Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  Years before there had been a decision to require women to wear head coverings. For six months, Mama and I kept bandannas pinned to our hair except when bathing or sleeping. Then, for reasons unclear to me, the elder board reversed the requirement. A few families left the church in protest. Mama folded the bandannas and put them in a drawer. I felt relieved. Now my brothers used those bandannas as sweat rags on hot summer days.

  I handed Zach the blue metal egg pail the twins and I had deco-rated with simple portraits of our chickens. Outside, the early morning air was fresh and cool. There weren’t any clouds in the sky. The nice day lightened my mood.

  “Are you afraid of chickens?” I asked as we walked across the yard.

  “No,” he answered, giving me a puzzled look.

  Flip and Ginger trotted up to greet us. We passed the edge of our large garden. The browning tassels of the cornstalks were visible at the far end of the garden. Mama canned vegetables, and much of the food we ate year-round came from our garden. My favorite vegetable was white corn. Daddy planted thirty long rows of corn and spaced it out so we had corn on the cob every night over a four- to five-week period. Nothing tasted better than fresh-picked corn dropped into a pot of boiling water, then transferred directly to the dinner table. Our family could eat two dozen ears at a meal. Mama canned creamed corn, Mexican corn with red and green peppers, and yellow corn for use in other dishes.

  “We’ll have corn on the cob for supper,” I said.

  “It’s my favorite.”

  “Good, we have that in common.”

  We reached the chicken coop.

  “Do you want to wait here?” I asked, putting my hand on the latch.

  “Why?”

  “Have you ever been around a rooster with hens?”

  “No,” he answered, looking more closely into the pen.

  “I’ll protect you,” I said, making a fist.

  I lifted the latch on the gate, and we stepped onto the bare dirt area in front of the coop. Chester, who had been on the back side of the enclosure, came running around with his wings flapping and his head stretched out. He charged Zach, then jumped up in the air with his talons thrust forward. Zach jumped back and crashed into the fence. I waved my hands in front of Chester’s face.

  “Back off!” I yelled.

  The rooster quickly retreated and began scratching the ground, completely ignoring us.

  Zach brushed his hands against the front of his shirt. “So that’s how you learned to hold your ground under pressure. Mr. Carpenter isn’t half as intimidating as Chester. I thought he was going to slash my throat or try to put out my eyes.”

  I laughed. “He’s the greatest bluffer in the county. At least you didn’t scream like a little girl.”

  Keeping his eye on Chester, Zach followed me into the coop. Each hen’s nesting box was marked with a carefully printed card: Juliet, Olivia, Viola, Cressida, Cleopatra, and Lady Macbeth. They clucked loudly at our approach.

  “More Shakespeare?” Zach asked, touching the cards.

  “Yes. Chester is the odd man out. Kyle named him. Before Chester, we had a bigger rooster named Brutus. He really was mean. I had to carry an old broomstick with me when I came into the yard.”

  Zach held the bucket while I reached into the nesting boxes and retrieved the morning supply of eggs. The hens protested and pecked at my hand, but as soon as the eggs were removed, they fluttered down to the ground and left the coop in search of food. The floor of the coop was covered with fresh straw. It still smelled like a chicken house but not as bad as it could have.

  “One of my brothers must have cleaned in here,” I said. “Did you live on a farm when your family was in the commune?”

  “No, we’ve always been in a city neighborhood.”

  “How did that work? I thought you would be out in the country.”

  “They bought big, older houses, then put more than one family in each one. The adults worked public jobs and pooled their earnings.”

  We left the chicken house. Chester clucked loudly when we passed but didn’t make any threatening gestures. In front of the chicken coop was a bare basketball court where I’d practiced my jump shot for many hours.

  “We could play a game of one-on-one here,” Zach said.

  “No,” I answered quickly. “Playing with the twins might be a good idea. Ellie really likes you.”

  “But not Emma?”

  “Oh, she does, too. They pretend not to agree about anything, but when it comes down to it, they’re twins through and through.”

