Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (11 page)

“No, sir. That wouldn’t do me any good and besides, you already know them.”

Mr. Callahan chuckled.

“Let’s wait for a minute,” Zach said.

I had no choice. I bowed my head and closed my eyes. A heaviness that could be felt settled in the room and made me think of a few prayer meetings I’d attended when no one wanted to say “Amen” because it was unclear whether to stop.

Mr. Callahan spoke. “As my father would say, ‘I feel the weight of God’s glory’ and want to know why.”

Zach didn’t say anything, but I knew Mr. Callahan was right. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.

“I think God wants to touch you,” Zach said. “Would it be okay to ask him to do that and see what happens?”

I opened my eyes and saw Mr. Callahan nod and bow his head.

Zach looked past the old man at a spot on the other side of the room.

I followed Zach’s line of sight but saw nothing except the corner cupboard where Mrs. Callahan kept the fine china.

“Father, touch Mr. Callahan,” Zach said softly.

The heaviness in the room increased. I wanted to keep my eyes open but felt that whatever God did next, I wasn’t supposed to watch.

I had a sudden desire to bottle the moment and open it later at Mrs.

Fairmont’s house.

“Hallelujah,” a male voice said.

It was Oscar Callahan.

“Hallelujah,” the old man repeated stronger.

I peeked and saw Mr. Callahan’s faced turned upward but his eyes still closed.

“Hallelujah!” he cried out in a loud voice that sent shivers down my spine.

Mr. Callahan rose to his feet and lifted his hands in the air. He clapped his hands together so loudly that it made me jump. Zach remained seated. The old man took a few tentative steps, then began to turn around, his hands in the air.

“Hallelujah!” he repeated several times.

I wouldn’t call it dancing, but Mr. Callahan began to shuffle his feet.

He pushed his walker out of the way and marched across the kitchen.

Zach leaned back in his chair, an amused expression on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Zach said.

“Hallelujah!” Mr. Callahan said again.

The lawyer’s vast vocabulary had been reduced to a single word. Over and over he said it. He marched up to Zach and slammed his hands down on the young lawyer’s shoulders.

“God has touched me,” Mr. Callahan said. “And I bless you for being obedient.” He turned to me. “And Tammy Lynn, bless you for bringing this man of God to see me today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Callahan glanced around the room as if looking for someone to hit or something heavy to pick up.

“Is this going to last?” he asked Zach.

“I don’t know,” Zach answered.

“Hallelujah,” Mr. Callahan said. “You’re just the messenger.”

“Yes, sir.”

The side door that connected the kitchen to the garage opened, and Mrs. Callahan entered. A statuesque woman with magnificent silver hair, she’d been raised in suburban Atlanta. The lawyer’s wife had rejected the fiery faith of Mr. Callahan’s father as watered-down religion dispensed by a sleepy church in the center of town.

“Hello, Mrs. Callahan,” I said, trying to remember my manners in the midst of a heavenly visitation. “This is Zach Mays, an associate at the firm where I’m working this summer in Savannah. We stopped by to pick up a couple of steers. My mother sent a bag of Silver Queen corn. It’s already shucked and in the pot—”

“Hallelujah!” Mr. Callahan interrupted, staring at his wife, his eyes blazing with zeal. “God almighty has touched me today!”

“What the—?” she asked, her mouth dropping open.

“We’ll be leaving,” I said quickly. “We need to load the steers into the trailer.”

Zach stood and extended his hand to Mrs. Callahan, who shook it limply without taking her eyes from her husband.

“Have a good day,” Zach said, then turned to the older lawyer.

“Mr. Callahan, it was an honor meeting you.”

“God bless you both,” Mr. Callahan boomed.

“I know the way out,” I said.

As we made our way through the living room, I could hear Mr.

Callahan repeating a few more “hallelujahs” accentuated with loud claps. Outside, I leaned against the front door and laughed.

“I know that was a holy moment,” I said, “but it’s funny to think what is going on in that kitchen right now. Mr. Callahan has been under wraps for so long, he’s like a volcano about to explode. I can’t wait to tell Mama what happened.”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Not tell her?” I stepped away from the door and looked at him in surprise.

“It would be more like gossip than celebration.”

“That’s crazy,” I protested. “Our church has prayed for Mr.

