Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “Dr. Dysart came by to see me today,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

  “You mean Dr. Dixon, the cardiologist?” I asked.

  “That’s right. Anyway, he’s pleased with my progress and placed me on a regular diet. I called Gracie as soon as he left. She brought me the best meal I’ve had since I went to the hospital.”

  “What did she fix?”

  “Baked salmon, broccoli, and a small tossed salad.”

  “Any idea when you may be able to go home?” Vince asked.

  Mrs. Fairmont didn’t immediately answer. Vince looked past her toward me and repeated the question. Mrs. Fairmont wrinkled her brow. She paused before answering.

  “I need to know if you’re working for Christine or me.”

  Vince stood so Mrs. Fairmont could see his face. “I’m Vince Colbert, a summer law clerk at Sam Braddock’s law firm. Mr. Braddock has been your lawyer for years.”

  Mrs. Fairmont looked peeved. “Then why didn’t he come him-self? Is he trying to avoid being around old people? He’s not that far behind me, you know. I’ve always paid his bills as soon as they came in the mail.”

  “Mrs. Fairmont,” I said softly, “Vince and I brought Flip for a visit. This isn’t about business.”

  Flip trotted up to me. I lowered my right hand and let him lick my fingers. Mrs. Fairmont watched.

  “He knows you,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re the young woman who’s staying at my house.”

  “Yes, I’m Tami Taylor. Do you want to go inside? It’s so hot out here.”

  “Maybe we should,” Mrs. Fairmont replied with a sigh. “I’m get-ting a headache and don’t feel too well.”

  I helped her into the wheelchair. Vince pushed her across the mix of dirt and new grass. Flip ran ahead, glancing back to see if we were still following. Inside, I took a deep breath of the cool air and noticed that Mrs. Fairmont’s head was tilted to the side. I touched the wheel-chair. Vince stopped.

  “Mrs. Fairmont,” I said, coming alongside her. “Are you all right?”

  The elderly woman’s eyes were closed. They slowly opened but didn’t communicate any sign of recognition.

  “Let’s take her to the nurse’s station,” I said, pointing down the long hall.

  I took Flip’s leash. The nurse on duty came out from behind the nurse’s station.

  “We went outside for a few minutes, and she’s not feeling well,” I said quickly to the middle-aged black woman on duty.

  The nurse took Mrs. Fairmont’s hand. “How are you, sweetie?”

  “Tired,” Mrs. Fairmont mumbled.

  “Let’s get you into bed,” the woman answered, then turned to me.

  “I’ll take her from here. The dog needs to go outside.”

  “Her doctor prescribed—,” I began.

  “I’ll do it,” Vince said, cutting me off. “You stay with her.”

  Vince took the leash from me. I could hear Flip’s claws scratching against the tile floor as Vince dragged him away. The nurse and I went to Mrs. Fairmont’s room. Together we helped her from the wheelchair into bed.

  “Is she okay?” I asked.

  “Now that she’s in bed, I’ll check her vitals. Are you the grand-daughter who lives with her?”

  “I’m her in-home caregiver, but we’re not related.”

  The woman retrieved a blood pressure cuff from a hook near the head of the bed.

  “She thinks you’re her granddaughter.”

  “Only when she’s confused. I thought she was doing better.”

  “She is, but that doesn’t mean she won’t have her spells.”

  Mrs. Fairmont slept while the nurse took her blood pressure and checked her pulse and respiration.

  “Were you here when Dr. Dixon met with her this afternoon?” I asked after the nurse made a notation in the chart.

  “Dr. Dixon didn’t come today. That was yesterday.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I reviewed her status when I came on duty at three o’clock.”

  “Did he put her on a regular diet?”

  “No, she’s still on soft foods.”

  I bit my lip. “So, her housekeeper didn’t bring her salmon, broc-coli, and a salad for dinner?”

  “No, I helped feed her myself.” The nurse chuckled. “She ate all her applesauce.”

  It wasn’t funny to me. The nurse took off Mrs. Fairmont’s shoes and placed a sheet over the elderly woman’s thin legs.

  “Stay as long as you like.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and prayed. It was difficult riding the ebb and flow of declining health. One day’s optimism could be crushed by the following day’s negative report only to be replaced by the hope of a new day. I lightly touched Mrs. Fairmont’s hand and remembered when she’d reached out to me in the hospital. I might not be her granddaughter, but I loved her.

  THE PERSPIRATION WAS ROLLING off Vince’s face when I found him in a large open area behind the building. Flip was tugging on the end of the leash like a fish caught on a hook.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He slipped his head out of the collar and took off.”

  I could catch him in the small courtyard behind Mrs. Fairmont’s house, but corralling the little dog out in the open if he didn’t want to be caught would be next to impossible.

  “How did you get him back?”

  “I called, which did no good. Then I ran after him. I cut him off before he darted into the highway and chased him behind the building. He paused to catch his breath, and I scooped him up.”

  Vince held out his left hand. There were red marks on it but no blood.

  “He nipped me a few times. That kept him busy long enough for me to get the collar around his neck and tighten it down.”

  “Here, Flip,” I said.

