Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  Mr. Carpenter stood. “I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t start with-out me.”

  Sister Dabney and the court reporter returned together.

  “My sister and I only see each other at Christmas,” the court reporter was saying. “I’m not sure what she’ll think if I call her out of the blue and tell her what you told me. She might think I’m nuts.”

  “That’s a chance anyone takes who speaks for God,” Sister Dabney replied. “If you don’t say anything, what would the consequences be?”

  “Should I just blurt it out?”

  “That’s better than keeping silent and having her blood on your hands. You can bring the peace.”

  The court reporter was preoccupied as she sat down. Mr. Carpenter returned.

  “Ready to continue?” he asked lightly.

  The court reporter stood up. “Mr. Carpenter, could we wait a few more minutes? I need to make a quick phone call.”

  Mr. Carpenter looked at his watch. “Can’t you take care of it later?”

  “No, sir,” she answered emphatically.

  The court reporter left her machine and exited the room.

  “Why didn’t she make the call during the break?” Mr. Carpenter asked the rest of us.

  I didn’t know. Sister Dabney sat as still as a stone. While we waited, Mr. Carpenter reviewed his notes and Sister Dabney closed her eyes. The court reporter returned.

  “Thanks,” she said with obvious relief in her voice. “I had an unexpected family emergency.”

  “Is everything okay?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  The woman looked at Sister Dabney as she answered.

  “Yes. I think there’s hope.”

  “Good,” Mr. Carpenter replied. “Let’s get back to business.”

  The next round of questioning left no stone unturned about Sister Dabney’s past involvement with the law. She and her husband had been arrested several times for trespassing, disturbing the peace, and creating a public nuisance. All the arrests sounded like examples of religious persecution.

  “Whenever we were locked up we tried to be like Paul and Silas,” Sister Dabney said at one point.

  “Were they part of your denomination?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  Sister Dabney looked at me when she answered. “Yes, they were respected leaders who spent a lot of time in jail and found ways to make it count for good. When Brother Russell and I were in that Arkansas jail, we started a Bible study for the inmates.”

  “How long were you incarcerated?”

  “About twenty days, but we redeemed the time.”

  “Do you know the disposition of the case?”

  “The judge let us out and told us to leave town.”

  “Did you comply with the court’s order?”

  “Yes, we’d already heard from the Lord that it was time to move on. We shook the dust from our feet in judgment against them and left.”

  It took over two hours of questioning before Mr. Carpenter reached the period of time when Sister Dabney and her husband came to Savannah. They’d planned on staying for a couple of months that turned into years.

  “Being on the road is hard,” Sister Dabney said, “but we probably should have kept moving.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of what happened. Brother Russell got lazy and fell into sin with a woman we were helping.”

  To my surprise, Mr. Carpenter didn’t dig up all the lurid details about the disintegration of Sister Dabney’s marriage. I was taking notes and wrote myself a reminder to ask him why. Instead, he moved to the legal structure of the church, which I knew had a lot more importance to the endgame of the lawsuit.

  “And the church property and the house where you live were placed solely in your name after the divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any debt secured by either piece of property?”

  “No, he who borrows is slave to the lender.”

  “Do you have any personal debt?”

  “If I don’t have the money, I don’t buy. God supplies what I need to do the work he calls me to do.”

  That prompted a long series of questions about the amount of money given to the church and how it was spent. I was surprised at Sister Dabney’s specific answers. She either had a good memory for figures or had reviewed the financial information shortly before the deposition. One thing was clear: there wasn’t much surplus for Sister Dabney’s personal needs. I could see Mr. Carpenter making quick calculations on his notes. If Brenda Abernathy wanted to accurately criticize Sister Dabney’s use of money, she’d better document it. The preacher owned a ten-year-old car, purchased used furniture, and lived on not much more than the women who worked on the chicken line in Powell Station.

  “Do you have records substantiating this information?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you file tax returns?”

  “Yes, the Bible commands us to pay taxes to the government.”

  Mr. Carpenter glanced at me. I nodded.

  “Do you own any other real estate?”

  “No.”

  “When did you first meet Jason Paulding?”

  The sudden mention of our client’s name jarred me. I sat up straighter and gripped my pen.

  “About this time last year. He came by my house one evening after I told a man who worked for him that I didn’t want to sell the church.”

  “Tell me everything you remember about that meeting.”

  The first encounter between the two antagonists didn’t set off any fireworks. Paulding asked her to sell the property. She told him no.

  “I explained that once I’d dedicated the property to the Lord it shouldn’t be used for worldly purposes.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s holy.”

  Mr. Carpenter wrinkled his brow.

  “Can you explain?”

  “It’s no longer in the world system. It belongs to God, so he controls what should be done with it.”

  “Is it your belief that no property on which a church is built should ever be used for anything except religious purposes?”

  “For the church on Gillespie Street that’s right. I can’t say about apostate churches, but I know what’s true about this particular plot of ground.”

  “What kind of churches? I’m not familiar with that term.”

