Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  Daddy set the box on the table and took out his pocketknife to cut the tape that held it shut. He’d carried the same knife as long as I could remember. The ivory-colored handle was worn smooth by countless hours spent in his pocket. His eyes opened wide as he lifted the lid.

  “I don’t quite know what to say about this,” he said, pulling out a large, brightly colored ceramic rooster. “It’s, uh, unusual.”

  I quickly checked the expressions on everyone’s face.

  “Where are we going to put it?” Daddy asked Mama.

  “It’s tacky,” Emma said.

  “Emma,” Mama said.

  “Well, it is. It’s the kind of thing people put in a yard sale and try to sell for seventy-five cents. If Ellie and I tried to buy something like that, you wouldn’t let us do it.”

  “It could go in the center of the table,” Daddy said, setting it down in front of him.

  “No,” Mama said so quickly that we all laughed out loud.

  “I bought it at a yard sale,” I said, looking at Emma. “And I had to pay a lot more than seventy-five cents.”

  “Is it an antique?” Mama asked.

  “No, ma’am. The sticker on the bottom says it was made in Thailand. I saw it one Saturday morning when I was walking Mrs. Fairmont’s dog and immediately thought about Daddy working so many years at the chicken plant. I bargained with the woman having the yard sale. She wanted five dollars for it, but I got her down to three. I thought Daddy could take it to the plant and put it on the table where he checks everyone’s time cards.” I paused and forced my mouth not to break out in a big smile. “Or, he and the boys could use it for target practice after he takes out what is inside.”

  “What’s inside?” Daddy asked me.

  “The head comes off.”

  Daddy twisted off the head and extracted a thin plastic bag. He read the label.

  “Jamaican Blue Coffee.”

  “It’s supposed to be the best. And that’s not all.”

  Daddy peered into the bird.

  “Turn it upside down and shake it,” I said.

  Out came a piece of cloth held in place by a red ribbon. He untied the ribbon and unrolled the cloth.

  “Mrs. Fairmont knows how to do embroidery,” I said. “She’s been teaching me.”

  Daddy read, “‘The righteous man walks in his integrity; his children are blessed after him.’ Tammy Lynn, it’s beautiful.”

  He held it up for everyone to see. The text of the verse was in dark blue thread surrounded by a multicolored border.

  “Wow,” Ellie exclaimed.

  “I could make a frame for it,” Kyle said. “A few sticks of cherry-wood would be nice.”

  While Kyle and Mama talked about a frame, I watched Daddy run his fingers across the delicate threads. He turned it over and looked at the back.

  “It’s just like the preachers say,” he said and nodded. “The back of a tapestry might look like a mess, but the front is a work of art.”

  “Mrs. Fairmont’s fingers are too stiff to hold a needle for very long, but she can still teach.”

  Daddy stood up. “Well, that’s one of the nicest presents I’ve ever received.”

  He came around the table and kissed the top of my head.

  “Can you teach me how to embroider?” Ellie asked.

  “Work harder on your cross-stitch. When I know you’re serious about learning, I’ll give you a lesson.”

  The kitchen cleared. Zach and I stayed with Mama while the twins went upstairs. I watched Daddy and Kyle walk across the yard. Daddy limped slightly from an old gunshot wound he received when he was a military policeman in the army. A drunken solder shot him in the right foot. After two surgeries and months of physical therapy, the foot still hurt, especially in cold weather.

  “I’d like to see the feedlot,” Zach said.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Mama and I can finish in here. It will take the twins awhile to clean up their part of the bedroom.”

  Zach jogged across the grass and caught up with Daddy and Kyle. The dogs were at their heels.

  I continued to rinse and load the dishes while waiting for Mama to speak. She put her new flowerpots on the windowsill.

  “Yes, that’s the place,” she said, scrubbing the skillet used to cook the bacon. “And violets will be the best choice.”

  I positioned the dirty forks and knives in the rack in the precise order preferred by our family. Utensils always stayed with their own kind, making it easier to put them away when unloading the machine.

