Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love Read online

  Bobby led us in a song popular in the youth group at church. Daddy had a fine baritone voice. Ellie and Emma could carry a tune. I didn’t have a solo voice but could sing a natural harmony, which was nice in a small group. Mama’s creative gifts were in her hands, not her voice. She hummed along.

  By the second song, I felt myself touching the edges of worship. Bobby’s skill had really improved. He played with his head turned slightly toward the fret board. By the time he started the fourth song, I felt like we were having church. Meeting with God in the simplicity of our home was a blessing I knew few households in America shared. I glanced at Mama. She was visibly affected.

  Bobby played a long instrumental interlude that sustained the sense of the Lord’s presence without words. I kept my eyes closed and let the glory in the room banish the worry lodged in the cracks and crevices of my soul. The greatness of God became real, and I felt an impartation of confidence that his love would influence the events to come. I silently thanked him, an act of faith before the future became sight.

  The music stopped. We sat quietly. Even the twins seemed to bask in the goodness of the moment. Then Daddy spoke a blessing over our family that made me feel like the daughter of an Old Testament patriarch. Chills raced across skin. Daddy sealed his words with an emphatic “Amen.”

  “Thanks, Bobby,” Mama said.

  Bobby grinned. Even with his musical gift, he was still my younger brother whose skinned knees I’d cleaned and bandaged when he was a little boy.

  “We need to talk to Tammy Lynn in private,” Daddy added.

  “Is she in trouble?” Ellie asked.

  “No,” Mama answered evenly. “Occupy yourselves upstairs. No eavesdropping.”

  Ellie looked at me and mouthed, Zach.

  I shook my head. After everyone left the room, Daddy turned to me.

  “How are you doing, Tammy Lynn?”

  “Glad to be home.”

  “Worship puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?” Mama said.

  “Yes, ma’am. It calmed me down. I’d not realized how much I’d given in to worry.”

  Mama touched me gently on the shoulder. “Tell your daddy about the conversation with Oscar Callahan.”

  I gave a quick summary of the older lawyer’s opinion, leaving out his comments about Zach, of course.

  “Mr. Callahan has a lot of wisdom,” Daddy said when I finished, “especially about the importance of being mentored by other lawyers after you graduate. But our greatest concern is that you avoid situations where you’d be under pressure to compromise your convictions.”

  “That’s something I’m going to face wherever I work,” I said. “Mr. Callahan thinks I can negotiate an understanding with Mr. Carpenter before accepting the job.”

  “Would you be willing to do that?” Mama asked.

  “I’ve had to confront Mr. Carpenter a few times already, and he didn’t fire me. Actually, I think it caused him to respect me. If I’m willing to stand up to him, he doesn’t think I’ll be intimidated by attorneys on the other side of a case. But it would be impossible to list every kind of situation that might create a problem.”

  “Do you have peace about working for the two women attorneys?” Mama asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Then something else has to happen for your decision to become clear.”

  “I thought you and Daddy might tell me.”

  “We didn’t dictate whether you should take the summer job with the law firm, and we aren’t going to do so now.” Mama paused and smiled. “Maybe I’m saving my strong opinions for your marriage plans.”

  “I wouldn’t marry anyone unless you approved and gave your blessing,” I answered quickly, then gave her a questioning look. “Has the Lord shown you anything about that? That’s more important than where I should work.”

  “Nothing that should be mentioned now.”

  My stomach tightened. Daddy glanced at Mama and spoke.

  “Let’s don’t get off track. Tammy Lynn, I believe your choice about a job won’t be based on man’s wisdom, but God’s will.”

  “But I don’t know what that is,” I said, trying to fight off the frustration I’d so recently banished. “People who don’t care about God’s will have an easier time making up their mind about things than those who do. And I have to let Mr. Carpenter know by December 1.”

  Mama and Daddy exchanged a look. He spoke.

  “We’ve prayed about it and believe you’ll find the answer to your question in Savannah.”

