“You’re welcome,” Vince replied with obvious relief.
“Ditto for me,” Zach added, pulling his ponytail.
They left satisfied and me in confusion. Julie returned.
“Well?” she asked.
“They apologized for hurting my feelings.”
“That’s a good start.”
“And said they’ve been meeting together to pray for me.”
Julie’s face registered shock. “You’re kidding! They ought to be challenging each other to a sword fight or a duel, not kneeling on the floor.”
I tilted my head to the side. “And I have no idea what they’re praying.”
I HAD A VERY BUSY WEEK. It seemed as though lawyers who hadn’t asked me to help them all summer suddenly had to have my assistance on a variety of projects. Friday I went to lunch with Zach. During the drive, he didn’t say anything about Vince and him continuing to pray. He drove us to a beach sort of place where we sat at a table under a large white fan that slowly stirred the air above us. I couldn’t keep quiet.
“Are you and Vince still getting together to pray?”
“Yeah.”
“When I’m the subject, what do you pray?”
“Different things.”
I pressed my lips tightly together for a moment. “Come on, Zach, don’t tease me.”
He smiled. “Okay. We pray about the past, present, and future.”
“Explain. In detail.”
“Do you know what you want to eat?” he asked.
I glanced down at the menu and picked the first item I saw.
“The shrimp salad croissant with fresh fruit on the side.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Zach called over a waiter and placed our order.
After the waiter left, I motioned with my hand for Zach to continue. “I’m listening.”
He leaned forward with his hands on the table. “No one can change the past, or necessarily want to, but Vince and I’ve prayed that you will become the person God intends—holding on to the good from your family and leaving the not-so-good behind.”
“What isn’t good?”
Zach shook his head. “That’s not our call. When we pray, we’re not examining your background with a critical eye under a spiritual microscope, and I’m not going to start now. But if you believe you’re perfect and don’t have room to grow, you’re already off the mark.”
“I’m not perfect,” I answered quickly.
“And neither am I. Deciding exactly how you’re supposed to build on the past and how to leave it behind takes wisdom that only comes from above.”
“What about the present?”
Zach smiled. “That’s when we get specific. For example, we know what a strain the Dabney case has been for you, so we’ve asked God to help you every step of the way. It’s not enough just to get through a tough situation; there’s usually a purpose hidden within the challenge. Neither of us wants you to miss it.”
Sister Dabney’s reaction to my words at the beginning of the deposition was an obvious example of an answer to their prayers. Appreciation for the two men welled up in me.
“Thanks. I don’t want to miss an opportunity either, at least most of the time.”
“And we’ve prayed for your relationship with Mrs. Fairmont.
When I was in Powell Station, your father said God may have sent you to Savannah solely for her benefit.”
The mention of the gracious old woman made my heart ache with appreciation.
“It’s been a time I’ll never forget.”
“And then there’s Julie.” Zach smiled.
I shook my head. “She’s a very present part of my present.”
“You may not see it, but Julie’s respect for you has blossomed over the summer. Who knows where that will lead in the future?”
I couldn’t mention the job offer from Maggie and Julie, but it immediately came to mind.
“And we’ve prayed that each of us would relate to you as we should. That’s one reason we felt bad for hurting your feelings. It was the opposite of what we wanted to do.”
“Do you and Vince want to relate to me in the same way?”
“No.”
“What’s the difference?” I persisted.
“I’m not going to speak for Vince. You’ll have to ask him that question. But nothing’s changed from my side. I want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”
“You’ve been mad at me ever since I dragged you into the Dabney case.”
The look on Zach’s face was one of honest surprise.
“I’ve not been mad. Just busy, and the added responsibility made me busier.”
“That’s not how it’s felt to me. You’ve been short with me, ignored me, and tried to make me feel guilty about asking for help.”
“Chalk it up to the difference between women and men,” he said with a rueful expression. “In the future, let me know when you feel that way about something. I don’t want it to linger.”
The waiter brought our food. We ate in silence for a few minutes as the increasing realization of the two men’s unselfishness grew within me. It was almost beyond comprehension.
“What about the future?” I asked after most of my sandwich was eaten.
“That’s more vague,” Zach answered, taking a sip of water. “And personal.”
Suddenly I realized Zach and Vince might be praying I would find the right man to marry, a scenario that didn’t follow the pattern of the mild romance novels Mama let me read as a teenager. In those stories strong women of faith ultimately married for the right reasons, but the men vying for their affection never got along, much less prayed together.
“Of course we pray you’ll get a good job with the right firm,” Zach continued. “Did you know there’s a reason why you’ve been so busy recently?”
I’d noticed an increase in requests for help, but had no idea it was based on anything except an abundance of work that needed to be done before my inexpensive labor ended for the summer.
“I just thought the lawyers had a lot of overflow.”
“True, but that’s not all. A decision is about to be made about job offers for the summer clerks, and the partners want to check you out. It’s a good sign that everyone is dumping work on you. Is the same thing happening to Julie?”
