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Authors: Robert Whitlow

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Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love (3 page)

BOOK: Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love
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I sighed. “I don’t have to guess what you think I should do.”

“Right. I think Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter is the way to go, at least until you learn the ropes. Law school may teach you to think like a lawyer, but it doesn’t teach you how to practice law.”

I shrugged. “Yes, the secretaries and paralegals at the firm knew more practical stuff than I did.”

“And you don’t have a clue whether either Smith or Feldman has the administrative abilities to run a law firm.”

Julie was smart but not always organized. I didn’t know about Maggie. My work history was limited to the processing line at the local chicken plant, a part-time job as a sitter for elderly women, and a three-month summer clerkship.

“Talk with your parents,” Mr. Callahan concluded. “Their advice is more important than mine.”

“But I respect your advice, and I wanted to know what you think. You’ve always helped me think through problems. Thanks for being honest with me.”

“You deserve a straight answer. I’m confident that when the time comes, you’ll know what to do. Once you make your decision, don’t look back.”

2

J
ESSIE SHUFFLED ALONGSIDE THE RAILROAD TRACKS.
I
T HAD
stopped raining, but a midnight mist kept her from seeing far ahead. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried to steal a few seconds’ rest. Stumbling forward, she fell, skinning her left knee on a rough crosstie. The sharp pain woke her up.

There’d been no sound or sign of pursuit, but the grotesque image of the man lying at the foot of the tree was etched in her mind with photographic clarity. Every time she closed her eyes, the sight of the man’s twisted body returned.

It wasn’t the first time Jessie had seen a dead person. At age seven she found her father sprawled across the bed with his mouth hanging open and an empty bottle of pills on the floor. She dashed into the living room and found her stepmother passed out drunk on the couch in the living room. Jessie poured a glass of cold water on her stepmother’s face, and fifteen minutes later an ambulance, sirens blaring, came to the house. It left slowly in silence with the body. There wasn’t a funeral.

Jessie gingerly touched the sore place on her knee. Alone, she was more tired than afraid. The shifting shadows cast by tree limbs when the moon peered from behind the clouds didn’t bother her. Jessie’s fears became real only when people were present. She found her greatest security in solitude, her favorite escape in the pages of a book.

After her father’s death, Jessie and her stepmother spent a lot of time in homeless shelters and more than a few nights huddled under bridges. Jessie knew the worst enemy of the homeless was cold weather, the unrelenting chill that made toes and fingers ache and dawn’s warmth seem light-years away. Tonight was warm and muggy. Jessie licked her lips. She was thirsty. She’d not had anything to drink since lapping dirty water from a rain puddle.

The tracks turned slightly left then crossed a broad ravine. Jessie stopped and looked down a steep embankment. She couldn’t see the bottom, but it had to be deep. The tops of trees beside the tracks barely reached the level of the rails. There wasn’t a bridge, just tracks laid on thick wooden pilings. She peered ahead, trying to determine how long the span might be. Meeting an oncoming train with no place to jump to the side would be a recipe for disaster.

Standing still, she listened, trying to pick up the sound of an approaching train. Hearing nothing, she took a few cautious steps forward. Then Jessie remembered a scene from a book set in the Old West. In it, she’d learned that an Indian tracker would kneel down and put his ear against the metal rails to hear the vibrations caused by an approaching train. Lying on her stomach, Jessie rested her ear against the cool steel. It gave off a low hum. She raised her head and strained her eyes. The mist was getting thicker, not thinner. She listened again. There was no mistaking the presence of a humming sound, but she didn’t know what it meant.

Returning to solid ground, Jessie decided to wait for a few minutes. She found a large pine tree with a thick blanket of needles wrapped like an apron around its base. The needles might be a nest of chiggers, but she sat down anyway and leaned against the tree. In less than a minute, she heard a rumbling sound in the distance. A train was coming. Not in front of her, but along the track she’d already walked.

Jessie watched the black cars zip past and breathed a sigh of relief. The flashing red light on the last car disappeared across the bridge. She pressed her hands against the slightly prickly pine needles that weren’t much rougher than the ancient sofa someone gave her stepmother. An enveloping fog of fatigue convinced her she’d fled far enough for the night.

Lying down, Jessie took the pouch from the front of her jeans. Her stepmother had a leather jacket, but it felt like plastic compared to the supple pouch. Jessie rested her head on the pouch and closed her eyes.