  “That’s a sweet gift you made for your daddy,” Mama said. “I thought he might shed a tear.”

  “Really? I didn’t notice.”

  “You can sense a lot of things after twenty-six years.”

  Mama rinsed the skillet and started washing the one used to cook the eggs.

  “I’m glad you’re not spending all your free time at the law firm or riding motorcycles,” she continued. “Embroidery is a gift that can honor the Lord. That’s a beautiful piece of work, especially for a beginner.”

  “I ripped out a lot more thread than I sewed. Mrs. Fairmont usually goes to bed after supper, and I have several hours to myself. It’s quiet and there’s no one to distract me.”

  “Does Zach call you on the phone at her house?”

  It was odd hearing Mama say his name.

  “No, ma’am. We talk at the office, but he’s always busy. The drive here was the longest time we’ve been alone together.”

  I finished loading the dishwasher. It was quiet in the house, a good sign that the twins were working, not arguing.

  “Is it okay that I invited him to visit?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited, wiping my hands several times with a dish towel. Mama reached under the sink and took out a piece of steel wool.

  “These eggs can be stubborn,” she said. “They’re so soft to eat you wouldn’t think they would stick so hard to the pan. Things don’t always react to heat and pressure the way we think they will.”

  I waited, not sure about the connection to Zach, or me. I wiped off the container of chicken livers on a paper towel. Mama held up the skillet and inspected it.

  “He seems to be an honest man, which is a lot better than a chameleon that changes to suit his surroundings. And you find out where you stand pretty quickly with Zach Mays.”

  “That’s the way he’s been with me from the beginning.”

  “But the question is what people are like when real difficulty comes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She dried the skillet, placed it on the counter, and faced me.

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Tammy Lynn, you’re in the boat leaving home behind. Storms will come.”

  “Did you see anything ahead?” I asked.

  Mama sometimes had glimpses into the future. She’d known the twins were coming when they were no bigger than the period at the end of a sentence.

  “That’s not for me to say.” Mama reached out and put her hand on my arm. “You’re a spiritual woman. Stay pure and your heavenly eyesight won’t get blurry.”

  She opened the cabinet and returned the skillet to its customary place.

  “Have a good time fishing. Try to keep the girls out of the poison ivy on the west side of the pond.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t worry if you don’t catch enough fish. There is a roast in the refrigerator that can be eaten tonight or cooked on Monday.”

  I walked slowly upstairs. Mama had seen more than she told me. I was sure of it. But I had no idea what it might be. God knows the past, present, and future, all at once, and sometimes he lets people like Mama have a peek. The rest of us have to walk by faith—and hope we don’t stumble beyond recovery.

  The twins were folding their clothes. They’d already made their beds. I opened the door of the closet we shared. Everything was neat and tidy.

  “We’re almost done,” Emma said. “We’ve begged Daddy
several times to take us fishing, but we haven’t been all summer.”

  “It’ll be fun going with you and Zach,” Ellie said. “His hand is strong and friendly.”

  “We were supposed to be praying,” Emma said, “but since we came upstairs, all she’s been talking about is Zach’s hand. I’m going to sit next to him at supper so I can feel it and find out myself.”

  “Have you held his hand?” Ellie asked me.

  I pushed Mama’s comment about storms out of my mind.

  “Why would I do that if I didn’t have permission from Daddy and Mama to court him?”

  “Is that a ‘no’?” Ellie asked.

  “I haven’t held his hand,” I answered with a slight smile. “And you sound more like a lawyer than I do.”

  “I’ve thought about being a lawyer,” Ellie said seriously. “But Emma is better at arguing than I am.”

  “Not,” Emma retorted. “It’s just that you’re more stubborn.”

  “If you want to go fishing, stop arguing.”

  “Okay,” Ellie said. “But maybe you should sit next to Zach at supper and hold his hand. It’ll change your life forever.”

  “Forget about being a lawyer. You should write romance novels.”