“No. She’s finishing her projects. I’ve asked if she can help on a couple of things and been told no.”
“That tells you something about her prospects.”
“What about Vince? He’s been busy.”
Zach smiled. “Someday I may be calling him boss.”
I tapped my spoon lightly against the table. “What are you hearing about my prospects?”
“Nothing specific, because I’m not in the loop. Everyone has to prepare a memo making a recommendation about the summer clerks by the end of next week. The partners will meet after that and decide who receives a job offer.”
“What goes in the memo?”
“Personal and professional stuff.”
“What are you going to write?”
Zach smiled and shook his head. “If I told you, it would violate firm policy, but I’m sure my opinion won’t carry much weight. Every-one knows I want to lure you back to Savannah.”
The waiter took away our plates.
“Have you thought any more about going back to Powell Station after law school?” Zach asked after the waiter left.
“Working for Mr. Callahan would have been my first choice until he had his heart attack. Now I’d love being close to my family, but—” I stopped. “That wouldn’t allow me to break from the past in the way I need to.”
“Yeah.” Zach nodded. “Do you have any other job possibilities?”
Faced with a direct question, I wasn’t sure what to say. I spoke slowly. “Kind of, but I can’t talk about it.”
“Does it involve Maggie Smith?”
I looked at Zach in shock. He laughed.
“Gossip in the Savann
ah legal community isn’t governed by the rules of confidentiality. People know Maggie has been trolling for business. Most lawyers who work for the district attorney’s office eventually branch out. I think she has a chance to do well. She’s aggressive, but likable.”
“Hypothetically, what would you think about me working with her?” I asked cautiously.
“Are you asking me for advice against the best interests of my employer?”
“No, and you don’t have to answer.”
“I will anyway. You need to take into consideration that not every new firm succeeds. Often the lawyers muddle on for years and go through a lot of agony because their pride won’t let them admit failure. Leaving a bankrupt practice isn’t the best way to find another job.”
“But there would be more freedom to take the kind of cases I want to handle.”
“Unless economic pressure dictates otherwise. A lot of attorneys handling low-budget divorce cases would rather be doing something else, but they have overhead to pay. But I’m not worried. Vince and I have been praying you’ll make the right choice—about that and everything else. Do you want any dessert?”
I shook my head. “No, too many carbs will make me sleepy this afternoon.”
“I don’t want Mr. Carpenter finding you asleep in the library.”
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY Fred Godwin brought me a project. The tall, slender attorney was a new partner and walked around the office with a studious expression on his face. His car was often in the parking lot when I arrived for work and usually there when I left in the afternoon.
“He looks like secret information is going to grow out of his forehead at any minute,” Julie observed after he’d stopped by the library to talk with me.
“That’s bizarre.”
“Myra Dean once told me he cozies up to juries and goes for the professorial approach. Once they’re listening, he educates the other side out of court.”
The file he’d given me was a business dispute. It contained nothing that could be used to manufacture courtroom fireworks. The attorney best able to simplify the complex facts would likely win. That kind of litigation appealed to me. After eight hours of work, I turned in a long memo with the satisfaction that I was serving justice without compromising my conscience.
Toward the end of the week, I received an interoffice e-mail that the motion for summary judgment in Paulding v. Dabney had been scheduled. I printed it out, and Julie saw it lying on the worktable.
“Mr. Carpenter wants you at the hearing?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“What about me? I did most of the work on the deposition questions.”
Julie sat down at her computer and quickly typed an e-mail. “He needs to know I’m just as much a tiger or leopard or jaguar or what-ever it is as you are.”
“With a crocodile thrown in for good measure.”
THE HEARING ON THE MOTION was set for Tuesday afternoon at four o’clock. I’d already decided I didn’t like later afternoon courtroom appearances. Better to go to battle early than have to wait in nervous anticipation. Even though I’d been busy, Sister Dabney’s dilemma was always lurking at the back of my mind.
Mr. Carpenter gave Julie permission to attend the hearing but excused Zach. Vince came by the library as we were preparing to leave for the courthouse.
“Ready?” he asked.
“You better believe it,” Julie answered. “Tami has been having all the fun while I’ve done the slave labor here in the library. It’s time I get to see this woman in action. She may be a religious nut, but you have to admire her guts. There’s more than one kind of feminist.”
“How do you feel?” Vince asked me.
I looked at him with silent thanks because he and Zach had been praying.
“I’ll be okay. I keep reminding myself what Sister Dabney told me at the deposition about walking in the fire and not being burned.”
“I hope that’s a metaphor,” Julie said.
MR. CARPENTER WAS at Paulding Development preparing Jason Paulding for the hearing and left word for Julie and me to meet him at the courthouse. Our only assignment was to show up on time with the file. He would do all the talking.
“If Dabney is there, I don’t want to get too close to her,” Julie said as we drove down Montgomery Street. “It would creep me out if she told me that I ought to marry Joel or get back together with Biff Levinson.”
“Biff Levinson?”
“I haven’t told you about him?”
“No.”
“That will take an entire lunch.”