  Sister Dabney turned to me. “She is.”

  “But I’m asking you the questions,” Mr. Carpenter answered.

  “It’s a church that isn’t walking in the truth.”

  “What’s the ‘truth’ about your church’s property?”

  “God told me not to sell.”

  Mr. Carpenter wrote something on his notes. I readied myself for a lengthy interrogation that established Sister Dabney as delusional. His next question surprised me.

  “Ms. Dabney, your beliefs about God aren’t my main concern. Let’s stick to your interaction with Mr. Paulding. Do you recall your next conversation with him?”

  “I think it was a phone call about a week later.”

  Mr. Carpenter painstakingly went through the communication between the parties. I realized his strategy was to remove any possibility that Sister Dabney could later claim something was said or done that hadn’t been covered in the deposition. Over and over he asked her, “Is that all? Do you remember anything else? Are you sure?”

  He then pulled out a copy of the requests for admission served with the complaint. The artfully worded statements closely tracked what we knew about Sister Dabney’s allegations that Jason Paulding was a criminal. Mr. Carpenter asked the court reporter to mark the document as an exhibit and handed it to the witness.

  “Did the sheriff ’s deputy who served the legal papers at your house also give you these requests for admission?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you review them at the time?”

  “Yes, I read them.”

  “Did you read them again when I handed the exhibit to you?”

 
“No.”

  “Would you take the time to do that?”

  We waited while Sister Dabney read.

  “I’m done,” she said after a few minutes.

  “Having read the requests for admission at least twice since they were served to you, do you agree the information contained in them is correct?”

  “Yes.”

  My mouth dropped open. Agreeing with the information in the requests for admission proved our case. Mr. Carpenter cleared his throat.

  “All of them?”

  “Yes, and this man still hasn’t repented.”

  Mr. Carpenter’s eyes were wide open. “I understand. Let me go over each one to make sure about your answers. Number one: admit that within the past year you personally made public statements that Jason Paulding has been involved in criminal activity. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was your source of information that Mr. Paulding has been involved in criminal activity?”

  “God told me.”

  This time I knew he would have to dissect Sister Dabney’s claim. I could already hear the sarcasm dripping from the senior partner’s lips as he asked whether the Almighty spoke King James English or sounded like Charlton Heston in the old movie about the Ten Commandments. But to my surprise, he continued his review of the requests for admission.

  “Number two: admit that within the past year you solicited the aid of third parties to make public statements that Jason Paulding has been involved in criminal activity. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Number three: Do you admit that within the past year you told Rev. Jim Fletchall that Jason Paulding has been involved in criminal activity?”

  “Yes. I went to his preacher and talked with him. He needed to know a thief was in his sheepfold.”

  There were twenty-five requests, all worded in a way that Sister Dabney obviously thought was nothing more than a summary of her belief that Jason Paulding should be confronted with his sin. How-ever, the requests contained no alleged evidence of wrongdoing by our client, only conclusory statements. I saw the brilliance of Mr. Carpenter’s plan. It sounded like he agreed with the witness, and Sister Dabney didn’t understand the legal significance of her testimony. When coupled with an affidavit from Paulding that the allegations were false, the requests for admissions would prove all the essential elements of a slander-and-libel claim. The judge would simply determine the amount of damages. I sharply let out my breath. Sister Dabney looked at me. I quickly put my hand over my mouth. Mr. Carpenter methodically worked his way through all the requests for admission. Sister Dabney only quibbled with one of them.

  “Number twenty-five: Do you admit that within the past year you told Mary Paulding that her husband, Jason Paulding, had committed adultery?”

  “Yes, but the unfaithfulness has been there longer than a year.”

  “That’s not what I asked. The year relates to the period of time for your conversation with Mary Paulding. Did you talk to her within the past year and accuse her husband of adultery?”

  “Yes, back during the winter. She cried and told me she knew something was wrong.”

  “What was your source of information about Mr. Paulding’s personal life?”

  “God told me. He certainly loves this man.”

  “What did you say?” Mr. Carpenter looked up from his notes.

  Sister Dabney leaned forward.

  “God loves Jason Paulding even though he’s a wicked man who has broken the law, cheated on his wife, and tried to bully me into selling my church. I’ve done everything I could to confront him with his sin so he could repent. Now he’s hired you to sue me for telling him the truth. The Bible calls a man like him a fool. I’ve washed my hands of him. Maybe he will listen to you where he’s ignored me, but he should know that God’s Spirit won’t always strive with a man. At some point, judgment comes.”

  “You claim you’ve done these things to try to help Mr. Paulding?” Mr. Carpenter asked incredulously.

  “Why else would I go to all this trouble?”

  Mr. Carpenter shook his head.

  “No further questions.”

  30

  I WASN’T SURE WHETHER TO STAND AND APPLAUD SISTER DABNEY’S courage or get down on my knees and beg her to apologize for what she’d done. Her claim that her actions were motivated by God’s love for Jason Paulding caught me completely off guard. She might be right that our client was a crook and an adulterer, but why she thought her tactics would produce the desired repentance stretched my system of belief.