  “In Savannah? I don’t understand.”

  Daddy continued. “Acts 17:26 says that God hath determined the bounds of their habitation. When you’re in the geographic place where you’re supposed to live, you’ll know it. We think you need to go to Savannah and ask the Lord what to do.”

  It was a depressing thought. I pictured myself sitting on a park bench in Savannah, staring up at the sky and waiting for the clouds to form words. Daddy came over and kissed me on top of my head.

  “This is your path to discover. Our job is to pray for you.”

  “I liked it better when you told me what to do,” I said with a sigh.

  Mama smiled. “Please tell the twins that. They need to hear it.”

  3

  JESSIE WOKE UP. IT TOOK HER A FEW SECONDS TO REMEMBER HOW she’d ended up sleeping on a bed of pine needles in the middle of nowhere. She rubbed her arms. They were laced with scratches from the briar patch but not covered in chigger bites. At least she’d found a bug-free spot to rest.

  It was barely light. Jessie didn’t know what time it was, but that didn’t matter. The numbers on a clock wouldn’t dictate the day. More basic concerns cried out for attention. She was thirsty and hungry. Standing up, she tucked the pouch into her jeans.

  The train tracks ran across the ravine for at least a hundred yards. It would be a bad place to get caught in the open with a train either coming or going. She walked across the tracks to the other side of the ravine where she found a white plastic bag draped over a scraggly bush. Ripping open the bag with Christmas present excitement, she discovered treasure inside: three partially full plastic water bottles, half a container of skinny French fries as hard as the crossties that supported the steel rails, and a handful of crumbs from fast-food biscuits. She gulped down one of the waters, amazed that someone would waste such precious liquid, then left the other two bottles in the bag for later. The French fries were too hard to chew; however, the biscuit fragments were edible. There was a partially used packet of ketchup at the bottom of the bag. It wasn’t strawberry jam, but it gave the stale bread flavor.

  Reenergized by the simple meal, Jessie continued down the tracks. Over the next three hours, four trains passed by. South Georgia is pancake flat, and she could see the trains coming long before she heard the sound of the locomotives. All the trains were hauling pine tree logs. Each time a train got close, Jessie moved away from the tracks and crouched out of sight.

  She’d read in a book about a man who’d tried to hop on a train for a free ride and ended up losing his leg. Jessie wasn’t tempted to jump on one of the trains. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Without a city or town to slow them down, the trains shot past at top speed.

  As she walked, Jessie scavenged along the tracks. To her, the littering by others was a virtue, not a vice. Within a few hours Jessie’s plastic garbage bag contained two more water bottles and additional scraps of half-eaten fast food. She quickly learned to judge the freshness of discarded items. One bag with particular promise had been torn up by an animal. Jessie was afraid to eat the remaining scraps of country ham. She also found a full can of beer. She’d been given sips and gulps of beer by grownups since she was a little girl and could tolerate the taste. However, when she popped open the can, the brew smelled so foul she poured it out on the ground. She placed the can on the tracks to be smashed by the next train that came along.

  As the sun reached its zenith, Jessie stepped away from the tracks into a pine t
hicket. It was a mature stand of trees. Many of the rulerstraight trees didn’t sprout a limb until thirty or forty feet in the air. A rough dirt road ran parallel to the train tracks through the woods. Beside the road was a discarded wooden pallet. Jessie sat on the pallet and ate her remaining scraps of food. After taking a long drink of water, she took out the leather pouch. It was closed with a goldcolored snap.

  When she’d snatched the pouch from the table, Jessie had hoped to find a few lower-denomination bills to hide in the secret place in the old wooden nightstand in her room. She didn’t need a lot of money, just enough to give her some extra cash in case of an emergency. But when she retreated to her room and looked inside the pouch, she decided to return it. The discovery of her theft, and the uproar it caused, kept that from happening.

