Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Mostly about the way I approach the cases I’m working on,” I backpedaled.

  “But we’ve also talked about issues of faith. When Tami visited the law firm in April, we talked about Christians sharing all things in common. Any honest Bible student has to admit that the early Christians were communists—not anti-God, of course, but fundamentally different from capitalistic, self-seeking Americans.”

  I winced.

  “Is that what your family believes?” Mama asked, her face a mask.

  “They took those verses so seriously that for years we were part of a Christian commune in Southern California. However, they gave up on group Christianity when I was about ten years old. After that, we lived in the same area as the people in our fellowship, but every family had its own checkbook. It takes a zealous group of believers to be biblical in every aspect of their lifestyle.”

  Zach stopped. No one spoke. Daddy looked bewildered. Mama turned pale. The twins’ mouths gaped open. Kyle and Bobby fidgeted.

  “Zach doesn’t live like that now,” I said. “He’s buying a town house in a nice part of Savannah near—”

  “Have you been there?” Mama asked sharply. “And gone inside?”

  “No, ma’am. I’ve not even driven past it.”

  “Where have you two gone together?” she asked.

  “To Tybee Island beach a couple of times on Saturday mornings,” I answered, “but I agreed not to do any courting until after you met him.”

  “Did you buy a bathing suit?” Emma asked.

  “We didn’t get in the water,” Zach answered. “And she wore a helmet.”

  “Helmet?” Daddy asked.

  “I own a motorcycle, Mr. Taylor.”

  I could see the rest of the blood leave Mama’s face. I knew she was imagining me riding on the back of a motorcycle with my arms locked around a man’s waist.

  “Actually, I own two motorcycles. One has a sidecar that my mother used when she and my father used to take trips up the California coast. I bought it from them a few years ago. Twice I’ve picked Tami up at Mrs. Fairmont’s house and taken her to Tybee Island. It’s a scenic drive, about fifteen miles. We walked on the pier, and I showed her a place on the marsh where I like to pray and talk to the Lord.”

  Everything was out in the open. Emma and Ellie were about to explode with curiosity. Kyle nudged Bobby and turned his right hand in the motion needed to rev a motorcycle.

  “Well, I think it’s time we all got some rest,” Daddy announced.

  “But what about the presents?” I asked, reaching for the little suitcase. “I thought I could give them out tonight.”

  “It can wait till the morning,” Daddy answered, then looked at Zach. “Have a good sleep. We eat a late breakfast on Saturday mornings, usually around seven thirty.”

  Daddy left the room. Mama followed without looking at me. The twins, their eyes on the small suitcase, approached.

  “Can you bring it upstairs to our room?” Emma asked.

  “You can show us our presents, and we’ll still act surprised in the morning,” Ellie added.

  “How can you be so selfish?” I whispered harshly. “Didn’t you see what just happened to me?”

  The girls, their heads drooping, left the room. Kyle and Bobby approached Zach, who stepped closer to me.

  “What kind of motorcycles do you have?” Kyle asked Zach.

  “My new one is a red Suzuki,” Zach answered.

  “Which engine?”

  “A 1340cc engine.”

  “It must be a rocket,” Bobby said with admiration in his voice.

  “Yeah, it can go from zero to sixty in about two and a half blinks on an open stretch of road. The older bike with the sidecar is a Triumph 650 that’s tuned so quiet you can barely hear the engine running.”

  I couldn’t believe the boys were talking about motorcycles. No one seemed to notice that I was upset.

  “You should have brought Tammy Lynn home in the sidecar,” Bobby said.

  “It would have been a rough ride,” Zach said, looking at me. “And I don’t think your parents would have appreciated it.”

  “We tried to talk Daddy into letting us get an off-road bike,” Kyle said. “There are great places around here where you can ride for miles, especially on the power company right-of-way.”

  “But it would take two motorcycles to have any fun,” Bobby said. “Kyle has plenty of money, but I’m barely making minimum wage this summer as a chicken catcher.”

  “Tami told me you were already buying and selling cattle,” Zach said to Kyle.

  “Yeah, I have an old pickup truck and a used hauler. I’m going to study agricultural engineering in college next year. Tammy Lynn and I are going to share an apartment.”

  “That hasn’t been decided,” I said. “Mama and I aren’t sure—”

  “Boys,”—Daddy stuck his head into the room—“I have a full day planned for tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kyle and Bobby answered simultaneously.

  The boys left. Zach looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Tears suddenly stung my eyes. I quickly wiped them away with my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work. I know what you’re like be-cause I’ve been around you for weeks, but my parents will decide what kind of person you are by what you say and do this weekend. It’s obvious that you’re not like us, and in our world, that usually isn’t a good thing.”

  “Then maybe you should leave this world,” he said, motioning toward the front door.

  “No,” I said, my voice trembling. “This is who I am. My family may be different, but we have love, and I’m never going to turn my back on that.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “That you need to find out who you are apart from this world.”

  “I’ve been away at college and law school for six years.”