  Zach rested his hand on the wooden post that held up the basketball goal.

  “Should I explain to your parents what happened in the commune?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if that would be a good idea. It might be better to leave it alone.”

  “But I do owe you an explanation about something else I said last night. When I told you to consider leaving this world, I didn’t mean you should reject your family.”

  “That’s the way it sounded to me.”

  “You’ll always love and honor your folks, but things have to change when you get married. The Bible commands a woman to leave her family and cleave to her husband.”

  “Actually, it only tells the husband to do that.”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but don’t you think it should apply to women, too?”

  “Yes, and that would be tough, especially if I married someone outside our church.” I glanced toward the house. Mama might be watching and wondering. “We don’t need to settle that now. Let’s take the eggs inside. I need to wash them and help with breakfast.”

  Inside the house, Mama was placing strips of lean bacon in a skillet.

  “Good morning,” she said in a cheery voice that reassured me. “Tammy Lynn, will you help me with the bacon?”

  “You’ve never tasted anything like this bacon,” I said to Zach. “It has no preservatives.”

  “My family eats a lot of organic food.”

  I saw Mama cringe as she reached for another piece of bacon. Our best bacon and hams came from members of the church who raised hogs. Most hog killing was done in the fall, but Mr. Bowman would occasionally slaughter a pig after the Fourth of July. Daddy managed to keep our name at the top of the list for fresh pork by supplying the Bowmans with as much sweet corn as they could eat.

  “How did you sleep?” Mama asked Zach.

  “Not too well. I lay awake worrying that I came across as disrespectful last night and wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to argue with you.”

  Mama turned around and wiped her hands on the front of a well-worn apron.

  “It’s important for us to know what you believe and why.”

  Zach’s focus was on feelings; Mama cared about facts. It was a role reversal from stereotypes of men and women. Mama poured Zach a cup of coffee while I began washing the eggs in vinegar.

  “What are you going to do today?” Mama asked me.

  “We can help around here,” Zach answered. “Tami has already introduced me to the chicken house.”

  “We only collect our eggs once a day,” Mama replied. “And Bobby cleaned the coop yesterday afternoon. There are always chores to do, but I don’t want you to think all we do is work.”

  “Any suggestions?” I asked, trying to remember a time except Sundays when we didn’t work.

  “You could go fishing at Putnam’s Pond. A mess of fried catfish would make a nice supper.”

  I reached up and brushed back my hair with my hand. I loved the idyllic setting of the pond.

  “Maybe the twins could tag along,” Mama added. “They haven’t been fishing all summer.”

  “Is this a good time of year to catch catfish?” Zach asked.

  Mama and I both laughed.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Catfish aren’t picky about seasons. They never stop eating and bite anything on a hook, from a dough ball to a chicken liver.”

  “There’s a tub of livers in the freezer,” she
said. “You’d better let them start thawing.”

  We had a large freezer in the cellar. Next to the sizable freezer were shelves holding rows and rows of jars of the vegetables Mama put up during the summer. Mama kept everything organized and a sheet of paper listed an inventory of the contents of the freezer. I took out the livers and marked them off the list. When I returned upstairs, Ellie and Emma, wearing their work dresses, were in the kitchen. Emma had the small suitcase in her hand.

  “Now,” she said, holding it up as soon as I entered.

  I held up the chicken livers. “Do you want to trade what’s in the suitcase for these?”

  “No,” Emma replied. “And I wouldn’t let Ellie peek.”

  “Let me have it,” I said. “I don’t want Mama to see her present until Daddy is here.”

  I took out two colorful cardboard boxes and handed one to each.

  “Saltwater taffy!” Ellie said.

  “And different flavors,” Emma said.

  “From a shop where I watched them make it.”

  “May we have a piece?” Ellie asked Mama.

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s the perfect way to get your stomach ready for a good breakfast.”

  The twins had a brief discussion about the respective merits of different flavors. Emma chose strawberry; Ellie picked blueberry.

  “That’s not all,” I said after they started chewing.