  She emptied the contents of the pouch onto one of the wooden boards of the pallet. There were nine or ten square sheets of decorated paper written in a foreign language and an ordinary sheet of paper covered in an indecipherable gibberish of letters and numbers. Jessie held one of the sheets up to the sunlight. It was pretty. Red and blue highlights enhanced the predominant green ink. All the sheets seemed the same. She knew the colored pieces of paper had value; otherwise, the two men wouldn’t have gone to the trouble to chase her into the thicket, but she couldn’t read them to find out how much. To her, they were worthless.

  Returning everything to the pouch, she lay on the pallet and stared at the tops of the trees. The combination of sun and food made her drowsy. She closed her eyes and dozed off.

  She didn’t wake up until it was too late.

  EVERYBODY GATHERED ON THE FRONT PORCH WHEN IT WAS TIME for me to leave on Sunday afternoon. Mama had filled a grocery sack with food for Kyle. He was a freshman living in a dormitory. A taste of home might not remove his homesickness, but it could dull the edge.

  A girl from Dalton, who was a graduate student in the history department, had agreed to pick me up at 2:30 p.m. She was as punctual as a chronological timeline and pulled into our driveway on schedule. It was always noisy when I arrived home and quiet when I left. Daddy carried my suitcase to the car then kissed me. Mama held me longer than usual.

  “Let us know when you go to Savannah so we can pray,” she whispered in my ear.

  I nodded. Ellie hugged me and pressed a small present in my hand.

  “Open it later,” she said.

  When Emma hugged me I could see that she was on the verge of tears. Bobby was friendly but nonchalant. Then I was gone.

  I looked down at Ellie’s present. It was no bigger than an earring box. I owned two pairs of simple earrings, but the use of jewelry by unmarried women in our church was discouraged. Karen, the girl giving me the ride, saw the little box.

  “A present?”

  “From one of my sisters.”

  “Are you going to open it?”

  “No.” I slipped it into the bag of goodies for Kyle. “I’ll wait till later.”

  When we neared the University of Georgia campus in Athens, I called Kyle so he could meet me at my apartment. He had a key to the room in a converted motel where I lived.

  Kyle carried everything into the apartment. He was as strong as one of the bulls he bought and sold when he was living at home. He began digging through the bag of food before I closed the door.

  “What’s this?” He held up the tiny box from Ellie.

  “A gift from Ellie. I doubt it’s edible.”

  I opened the little box. It contained a recent photo of Ellie with the words, “I love you,” written on the back. I placed it in the corner of my computer screen. Kyle lined up everything from the food bag on the counter.

  “The sun’s gone down,” he said. “What would you like to fix for supper?”

  Our day of rest ended at sundown on Sunday. Kyle was a meat lover, so I fixed him an evening breakfast that included homemade sausage, fresh eggs from our hens, and biscuits made from ingredients in my sparsely stocked cupboard. While I worked, I told him all I could about life at home.

  “I know the exact tree Bobby cut down,” he said between bites of sausage biscuit when I told him about a dead tree that had to be removed. “I told Daddy this would be a good year to harvest it. I wish I could have been there to help.”

  “Did you listen to one of the sermons from Pastor Vick I loaned you?” I asked.

  Kyle took another bite. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not the same for me as being there.”

  The phone rang.

  “Hi, Zach,” I said. “Kyle and I are finishing a late supper. I just got back from Powell Station.”

  Kyle hurriedly shoved half a biscuit into his mouth and began packing up the food. He pointed at the peaches, applesauce, and green beans and left them on the counter.

  “Should I call later?” Zach asked.

  “No, he’s on his way out. Bye, Kyle. I’ll talk to you later in the week.”

  Kyle closed the door behind him.

  “How’s he adjusting to college life?” Zach asked.

  “He’s gotten knocked off center,” I answered. “And I’m not sure how his faith is holding up. It’s easy to live a righteous life in Powell Station surrounded by family and church folks. Moving away is a shock.”

  “Is he drinking, cussing, or smoking?”