  I leaned over to Mr. Carpenter and whispered in his ear, “Shouldn’t we find out if she has any evidence supporting her allegations?”

  The older lawyer shook his head.

  “Mr. Paulding will want to know,” I pressed him.

  “No.”

  “Are you finished?” Sister Dabney asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Carpenter replied, avoiding my eyes. “If you want a copy of the deposition, you’ll need to contact our court reporter. Ms. Johnson, please expedite delivery of the transcript.”

  “It will be in your office by Friday at three o’clock.”

  Mr. Carpenter stood. Sister Dabney remained seated.

  “That’s all for today, Ms. Dabney,” the lawyer said. “You may leave.”

  Sister Dabney ignored Mr. Carpenter and spoke to me in a soft voice. “Thank you for your word, child. The voice of freedom lives in you. The smell of smoke isn’t on you yet. Maybe you’re called to walk in the fire and not get burned.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Sister Dabney looked up at Mr. Carpenter.

  “And whatever you and Jason Paulding are planning to do to me will come to ruin. ‘Lift not your hand against the Lord’s anointed and do his prophets no harm.’”

  “We’re finished here, ma’am,” Mr. Carpenter said. “You’ll be notified of the next step in the legal process.”

  Sister Dabney continued. “You can turn your back on my words, but they have power beyond anything you know.”

  “I’m asking you to leave—now,” the senior partner said firmly.

  The court reporter, her equipment packed up, spoke. “Ms. Dabney, I’ll be happy to show you the way out.”

  Using her hands to brace herself, Sister Dabney pushed herself up from the chair and slowly followed the court reporter out of the conference room. I waited, expecting the older woman to turn and deliver a parting word. None came. Mr. Carpenter waited until the door closed, then clapped his hands together.

  “Could you believe that?” he exclaimed. “Dabney admitted every essential element of our claim. Any lawyer would have told her to deny the requests for admission as stated and provide an explanation, but she had no idea what I was doing. And her only justification for defaming Jason Paulding all over Savannah is that God told her to do it. I didn’t want to give her a chance to explain what she meant or raise an issue that might be hard for us to disprove. That’s why I didn’t want to ask your question. Keep it clean and simple.”

  “But it’s a discovery deposition, a time to find out everything we can.”

  “You’re wrong. As soon as she didn’t try to wiggle out of the requests for admission, I changed my strategy. This deposition will be the basis for a summary judgment against her. When Judge Cannon hears this foolishness, he’ll give us anything we want. Prepare a motion for summary judgment. Nothing fancy, just enough to get the case before the judge. We’ll supplement the record with the deposition and an affidavit from Jason denying her claims. I may get affidavits from some of the other witnesses stating that Dabney’s allegations are false. In the meantime, I’ll call Jason and let him know how well everything went.”

  I nodded forlornly.

  “And there’s no reason for you to feel bad about anything you did. You got her to vent, and she didn’t build up a head of steam until we finished. In the middle, we got everything we needed. Now it doesn’t matter if she hires a lawyer or not. This case is buttoned down tight. Get th
e motion along with a draft affidavit for Jason to me in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, and stay away from Dabney. I don’t want you to have any contact that would give her a chance to accuse us of anything. She’s off-limits, period—no exceptions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You helped make this a success.”

  Mr. Carpenter left the conference room. I checked my watch. The deposition had lasted almost four hours. I’d not eaten lunch, but I had no appetite. As I walked down the long hallway, I had my notes in my hand, but the words spoken by Sister Dabney that wouldn’t be part of the transcript burned in my memory. I pushed open the library door. Julie, Zach, and Vince were sitting at our worktable.

  “Surprise!” Julie cried out. “It’s your birthday!”

  “No, it’s not,” I said, giving her a crooked smile. “My birthday is November 14.”

  “It seemed like the best thing to say since we were all here at the same time.”

  “I’m not in a birthday mood.”

  “Mr. C’s secretary told me Dabney had some kind of emotional outburst before the deposition started. You could hear her halfway down the hall.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Vince asked.

  I sat down at the only vacant chair at the table.

  “I may as well tell all of you at once,” I said, then pointed at Julie. “But I don’t want to be interrupted.”

  “Relax.” Julie held up her hands. “Don’t have an emotional out-burst all over me.”

  I laid my notes on the table but didn’t need them. When I quoted the verse about the raising of Lazarus from the dead and the removal of the grave clothes, Zach spoke.

  “How did that come to your mind?”

  “Don’t interrupt,” Julie shushed him.

  “I’m not sure. It was so spontaneous. I’ve assumed Sister Dabney was a wounded animal striking out against a larger predator threatening her space. Maybe that influenced me; perhaps it was simply God’s Spirit. But my perspective was only partly right. She’s been wounded by life, especially the betrayal of her husband, but that’s not the main reason she lashed out at Jason Paulding. Her motivation for that was sincere, even if the method may have been misguided.”