  “About Christian girls who find the perfect husband and live happily ever after,” Ellie sighed.

  BEFORE GOING DOWNSTAIRS, I changed into an older dress and put on tennis shoes that I wouldn’t mind getting dirty. However, I left my hair on my shoulders. Mama came in. The twins watched anxiously.

  “I can tell when Tammy Lynn is home,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “We did it,” Ellie protested. “Even the closet.”

  “She’s right,” I said. “All I did was help fold some clothes.”

  “Okay,” Mama said, leaning over to look under the bunk bed.

  “You can go to the pond as soon as someone fishes out the sock that’s been hiding in the dark under there for who knows how long.”

  Emma wiggled under the bed on her stomach until nothing showed except her feet.

  “She looks like the wicked witch of the East in The Wizard of Oz,” Ellie said, reaching over to tickle her sister’s toes.

  Emma didn’t flinch. She wasn’t very ticklish. She threw out a wadded ball of white. Ellie picked up the sock.

  “Oops, it’s mine,” she said, then made a perfect shot into the laundry basket.

  WHEN WE RETURNED to the kitchen, the chicken livers were beginning to thaw.

  “Get Zach and meet me in the toolshed,” I said to the girls.

  On the far side of the chicken coop was a large shed that contained anything Mama didn’t want in the house. It had been freshly painted white in the past few months. I pulled open one of the heavy double doors.

  Inside, multicolored gourds hung in a row from a supporting beam to the right. I’d spent many hours hollowing out gourds so Mama could transform them into works of art. Her gourds were highly prized as gifts. She’d never entered them in the county fair, but she’d be a cinch to win. I stepped around our tractor. Other farm and garden implements were lined up in neat rows on the rough floor. Small bags of chicken feed leaned against seventy-five-pound sacks of the meal Kyle used in the feedlot. I heard footsteps behind me. It was Ellie. She was standing in the door, slightly out of breath.

  “Zach’s coming,” she said. “As soon as he finishes digging the hole he’s working on.”

  The fishing rods hung on the back wall of the shed. I took down four poles.

  “I use the green one, and Emma likes the blue one,” she said. “You and Zach can have the bigger ones.”

  Our tackle boxes were on a bench underneath the rods. I found the one we used for catfish. Zach came into the shed. I could see he’d been working. He wiped his forehead with one of the bandannas left over from our head-covering days.

  “Did you prove your manliness with the posthole diggers?”

  “I hit a few licks, but your brother and father could work for hours.”

  I handed him the tackle box. Our fingers touched for a second. I glanced at Zach’s face. It revealed nothing.

  “This will be easier than digging,” I said, clearing my throat.

  We piled into Zach’s car. The twins sat in the backseat with the fishing poles out the window. I placed the chicken livers at my feet beside a plastic jug filled with ice cubes and water. A picnic basket containing snacks and a quilt to spread on the ground were in the trunk. Putnam’s Pond was just around the bend from our house, and we could have taken a shortcut through the woods, but the twins wanted to ride in Zach’s car. And it was easier to drive than try to carry everything.

  “I wish you’d brought your motorcycle,” Ellie said. “I think it would be fun letting the wind blow against your face.”

  “Until a june bug flew into your mouth,” Emma responded.

  “Motorcycles aren’t safe. Mama says people don’t pay attention to motorcycle riders.”

  “Did she tell you that since I’ve been home?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Zach looked in the rearview mirror. “Emma, do you think motor-cycle riding is a sin?”

  “Not unless you go over the speed limit,” Emma answered.

  “Or don’t wear a helmet,” Zach added. “I always use a helmet, even in states where it isn’t required by law.”

  “Do you always obey the speed limit?” Emma asked.

  Zach looked at me. “I’m not sure if going from zero to sixty in less than four seconds is breaking the law or not, but I admit that I’ve gotten a few tickets.”

  “Daddy drives five miles faster than the speed limit signs say,”

  Ellie said. “So does Tammy Lynn. I’ve watched her plenty of times from the backseat. She’s a scary driver.”