M
R.
C
ALLAHAN SENT ME HOME WITH ENOUGH FRESH STEAKS FOR
a feast. I handed Mama the heavy packet.

“Mix the marinade, and we’ll eat steak for supper,” she said. “This meat is too good to freeze.”

Mama used a steak marinade that included olive oil, pepper, garlic, and several other spices. I mixed the ingredients in a bowl, then poured the liquid on top of the steaks and put them in the refrigerator to soak in the flavors.

“Did you have a good visit with Mr. Callahan?” she asked from the corner of the kitchen where she was scrubbing the floor.

“Yes. He appreciated the honey.”

“Was Mrs. Callahan there?”

“No, she was with her sister in Chattanooga.”

“Did you ask his advice about the job?” Mama stood and wiped her hands on her work apron.

“Yes.”

“There’s wisdom in a multitude of counselors,” she answered evenly. “And there’s no denying Oscar Callahan has played a big role in your becoming a lawyer.”

I finished rinsing out the bowl used to mix the marinade.

“He thinks a multitude of counselors is the right move, which means I should accept the job at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter actually called him and asked him to use his influence to persuade me to work for the firm.”

Mama and I sat at the table while I told her about my conversation with the retired lawyer.

“Being with Mr. Callahan made me wish he was still practicing law and could ask me to join him. It would be wonderful living at home, helping you when I was here, spending more time with the twins, going to church—”

“But that’s not an option, is it?”

“Not really. I don’t know anything about the two lawyers who bought Mr. Callahan’s practice and doubt they need an associate so soon after getting started themselves.”

“That doesn’t sound much different than the situation with Julie Feldman and Maggie Smith.”

“So, you and Daddy agree with Mr. Callahan,” I responded quickly.

Mama rubbed her forehead. “Daddy and I have been praying about it. We’ll talk after supper.”

As much as I wanted to know Mama’s thoughts, I knew our conversation would have to wait.

Later, while we fixed supper, my stomach growled in hunger. Mama cooked steaks in an old castiron skillet heated hot enough to make the oil sizzle. The finished product would be slightly crispy on the outside and running with tender juices on the inside. The steaks filled the kitchen with an aroma that seeped outside, causing the dogs to bark in anticipation of an after-dinner bone.

While Mama kept a careful eye on the steaks, I baked yeast rolls and fixed mashed potatoes. Gravy for the potatoes received extra zip from the skillet drippings. Ellie heated green beans on the stove and made sweet tea in a large pot of hot water. Emma set the table. With symphonic coordination, everything came out of oven and skillet for quick transfer to the table.

“Pray fast, Daddy,” Ellie said when we sat down in our usual seats. “God knows we’re thankful.”

Daddy couldn’t be rushed if he felt the nudge of the Spirit otherwise. But tonight, the Lord agreed with Ellie. In a few seconds the room was silent except for the passing of dishes and the sounds of forks and knives. Partway through the meal I stole a glance around the table while savoring a juicy bite of steak and took a mental snapshot of the scene to revisit while eating a chicken salad sandwich in my apartment at school.

“No room for dessert,” Daddy said when he pushed away his plate.

“That’s good, because we didn’t fix any,” Mama replied.

“I’m still hungry,” Bobby protested.

Mama pointed to the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Eat those. They’ll fill the hollow place in your legs.”

“The twins and I will clean up,” Daddy said when we were done. “Everyone else go into the front room. Bobby, do you feel like playing your guitar?”

My brother patted his stomach. “Yes, sir. I have an extra place to rest it for a couple of hours.”

Mama and I went into the front room. My parents always sat in two comfortable chairs with a lamp in between. The rest of us grabbed places on the couch or used one of the straight-backed chairs that lined the wall. The room could hold up to twenty for a prayer meeting. When that happened, chairs weren’t necessary because people spent most of the time kneeling on the floor.

Bobby brought his guitar downstairs and began to tune it. Mama closed her eyes. After finishing his tuning, Bobby began to pick individual notes. The fingers on his left hand moved smoothly up and down the guitar’s neck. My brother had come a long way from strumming the same three chords over and over. Daddy and the twins joined us. The girls plopped down on the couch beside me without elbowing each other. We didn’t own a TV, so spending time together as a family after a meal wasn’t unusual. In addition to singing, we occasionally read a classic book out loud or played an educational game.

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.

BOOK: Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love
5.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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