Callahan for years.”

“Then let him be the one to break the good news.”

I started to argue, then stopped. “Okay. God used you to bring down the glory, so I guess you have the right to decide who should proclaim it.”

“I don’t know anything about bringing down the glory.”

“Didn’t you feel the presence of the Lord come into the kitchen?”

My surprise returned stronger. “I thought maybe you saw an angel standing near the corner cupboard.”

“I didn’t see any angels. I just wanted God to touch Mr. Callahan.

He’s a nice gentleman.”

“You didn’t feel anything? That makes no sense to me.”

Zach shook his head. “All I felt was a nudge to pray and had no idea if anything would happen. When it did, I watched.”

“Well, let me know if God ever wants to touch me.”

WE REACHED THE PEN where the steers waited. I’d left two ears of corn on the floorboards of the truck to lure them into the trailer. Zach stared at the driver’s-side door.

“I’ll back the trailer into position,” I said. “You stick to praying, riding motorcycles, and admiralty law. Open the gate of the pen when I’m in position.”

I pulled the truck forward, then backed into the holding pen. The tongue on the trailer was short, and I had lots of experience going in reverse. Zach walked beside the truck.

“Stay inside,” Zach said as we passed by the gate. “It’s messy in here.”

I stopped the truck and handed him the two ears of corn.

“Here’s the bait. Throw them in the trailer and shoo the steers in after them.”

I heard the door of the trailer open and the rumble of the ramp. I looked in the side mirror but couldn’t see Zach.

“Don’t let them step on your foot,” I said. “That would be worse than getting finned by a catfish.”

“Two amputations in one day sounds bad,” he said. “Come on, cows. Get in the trailer.”

“Steers.”

“Come on, hamburger,” he said. “Move it!”

The trailer shifted as one of the steers came up the ramp. A few seconds later the second joined him.

“Make sure the latch is secure,” I called out. “We don’t want ham-burger on the road.”

Zach climbed into the truck.

“The prisoners are loaded and locked behind bars. Maybe seeing God bless Mr. Callahan can help me work through the guilt I feel about helping haul this beef to market.”

8

DRIVING HOME WITH THE WINDOWS OF THE TRUCK LOWERED and the air blowing across my face, I basked in the wonder of what had happened to Mr. Callahan. I glanced across at Zach with in-creased respect. If he ever stopped practicing law, his future might be as a healing preacher. Zach casually picked up another long blade of grass and stuck it in the corner of his mouth.

I slowed down and turned into our driveway. The trailer bumped across the dirt ruts as I drove around the house to the feedlot. The new fence had been finished. The five dairy calves from Mr. Moorefield’s farm were huddled in one corner. There was no sign of Kyle or Daddy.

“I’ll park the truck and get Kyle to help us,” I said.

“We can do it. Unloading should be easier than loading.”

“But we don’t want any of the calves to bolt.”

Zach stuck his head out the window. “They look more my size, and they’re off to the side. I’ll get the gate.”

Zach got out of the truck. I put the truck in reverse and began backing through the gate. Suddenly I saw a flash of black and white as one of Mr. Moorefield’s calves ran through the opening between the fence and the trailer. Zach was standing on the opposite side of the trailer.

“One’s loose!” he called out.

“Shut the gate,” I said.

I drove forward, turned off the motor, and jumped out. Zach slammed the gate shut and raced after the calf. It was heading toward our garden. I grabbed a piece of rope from the bed of the truck and ran after them. The calf was zigzagging madly across the yard. After a few steps my sandals fell off, and I continued on barefoot. A run-away calf could wreak havoc in our garden and destroy a summer’s work in seconds. The dry grass stung my tender feet.

“Get between the calf and the garden!” I yelled at Zach.

Zach reached the edge of the pole beans a few seconds before the calf and waved his arms. The calf spun around and headed toward the basketball goal. I ran parallel to him, then swerved in his direction. Suddenly the calf stopped. I coiled the rope into a loop and approached him.

“Easy, boy, easy,” I said in a soft voice. “It’s okay.”