  The little dog trotted over to me. Vince shook his head. I reached over and scratched behind Flip’s ears.

  “You’re like the horse whisperer,” Vince said.

  “Did Vince hurt your teeth with his rough, tough hand?”

  Vince laughed. “It’s always the man’s fault.”

  “He’ll tell you how sorry he is later,” I reassured the little dog, whose eyes closed in contentment as he enjoyed the scratch.

  I held Flip in my lap in the car. He laid his head on my knee.

  “Thanks for not letting him get away,” I said as Vince and I drove away from the nursing home.

  “I panicked. Seeing how much Mrs. Fairmont loves that dog, it would be terrible if he wasn’t waiting for her at the house when she comes home.”

  “That may be a long time.”

  “Why?”

  I told Vince about my conversation with the nurse.

  “She was convincing, especially when she talked about Gracie bringing her supper.”

  “It was all a delusion. She may be slipping deeper into dementia.” I paused. “But you believe what happened to her in the hospital was real, don’t you?”

  “Do you?”

  Mama had trained me not to yield to sentimental fantasies, especially in vital matters of religion. I looked within my heart and saw a grain of faith. It might be as small as a mustard seed, but I knew it had the power to move a mountain.

  “Yes,” I answered confidently. “Because God wants her to be saved, and it’s what I prayed for.”

  26

  SISTER DABNEY DIDN’T SAY A WORD WHEN THE MIDDLE-AGED sheriff ’s deputy handed her the thick packet of papers. As soon as she inspected him through the peephole in the door, she knew his sister was in the hospital about to undergo major surgery. The woman would survive the operation, but Sister Dabney couldn’t see the effect of the illness down the road. She’d learned from past mistakes it was usually better not to reveal half the future because people tended to finish the story the way they wanted to. A tragedy on earth might ultimately be revealed as a triumph in heaven.

  The cover sheet declared it was a “Complai
nt for Injunctive Relief and Money Damages.” Sister Dabney read the allegations and then scribbled what she thought about each one in the margin beside it. There was also a thick set of questions and statements called “Interrogatories, Requests for Admission, and Request for Production of Documents.” As she read, Sister Dabney felt vindicated. It was obvious someone had been paying attention to what she was saying. The greatest insult to a preacher is to be ignored. An angry person has heard the message and can repent; an indifferent one has no chance of change. Her warning about Paulding Development Corporation and Jason Paulding, its owner, had found the mark.

  The clerk’s office made a notation of the judge assigned to the case, so Sister Dabney had called Judge Cannon. His arrogance flowed through the phone line. She doubted he would heed her warning, but his blood wasn’t on her hands. The Bible contained specific promises and punishments for unjust judges. They either reaped the benefits or suffered the consequences. Her conscience was clear.

  The “Notice to Take Deposition” puzzled her. She looked up the word deposition in the dictionary and learned it was the testimony of a witness taken before trial. The notice contained the phrase “day by day,” which indicated it might last several days and would take place at the office of Paulding’s lawyer. Sister Dabney didn’t consider hiring an attorney of her own. She’d rather pray than pay.

  She knelt awkwardly on the rug and placed her hands on the legal papers. King Hezekiah spread out a written threat from a pagan general before the Lord God and was delivered from his enemies.

  Sister Dabney expected nothing less.

  JULIE BREEZED THROUGH TEN PAGES of deposition questions for Sister Dabney.

  “I don’t think she’ll show up,” Julie said, putting the finishing touches on her work. “But if she does, Mr. Carpenter will be able to work on her from five angles to get what we want.”

  I was on page three of my questions, none being very good. Julie’s tidy summation sounded so lawyerly and confident.

  “We can’t count on a nonappearance, and I still don’t know what Mr. Carpenter wants me to do.”

  “Pretend I’m questioning you. That’s the point I made the other day. You’ve been on the receiving end of harassment for your nutty beliefs. Now it’s your turn to dish it out.”

  “Maybe you should do this.”

  “No, I’m not going to bail you out this time.”

  “I’ve helped you at least as much as you have me,” I protested.

  “Yeah, but I have a bunch of other work to do.”

  I had other work as well, but I didn’t want to go into the weekend with this particular assignment hanging over my head. The phone buzzed in the library. The receptionist’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Brenda Abernathy from the newspaper on line 802 for Julie.”

  Julie stared at me. I pushed the button to respond.

  “She’ll take it.”

  “Put it on speakerphone,” Julie said.

  I connected the call and pointed at Julie.

  “Ms. Abernathy, thanks for returning my call. I have you on speakerphone with Tami Taylor. We’re summer law clerks working on a case for Jason Paulding and Paulding Development Corporation against a woman minister named Ramona Dabney.”

  “I already know about the lawsuit. I have a copy of the pleadings on my desk.”

  Julie and I stared at each other again.

  “Okay,” Julie said. “Why would the Home and Garden writer be interested in a defamation claim?”

  The reporter laughed. She sounded young—nothing like an old woman who’d found a niche writing about old houses and pretty flowers.

  “Savannah is proud of its homes and gardens, but that’s not my only job. I also have investigative assignments and special long-term projects. I’ve been working on this story for several weeks.”