  “What else?” Emma asked, her mouth moving slowly.

  I took out two objects wrapped in tissue paper and handed them to the girls. They quickly removed the thin paper.

  “Shells,” Ellie said.

  “A conch shell,” Emma added. “Did you find them when you went on the motorcycle ride with Zach?”

  “Two rides,” Ellie corrected.

  “No,” I answered. “I bought them at a beach shop. Big ones like that come from somewhere else.”

  “It’s a Florida pink conch,” Zach said. “Hold it up to your ear.”

  Ellie held the shell up to her right ear. Emma did the same with hers.

  “I can hear the ocean,” Ellie said.

  “That’s neat. We’ve never seen it,” Emma added.

  “You’ve never been to the ocean?” Zach asked. “It’s only five hours away.”

  I held out my hand, and Ellie handed me her shell. I listened for a few seconds to the faint roar, then returned it to her.

  “Before this summer, the only time I’d been to the coast was a mission trip with the church. We helped clean up a town in Florida that had been hit by a hurricane.”

  “And your daddy went with you,” Mama said. “There are a lot of wonderful educational opportunities along the coast, but it’s an expensive place to visit.”

  “You could use my town house for a few days,” Zach said. “It has three bedrooms. All you’d have to buy would be the gasoline to get to Savannah and groceries while you stay. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

  “Can we?” Emma asked excitedly.

  “It’s a kind offer,” Mama answered in her practical tone of voice.

  “We’ll pray about it.”

  “I don’t have to pray about it,” Emma replied. “I’d love seeing the ocean.”

  “Quiet,” Ellie whispered.

  The bacon sizzled in the skillet. I cracked open a dozen eggs into a metal bowl. The biscuits were beginning to turn golden in the oven.

  Kyle and Bobby came into the kitchen followed by Daddy. The break-fast aromas made a welcoming fragrance.

  “Just in time.” Daddy smiled.

  He kissed Mama on the cheek, and the twins excitedly showed him their gifts. While I stirred the eggs, Kyle listened to Ellie’s shell and pretended he couldn’t hear anything. Daddy poured a cup of coffee and sat on the bench opposite Zach. I watched, trying to read Daddy’s mood toward Zach—and me. He gave me a good-morning smile but didn’t look at Zach.

  “The weeds are getting ahead of us in the pole beans and okra,”

  Daddy said to Bobby.

  “Yes, sir, I saw that yesterday.”

  “Run the two-tine tiller down the rows; then use the hoe to dress them out. Kyle and I are going to finish digging the holes for the new section of the feedlot before Ed Moorefield drops off five calves.”

  “Do you raise calves?” Zach asked.

  “No, just sell them for veal,” Kyle answered. “They’re males from his dairy herd. All they’ve eaten up to now is milk, but I’m going to add a hay-and-grain mixture for a few weeks to put more weight on them before taking them to the sale.”

  I loved the cute calves with their rough tongues. It always bothered me that they were so soon destined for the slaughterhouse; however, unless sold for veal, the male offspring of dairy cows were often killed at birth. Cattle culture was one society where being male was a huge negative.

  “Would you like to pick up the calves?” Kyle asked Zach. “We could call Mr. Moorefield and save him a trip. His place is one of the nicest dairy farms around here.”

  “Tammy Lynn and I are going fishing,” Zach answered. “Our job is to catch our supper.”

  “Unless you’re good with a rod and reel, we’ll be eating a vegetable plate.” Kyle shook his head. “Tammy Lynn has a habit of not paying attention to what’s happening at the end of her line.”

  I laughed. It was true. Staring at a thin line that disappeared into the dark water wasn’t my idea of fun.

  “And the twins are going with them,” Mama said with a glance toward Daddy. “Yes!” the girls exclaimed in unison.

  “After I inspect their room,” she added.

  The eggs were steaming when the biscuits came out of the oven. The table was set in seconds. We all looked at Daddy and waited for him to pray.

  “Zach, will you offer a blessing?” he asked.