  “But you’ve never left home in here,” Zach answered pointing to his heart. “Has the change in geography really made a difference? I bet you’ve grown up more in the two months you’ve been in Savannah than any other time since leaving this house.”

  Zach was right, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I’m here now, and this is where my roots lie.”

  Zach started to say something else but stopped.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Good night,” I said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I grabbed the little suitcase and left the room. When I reached the top of the stairs, I glanced down and saw Zach slowly walk into the sewing room.

  THE TWINS WERE in their pajamas, waiting for me on the rug in the center of our bedroom. It was our favorite place to sit and talk.

  “Have you been crying?” Ellie asked.

  “Not now,” I said, rubbing my eyes as I joined them.

  “We’re sorry for being selfish,” Emma said. “We acted like little kids.”

  “Will you forgive us?” Ellie added.

  “Of course. You are little kids.”

  “No, we’re not,” they answered in unison.

  Both girls came over and hugged me from opposite sides. It was so easy to make things right between us.

  “Did Mama talk to you?” Emma asked after letting me go.

  “No.”

  “She will,” Emma continued. “Probably while we’re fixing break-fast in the morning. What are you going to say to her?”

  “I won’t know until I hear what she says.”

  “I like him,” Ellie said. “He’s smart and good-looking. And his sister is a missionary. Nobody in our family is a missionary.”

  “But can you see him going to church with us on Sunday?” Emma asked. “The Bible says men aren’t supposed to look like women. Do his parents know he has a ponytail?”

  “I’m sure his parents don’t mind.”

  “And hi
s boss doesn’t care?” Emma asked.

  “The law firm doesn’t have a strict dress code for the attorneys. He keeps his hair clean and neat.”

  “Have you touched it?” Ellie asked.

  “No.”

  “He probably uses conditioner,” Ellie said, lowering her voice. “It was so shiny and soft-looking.”

  Ellie’s light comment was like a pin popping a balloon. My anxiety lessened. I slipped off my shoes, and we sat in a circle on the rug.

  “Do they still have the pictures of the twelve apostles on the wall in Mrs. Weaver’s Sunday school class?” I asked.

  “Yes, but they don’t really know what they looked like,” Emma said.

  “Which reminds you of Zach?”

  The girls thought for a moment.

  “Andrew,” Emma said. “His eyes are the same. It’s the third picture from the left.”

  I remembered the image. She was right.

  “And in the picture, Andrew’s hair is longer than Zach’s,” Ellie said. “I’m going to tell Mama in the morning.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “That will only cause an argument. She and Daddy are worried about more than the length of Zach’s hair.”

  “What are they afraid of?” Ellie asked.

  “That she’ll marry the wrong person,” Emma answered. “Has he proposed?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I think you should just have some fun without worrying about marriage,” Ellie said.

  I eyed my little sister in surprise.

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “Maybe, except I don’t know how a girl could have fun with a boy. None of the boys at the church can say more than two sentences with-out running out of ideas. Zach seems different. He had a lot to say.”

  “Which can cause problems,” I answered.

  “Would you show us our presents now?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah—we won’t let you go to sleep until you do,” Ellie added.

  “Then we’ll have to lie awake all night.”

  “‘Hope deferred makes the heart sick,’” Emma said, quoting part of a verse from Proverbs.

  “But a present opened the next day is better because you’ll have time to enjoy it and not have to go to bed,” I answered.

  “That’s not right,” Ellie protested. “It says that ‘a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.’”

  “But sometimes you have to wait to be fulfilled.”

  THE TWINS SLEPT in a homemade bunk bed with Emma on the top and Ellie on the bottom. I had a single bed on the other side of the room. Between the beds was a large window where in the summer we placed a fan to draw hot air out of the house during the day and cool air in at night. We slept under thin cotton sheets.

  It took only a few minutes to unpack my suitcase and hang up my clothes. The bathroom was down the hall. I put on my pajamas and brushed my teeth. When I returned from the bathroom, Emma was breathing steadily, her long dark hair strewn across her pillow. Ellie’s eyes were still open.

  “Tammy Lynn,” she said softly. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Do you miss us?”

  “Every day.”

  “We pray for you even if Mama doesn’t remind us.”

  I knelt on the floor beside her bed and let my chin rest on her pillow.

  “I can feel your love all the way to Savannah.”

  She turned on her side, facing me.

  “Sometimes Emma and I lie in bed and pretend you’re here. We take turns saying the things you would say.”

  “What do we talk about?”

  “Everything.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Oh, different things. Emma and I argue about stuff, but when you say something, you’re always right.”

  “Write it down,” I said. “I’d like to know what’s right myself.”

  4

  THE PHONE RANG SEVEN TIMES BEFORE SISTER DABNEY ANSWERED it. She wasn’t superstitious; it just took time and energy to push her-self out of the chair in the living room and walk to the kitchen where the phone hung on the wall.

  “Hello,” she said in a slightly nasal voice grown from mountain roots.