  “What story is that?”

  “About religious frauds. Ramona Dabney’s harassment of your client after she accused him of criminal activity puts a broader spin on the topic.”

  “What have you found out about Dabney?” Julie asked.

  “You have this backward,” the reporter responded. “I’m calling to ask you some questions.”

  “Anything like that would have to come from Mr. Carpenter, the supervising attorney on the file,” I said.

  “Then why did you contact me?”

  “We understood Dabney may have slandered our client to you and wanted to find out what she said.”

  “I can’t help you if you won’t help me.”

  Julie looked at me and shook her head. “We’ll have to take that to Mr. Carpenter.”

  “You should do that”—Abernathy paused—“soon.”

  Julie ended the call.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “Can’t you see?” I responded excitedly. “She’s not interested in Dabney; she’s going after Paulding. Based on information Sister Dabney gave her, Abernathy uncovered dirt on Jason Paulding and is going to write a big exposé in the paper. Paulding will have to leave Savannah in disgrace or, worse, face criminal charges. Something like racketeering would be my guess.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “Maybe, but we need to let Mr. Carpenter and Zach know what she said.”

  “Absolutely,” Julie answered. “Zach’s been gone a lot this week, but see if you can find him while I prepare a memo for Mr. Carpenter.”

  “How do you know he’s been gone?”

  Julie glanced up at the ceiling. “Because he hasn’t been hanging around here waiting for you to notice him.”

  “He’s never been like that.”

  Julie waved her hand and motioned toward the door. “Right; you’re always right, especially about men. Go, track him down.”

  I left the library and went upstairs. The door to Zach’s office was closed. I knocked softly. No answer. I knocked more loudly.

  “Come in.”

  I opened the door. Zach, at least a day’s growth of stubble on his face, was sitting behind his desk. There were four empty coffee cups and several disorganized stacks of papers strewn about.

  “What’s going on?” I asked in surprise.

  “One of the biggest deals of Mr. Appleby’s career. We’ve been retained by a Brazilian steel manufacturer to handle a huge contract to ship coal from the U.S. to South America. I’ve been dealing with lawyers and businessmen all over the western hemisphere. Last night it looked like it was going to fall through, but I was able to locate a new supplier in West Virginia who can send the right product by rail to Savannah for transport.”

  “That sounds like business, not law.”

  Zach gave me a tired smile. “One rule shared by summer clerks and junior associates is ‘Don’t give an excuse; find a way.’”

  “You haven’t told me that one.”

  “I just made it up. And sorry if it’s seemed like I’ve been ignoring you. I’ve been swamped and working long hours. How is Mrs. Fairmont?”

  “Shaky. Vince and I saw her last night.”

  “Vince? I want to go with you to the hospital as soon as I can catch my breath.”

  “She’s not in the hospital. They’ve moved her to a nursing home for follow-up therapy.”

  “Okay.” Zach nodded. “And the Paulding case?”

  I explained why I’d come to see him. His expression didn’t change.

  “But Julie and I can take care of it,” I hastily added.

  “Great. I’m waiting now for a conference call being set up in São Paulo.”

  “Sure.”

  “And after this marathon is over, I’m going to put in a good word for you with Mr. Appleby,” Zach said. “Your name came up the other day. He mentioned there have been a lot of positive comments among the partners.”

  “Really?”

  “He didn’t give any details, but I’ve worked with him long enough to tell what he’s thinking. There’s an empty office near the end of the hall. It doesn’t have the greatest view, but it�
��s reserved for an associate attorney. Check it out before you go downstairs.”

  “And you get some rest,” I said.

  “That will have to wait.”

  I gently closed the door and walked down the hall. There were two empty spaces, both about the same size as Zach’s office, across from each other. I peeked into each one. The one on the right overlooked the firm parking lot and Montgomery Street; however, in the distance was the historic district. The one on the left offered a view of some older buildings that looked like warehouses and the new bridge over the river. I debated the merits of each space. The Montgomery Street side would have morning sun but shade in the afternoon. That would probably be my preference.

  Then I shook my head.

  Whether I would have a choice of offices at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter was as speculative as the likelihood I would work as an associate for Maggie Smith and Julie Feldman. I returned to the library. Julie printed out her memo while I told her about Zach.

  “I bet the beard makes him look rugged.”

  “Not really. Scruffy would be a better word.”

  “Did he let you touch it?”

  I took the memo from the printer. “If he did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “You didn’t,” Julie said confidently. “Let’s go see Mr. C.”

  “How old do you think Brenda Abernathy is?” Julie asked as we walked down the hall.

  “She sounded young.”

  “Yeah, but with an old-fashioned name.”

  “Julie is an old-fashioned name, too. It’s solid, if unexciting.”

  “I admit it’s not as hip as Tami; however, that’s not your real name, Tammy Lynn.”

  We reached the waiting area for Mr. Carpenter’s office.

  “Go in,” Sharon said. “He’s expecting you.”

  Mr. Carpenter, wearing a light gray suit, white shirt, and yellow-striped tie, looked as neat as Zach did disheveled.

  He glanced up from his desk. “Give me the deposition questions.”