  “I am not. I’ve never had a wreck or gotten a ticket.”

  “But you drove into a ditch on the way to choir practice at church last year.”

  “Trying not to hit a tortoise in the middle of the road. Turn here,”

  I said to Zach. “And the car wasn’t damaged. That means it wasn’t a wreck.”

  The pond was surrounded by trees, but it was possible to see a glint of dark water from the highway. The gravel access road ended about twenty feet from the pond. Zach parked beneath a large oak tree. There wasn’t a breeze blowing, and the water glistened like an opaque mirror. The twins hopped out and took off running.

  “Stay away from the poison ivy patch,” I called after them.

  “We know,” Emma answered over her shoulder. “Three shiny leaves grouped together most commonly found growing on the side of trees.”

  There was a narrow path through the grass along the southern side of the pond.

  “Are there any snakes around here?” Zach asked as we unloaded the car.

  “Plenty, but this time of year they’re more interested in getting a suntan than bothering us. Emma and Ellie will scare them away. They come to the water to drink early in the morning and during the evening after they’ve eaten.”

  “Eaten what?”

  “Motorcycle riders.”

  Zach laughed. I led him to a flat patch of ground between the water and a grove of pine trees.

  “It will be shady here for a while,” I said, shielding my eyes and looking up at the sun.

  We spread out the quilt and arranged everything neatly. The girls were halfway around the pond. They’d found a flock of butterflies and were trying to lure them to land on their open palms.

  “I have some swim trunks in the car,” Zach said. “Would it be okay if I changed? These jeans are hot.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “No, we don’t swim in mixed company. If a church group goes to the lake, the boys are always separated from the girls.”

  “Nobody sneaks through the woods to take a peek?”

  “I never did,” I replied, then pointed at the pond. “Anyway, this isn’t a good place to swim. You’d sink down a foot in the mud.”

  Zac
h went to the car for a final load. When he returned, he pointed at my legs. “Should we move the quilt into the sun? It would help you work on your tan.”

  My legs were stark white, but my face flushed red.

  “That isn’t funny.”

  “I just thought you’d want to sit with part of your body in the sun.”

  “My biggest goal each summer isn’t baking my skin to a precancerous crisp,” I snapped.

  “I didn’t—”

  The twins came running over.

  “We’re ready to fish,” Emma interrupted. “I’ve never seen so many yellow swallowtails in one place. It tickled when they landed on our hands.”

  “Zach, will you bait my hook?” Ellie asked.

  I grabbed my fishing pole, scooped up a chicken liver, and took the path to the south end of the pond. I walked until I couldn’t hear Zach’s voice. I baited the hook and cast into the pond. There was a lead shot on the line to make sure the bait sank to the bottom where the catfish scavenged. The twins and Zach were together at the edge of the water, not far from the quilt. I heard Emma laugh. I fumed. My fishing line lay still in the water. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the girls cast their lines into the pond. Ellie had a much better motion, and hers sailed far out over the water. Zach returned to the quilt, looked in my direction, and waved. I quickly glanced away, then felt like an immature schoolgirl. Morning silence descended on the pond. Except for my mental funk, I had to admit it was a gorgeous day.

  “I have one!” Emma cried out.

  She moved away from the water as she reeled in the fish. Ellie dropped her pole and came alongside her. Zach looked at me. I saw a flash of gray as the fish flopped around at the pond’s edge.

  “It’s a keeper!” Emma screamed.

  “Take the fish off the hook and put it on the stringer,” I said.

  Emma’s rod was sharply bent, and from the angle of the pole, I could tell she’d brought the fish onto the grass. Zach reached down with his hand. A second later he jerked it back and shook it. I quickly reeled in my line and walked toward them.

  “He doesn’t know how to pick up a catfish,” Ellie said.

  “Watch out for the spines,” I answered.

  Keeping his eyes on the fish, Zach tried again but failed.

  “Cut the line,” he said.