Zach came up behind the calf, whose eyes were wide with fear. The calf spun around, saw Zach, and ran toward me. Just before he reached me, Zach tackled him from behind by grabbing his rear legs. I darted forward to wrap the rope around the calf ’s neck, but he jumped up, pushing Zach into me. I lunged for the calf, and all three of us landed in a heap. I looped the rope over the calf, but it slid off and ended up on Zach’s chest. I lunged over Zach, got the rope around the calf ’s neck, and pulled it tight.

The back door of the house opened, and Mama came outside. I was lying across Zach trying to control the struggling calf. Zach reached up and put his arms around me.

“Roll this way,” he said, putting his hand on my left side. “Then I can hold the rope.”

I shifted my weight, and we embraced. Zach got on his hands and knees. He grabbed the rope and held it close to the calf ’s neck.

“Do it this way,” I said, putting my hands on his.

I repositioned the rope and threw in a hitch knot that I cinched down. Mama reached us.

“Tammy Lynn, get up,” she scolded. “You’re not dressed for calf roping.”

“He was about to destroy the garden,” I protested.

“And you’re about to get sent to your—” Mama stopped. She grabbed the rope from Zach’s hand. “Kyle and your daddy are in the front room with Mr. Moorefield. Get them.”

I ran into the house. Daddy, Kyle, and Mr. Moorefield were signing some papers.

“One of the calves escaped,” I said breathlessly, “but we caught it before it got into the garden. Come help.”

The three men shot past me toward the rear of the house. I looked down at my dress. It was streaked with grass stains. I lifted my right foot and inspected it. The bottom was red and dirty. I rubbed it.

There weren’t any cuts.

I returned to the kitchen and looked out the door. Mr. Moorefield was leading the calf by the rope. Daddy, Kyle, and Zach were walking beside him. It was a tranquil scene without any hint of the drama just played out. Mama climbed the steps. I held the door open for her.

She shook her head.

“Tammy Lynn, what were you thinking? Rolling around in the grass?”

“We weren’t rolling around in the grass,” I responded, trying to keep calm in the face of her implied accusation. “We were trying to corral the calf.”

“I’m glad your daddy didn’t see the way that man had his hands all over you.”

Raising my voice, I said, “If by ‘that man’ you mean Zach Mays, there was no intent by either of us to have any improper contact. Trying not to get kicked by a spooked calf isn’t my idea of a romantic encounter. We were just trying to get untangled without the calf escaping.”

Mama looked sternly at me for a few seconds; then her face softened.

“I believe you were innocent, but I’m not so sure about Zach.”

“You’re misjudging him.”

“We’ll see. You’ll have to soak that dress to get out the grass stains.”

The door opened. It was Zach. He held my sandals in his hand. His face was streaked with dirt.

“Cinderella left her slippers in the grass,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks,” I said quickly.

Mama cleared her throat. “I was about to tell Tammy Lynn that you should clean the catfish before you wash up yourselves.”

“Good idea,” Zach said. “If one of them flops out of the bucket, it will give us another chance to roll around in the grass.”

I felt all the color drain from my face. Mama didn’t say anything. I jerked open the knife drawer and grabbed a filleting knife. The fish bucket was in the shade beneath the back steps. I marched past Zach, went down the steps, and grabbed the bucket. Zach followed me.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a low voice. “No one would think—”

“Then why give them a reason to? Get a piece of scrap lumber from the barn about this long.” I stretched out my hands roughly a foot and a half apart. “There should be a hammer hanging on the wall near the fishing poles. Grab the hammer, the rubber gloves near the fishing poles, and a three-inch nail from one of the boxes on the shelf. Meet me by the hose connection at the corner of the house.”

Zach left. I carried the bucket of fish to the corner of the house and turned on the hose. The fish had grown lethargic. They didn’t respond to a splash of cold water. I considered sticking my face in the water to cool my temper. Zach returned and laid everything out on the grass.

“Where are the pliers?” I asked.

“You didn’t tell me to get the pliers.”

“How do you expect to skin a catfish without pliers?”

I jerked the hose and soaked the bottom of my dress.

“How do you expect me to understand what’s going on if you don’t tell me?”

“What were you thinking?” I replied. “Making a comment about rolling around in the grass with me? I’d just finished defending your innocence when you walked in and made catching the calf sound like a cheap setup.”

“It was innocent.”

“I know, but that’s not how it looked to Mama.”