The hearing was in the same courtroom where I’d appeared on behalf of Moses Jones. It was empty.
“That’s where the plaintiff ’s lawyers sit,” Julie said, pointing to the table nearest the jury box.
We opened the low gate in the bar and passed into the area re-served for lawyers and their clients. Butterflies began to swirl around in my stomach. It was different from the Moses Jones case when responsibility for the case had rested on my shoulders, but there was still anticipation anxiety. Lawsuits were a lot like basketball games in high school. Somebody was going to win; another would lose. Waiting for the tip-off was the worst part.
The rear door of the courtroom opened. Julie and I turned around. It wasn’t Mr. Carpenter with our client or Sister Dabney. A woman in her early thirties with short blonde hair, stylish glasses, and wearing a dark suit entered.
“Is this where Paulding v. Dabney is going to be heard?” she asked.
“Yes,” Julie answered.
The woman walked down the aisle to the bar.
“I’m Brenda Abernathy from the paper.”
The reporter could have passed for a female attorney. Julie and I introduced ourselves.
“Is this going to be open to the public?” Abernathy asked.
“Unless the judge decides it isn’t,” Julie replied.
“Anything dramatic expected to happen?” Abernathy continued, looking around the room. “I saw on the docket in the clerk’s office that it was a hearing on a motion for summary judgment. What’s that?”
Julie gave a good definition of the purpose of the proceeding and, to my relief, didn’t mention the specific facts of the case. I stood poised to interrupt if she got out of line. Abernathy made notes with a PDA.
“Court is usually boring except to the lawyers and parties,” Julie said.
“Have you been involved in a lot of trials?” Abernathy asked.
“No, but that’s what everyone tells me. Are you going to put my name in the paper?”
The reporter smiled. “Maybe. Let me make sure about the spelling.”
Julie gave her the information and added my name, too.
“Her real name is Tammy Lynn,” Julie said, lowering her voice, “but when she came to work in Savannah for the summer she changed it to Tami. There’s probably a human-interest story buried in that someplace. If you decide to write an article about Tami, I can be your primary source. We work together in the same room every day. She’s kind of a younger version of Reverend Dabney, but without—”
“I’m not interested in having my name or life story in the paper,” I interrupted.
The back door opened again. This time it was Sister Dabney. She was wearing a yellow dress I’d seen when I visited the church. Her face was flushed and red, making me wonder how she’d gotten to the court-house. I hoped the overweight woman hadn’t walked a long distance in the heat. She looked in our direction and squinted slightly.
“Reverend Dabney?” Abernathy asked.
“Yes.” Sister Dabney nodded.
The reporter faced the older woman in the middle of the aisle.
“I’m Brenda Abernathy, the reporter you contacted about Mr. Paulding. We talked on the phone a couple of months ago.”
“I remember,” Sister Dabney replied. “You didn’t believe me.”
“Could I ask you a few questions?”
Sister Dabney glanced past Abernathy toward Julie and me. When her
eyes met mine, the butterflies in my stomach died. Cold fire danced across the preacher’s face.
“No,” Sister Dabney said.
“You made some serious allegations about Mr. Paulding,” Abernathy continued, “and I want to make sure I fairly report your side of this dispute. I can’t do that unless you talk to me.”
“You’re interested in sensationalism, not facts,” Sister Dabney answered. “I’ve seen your kind in other places. It’s wrong to handle holy things in an unholy way.”
I wanted to escape to the restroom and not be around for what happened next. The door behind the bench opened. A bailiff and the court reporter entered, followed by Judge Cannon.
“All rise,” the bailiff said.
Julie whispered to me, “Where is Mr. Carpenter?”
31
THE JUDGE SAT AND LOOKED AROUND THE COURTROOM.
“I call the case of Paulding v. Dabney, hearing on plaintiff ’s motion for summary judgment.”
Julie nudged me in the ribs and gestured toward the judge.
“Say something.”
“Uh, I’m Tami Taylor, a summer clerk with Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. We expect Mr. Carpenter any moment. He was coming to the courthouse from our client’s office and must have been delayed.”
“Didn’t you appear before me a few weeks ago?” the judge asked, looking at me over his glasses.
“Yes, sir. You gave me leave of court to represent a man named Moses Jones in a misdemeanor criminal matter.”
“That’s right. I rejected a plea agreement. Then you went judge-shopping and entered a plea in front of Judge Howell.”
My face flushed. “Other facts came out in the investigation, and Ms. Smith in the district attorney’s office spoke with Judge Howell about a plea. I think all sides were satisfied with the result.”
The judge waved his hand. “Judges talk, Ms. Taylor. We find out when lawyers manipulate the calendar.”
“Yes, sir.” I rested my hands on the table in front of me to keep myself steady.
“Where was Mr. Carpenter coming from?” the judge asked.
Julie quickly opened the file and slid it in front of me. I gave the judge the address.
“We’ll give him a few more minutes. Is the defendant in the courtroom?”
“I am,” Sister Dabney answered in a loud voice.
Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope Page 36