  “Good morning! This is Bob calling from your local cable TV pro­vider. Did you know that you can get fourteen movie channels for only $12.95 a month? Imagine, first-run premium movies without any commercial interruptions. And if you sign up for a year’s subscription today, you’ll get the first three months absolutely free. I’m ready to place your order for this fantastic, satisfaction-guaranteed offer! All I need is a major credit card.”

  “I don’t own a TV or have any cable service.”

  “Our records show you have basic cable that gives you the option to upgrade with this special limited-time offer.”

  Sister Dabney closed her eyes for a moment.

  “And my records show you need to ask your younger brother’s forgiveness for the way you treated him when y’all were growing up.”

  “Are you interested in taking advantage of this fabulous movie offer for select customers?”

  Sister Dabney raised her voice to preaching volume. “And will you be stiff-necked and rebellious or yield to the power of truth? What’s in the past need not plague your present. Will you seek your brother’s forgiveness?”

  The line was silent for a moment.

  “People hang up on me all the time,” Bob said, dropping his telemarketing shtick. “This is what it sounds like.”

  The phone went dead with a loud click. Sister Dabney returned the receiver to the cradle. If she prayed, additional facts about Bob’s life might be revealed to her, but he was gone, and she saw no need for unusable information.

  She poured a cup of coffee. There was a knock on the front door. Visitors to the house weren’t always friendly. There was another knock. She sighed and took a sip of coffee before walking down the hall. She peeked through the spy hole. It was a young man who came to the church when hungry. He was in his midthirties but looked ten years older. Sister Dabney opened the door.

  “What do you want, Rusty? You walked out of the meeting the other night before it was over. Have you been drinking this morning?”

  “You don’t have to ask, sister. You know that for yourself.” The man wiped his hands against dirty jeans and looked at her hopefully. “A hot biscuit would be nice.”

  “There are biscuits in the oven if you’re willing to work for them, and there are a few bits of ham left in the skillet.”

  “If ’n a man don’t work, he don’t eat,” Rusty replied. “I know my Bible. You taught me.”

  “You can have two ham biscuits if you’ll pick up the trash left by those heathens wanting to steal God’s property from me. The men hauling off what’s left of Harrison’s Garage didn’t bother to clean up after they ate lunch behind the church yesterday.”

  “Did you preach at ’em?”

  “No, I wasn’t home.”

  “Can I do my chore after I eat? I’m feeling kind of puny.”

  Sister Dabney pointed to the door. “There are black plastic bags in the empty planter on the porch. Fill a bag up to the brim and come back for your biscuits.”

  Sister Dabney closed the door after him and watched through the spy hole as Rusty picked up a plastic bag, shook it out, then dropped it back in the planter. The homeless man took a few steps, stopped, and after a glance back at the door, returned to pick up the bag and head toward the church. Sister Dabney opened the door.

  “That’s what repentance looks like, Rusty,” she called out after him.

  “You decide it’s better to bag up the trash of life than go off looking for something in a bottle that can’t really take away how rotten you feel.”

  Rusty waved his hand in the air without turning around. Sister Dabney returned to the kitchen and put a fresh piece of country ham in the skillet. It would be sizzling brown by the time the trash bag was filled.

  I AWOKE TO THE CALL of Chester the chicken.
Our rooster needed no clock except the sun in the east. And he didn’t wait for broad daylight. Chester summoned forth the day with all the volume his chicken lungs could muster.

  After a few mornings at home, Chester’s crowing became part of the background noise, but the first day it always wrenched me from sleep with a shock. I put my head under the pillow, but it was no use.

  Chester was persistent, his crowing piercing. I sat on the edge of the bed. Ellie and Emma were still asleep, as unaffected by the rooster’s noise as I’d been when I was their age.

  Saturdays were workdays at our house, but since Zach was here I put on a plain skirt, collared blouse, and sandals. Getting dressed at home was so different from in Savannah. I tied my hair in a ponytail and then, after inspecting it critically, decided it looked better brushed out and falling across my shoulders.

  I walked softly downstairs. The door to Mama’s sewing room was closed. Mama wasn’t in the kitchen. Suddenly I had a sinking feeling that Zach had left in the night. Holding my breath, I rushed into the front room to look out the window. Zach’s car was still there. When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, watching me.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Hi,” I said, gasping slightly. “Did you hear the rooster?”

  “It was hard not to. Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Zach stepped closer to me and spoke in soft voice. He was wearing blue jeans, a red T-shirt, and tan boots. He had dark eyes and chiseled features that would make attracting women simple. I glanced down at my homey skirt and wondered why he was interested in a girl like me.

  “Listen, I’m sorry for creating such a stir last night,” he said.

  I looked past him down the hallway and reminded myself that he’d wanted to come home with me, not someone else. I really wanted the weekend to be a success.

  “It’s a new day,” I answered. “Do you want to help me gather eggs?”

  “Sure.”

  Zach followed me into the kitchen.

  The men in our church blended into society. It fell to the women to broadcast our separation from the world. If fancy dresses were appropriate, we didn’t seem too out of place. However, if pants, shorts, or a bathing suit was the norm, we stood out like the Amish at a Pennsylvania county fair.

  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.