  My stomach tightened. Daddy was testing Zach. We bowed our heads and held hands—except I didn’t hold Zach’s hand across the table. He held Ellie’s hand.

  “Father God,” he said, “thank you for this day and the food on this table. Bless each member of the Taylor family. Guide them into the true righteousness that comes by faith.”

  I tensed. Zach didn’t need to preach in his prayer. He hesitated. The room was deathly quiet. He continued.

  “And help Tammy Lynn and me catch a lot of catfish for supper. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  We released our hands.

  “You have a lot of faith,” Bobby said, grabbing a hot biscuit. “Only Jesus could make a fisherman out of Tammy Lynn.”

  “Fisherwoman,” Ellie said. “Get the gender of your word right.”

  “Gender?” Bobby asked.

  “It was a vocabulary word we had in the spring, wasn’t it, Mama?” she responded with her chin in the air.

  “Yes, and don’t use the Lord Jesus’ name in a flippant manner,”

  Mama added to Bobby. “Zach’s prayer was fine. It was just another way of asking for our daily bread.”

  5

  MAMA’S OFFHAND APPROVAL OF ZACH’S PRAYER WAS A RELIEF. Daddy didn’t say anything critical. We enjoyed a breakfast more typical of life in our home than the somber dessert of the night before. Zach ate two large servings of scrambled eggs and complimented me on how fluffy they were.

  “She has the touch,” Daddy said. “There is skill, even in scrambling eggs.”

  Kyle and Bobby split the last biscuit. I took my plate to the sink, then returned to the table and picked up the small suitcase.

  “Before we scatter, I want to finish handing out the gifts.”

  “It’s odd playing Santa Claus in July,” Zach said. “I worked as a shopping mall Santa over the holidays one year when I was in college.”

  “We don’t believe in Santa Claus,” Ellie said soberly.

  Zach’s eyes widened.

  “Not even when we were little,” Emma added. “He has nothing to do with the birth of Jesus.”

  “Zach isn’t promoting Santa Claus,” I said. “He’s just making a comparison.”

&nbs
p; There were so many religious land mines in our household that Zach couldn’t avoid stepping on one every few minutes. I caught his eye and shook my head slightly, then to break the tension opened the suitcase and handed identical boxes to Kyle and Bobby.

  “Is it fragile?” Bobby asked, shaking it. “Or something to eat? I wouldn’t mind a box of taffy myself.”

  Kyle didn’t try to guess. He ripped off the paper. Inside the box was a fitted ball cap with Savannah written across the front and a dark blue T-shirt decorated with a large sea turtle.

  “They have concrete sea turtles all over the place at Tybee Island,”

  I said. “The real ones come onto the beach at night to lay their eggs.”

  “We should go see them,” Emma said to Mama.

  “No, people need to leave them alone,” I said.

  “Did you go to the beach at night?” Ellie asked. “With him?” she added, motioning toward Zach.

  “No. I read about the turtles in a book.”

  Bobby opened his box. I knew he expected the same gifts as Kyle, but I’d bought him a belt and a CD of folk music by coastal musicians.

  “I listened to the CD,” I said to Mama. “And checked all the lyrics. The songs are ballads from different historical periods along the coast.”

  Bobby held up the belt. It was woven leather.

  “I bought the belt from a man who sold them from a pushcart.

  Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” he said with obvious appreciation.

  “And for you, Mama,” I said, handing her a set of two small, hand-painted planters. “I thought these could go on the windowsill over the kitchen sink.”

  “Violets would be nice this time of year,” she said, admiring the pretty pots. “Thank you, Tammy Lynn.”

  Mama kept a small flower garden along the back wall of the house but didn’t grow a lot of ornamental shrubs and plants. Ours was a working place, but I hoped she would enjoy a dash of color before her eyes as she scrubbed pans and casserole dishes. I handed the largest box to Daddy.

  “What’s this?” he asked, turning it over slowly in his weathered hands.

  “Open it,” Ellie said.

  “I will, don’t rush me.”