Flip’s retractable leash in her hand as he ran around sampling new smells before scampering back for reassurance that they were still attached to each other.