  “He wouldn’t be able to look me in the eye if that was going on.” I paused. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

  “If so, it was a bad one. I know you’re concerned about your brother. Sorry, I shouldn’t make light of it.”

  I put a jar of peaches on the narrow shelf reserved for fruit.

  “What have you been doing?” I asked.

  “Reading a book about the differences between men and women.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can talk to you better. I haven’t gotten to the chapter about not joking with a woman about a topic that is serious to her.”

  “Okay.” I placed the applesauce next to the peaches. “What have you learned?”

  “That women spend a lot of time thinking about family matters and like to express their thoughts and feelings in conversations with the significant men in their life.”

  “We do?” I smiled slightly.

  “Yeah. Men are more interested in what’s going to happen during the next five minutes. They rarely look in the rearview mirror of life, and they assume the family is running smoothly unless shown otherwise.”

  “Interesting. Is that why you called? To let me know you’re studying the differences between men and women?”

  “No, I wondered if your parents thought you should accept the job offer with the firm.”

  “I need a book that gives me the answer to that question.” I told him about my conversation with Daddy and Mama in the front room of the house. I didn’t mention Oscar Callahan’s opinion. “I know it sounds strange, but they believe I’ll get clearer direction if I come to Savannah and pray about it there. I’m not sure what to think.”

  “They’re right. What time do you want me to pick you up?” Zach responded.

  “What?”

  “How are you going to get to Savannah if I don’t come and get you? I can leave work early on Friday and be there by mid-afternoon. You could probably stay with Mrs. Fairmont.”

  The previous summer I’d lived with Margaret Fairmont, a wealthy widow who owned a beautiful home in the historic district.

  “I could call her,” I answered slowly. “Or maybe I should check with her daughter.”

  “If that doesn’t work out, I’d be glad to pay for a hotel room.”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “I’ll check with Mrs. Fairmont and let you know.”

  “Okay. I hope I get to see you.”

  We ended the call. I glanced at the clock. It was after 9:00 p.m., which meant nothing to Mrs. Fairmont. The aristocratic old woman suffered from multi-infarct dementia, a condition characterized by ministrokes that was slowly eroding her mind. She might go to sleep after s
upper, wake up at 10:00 p.m. and go back to bed at 2:00 a.m., or completely reverse the schedule. I dialed her number. The phone rang five times.

  “Hello,” a vibrant Southern voice answered.

  It was Christine Bartlett, Mrs. Fairmont’s daughter.

  “Mrs. Bartlett, it’s Tami Taylor,” I began. “I was wondering—”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Mrs. Bartlett interrupted. “You must be psychic. Mother and I were talking about you not five minutes ago. She doesn’t send out many Christmas cards anymore, but she is insisting that I add your name to her list this year. The problem is she doesn’t have your address at school or at home. That’s a huge oversight on her part. In the old days she would have written down all your contact information before you left town. What’s the name of the place you’re from in the mountains? Possum Station?”

  “Powell Station.”

  “Of course, it wouldn’t be something vulgar. Anyway, I have a pen in my hand ready for the information.”

  I gave her both addresses and my phone number.

  “Excellent. Mother’s had quite a few good days thrown into the mix since you left. Tonight is one of the best. We had a glass of wine after supper, and it didn’t put her to sleep in ten minutes. Instead, she started talking about you. Did you ever sample the Bordeaux we ordered from New York? It was such a bargain at two hundred dollars a bottle that Ken and I bought six. Mother and I opened the last one this evening.”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t drink.”

  “Or have a cell phone either, if I recall. None of my friends could believe a smart young woman like you preferred to stay in the dark ages of communication. But overall, you had a positive influence on Mother. She’s been nicer to me, which has helped a lot since there’s so much I have to give up in order to look after her. One of Gracie’s nieces, a young woman I didn’t even know existed, is spending four days a week at the house. She goes to school at night and uses the days to study. She’s not you, but at least she’s a warm body who’s able to make sure Mother doesn’t fall down the stairs and break her hip or trip over that rat of a dog that is always underfoot.”