Higher Hope

by Robert Whitlow

  “It needed a button,” Emma replied.

  “Both of you should thank Zach for the gifts,” Mama said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Emma replied, stroking the sweater. “It’s beautiful, a lot softer than anything I have. How did you know I’d like the yellow one?”

  “And I love light blue,” Ellie added. “It’s my favorite color. Thanks a lot.”

  Zach smiled. “I can’t tell you apart very well, much less know your favorite color, so as I looked at the sweaters on the rack, I said a quick prayer.”

  The startling notion that God would answer a prayer while Zach was shopping on Sunday wasn’t lost on anyone in the room.

  “The Lord is gracious,” Daddy said in response to our unspoken thought, “and knew you wanted to bless us. There’s a plate of food for you in the refrigerator.”

  Mama set Zach’s food on the table.

  “We already prayed,” Ellie said. “You can eat.”

  Zach took a bite of chicken salad.

  “This is great,” he said.

  I could see Ellie squirming in her chair.

  “Did Tammy Lynn tell you what happened at church?” she asked, looking at me with a dare in her eyes. “Mr. Callahan was there. It was a miracle.” Ellie spoke rapidly before Zach responded. “He’s all better. There’s a room in the church filled with crutches and leg braces and stuff left by people who’ve been healed, but most of it is old and dusty. Things like that don’t happen much anymore.”

  “Don’t forget about the Smith boy,” Mama said.

  “He wasn’t as sick as his mama made out,” Ellie answered. “But Mr. Callahan is a lawyer and everyone knows he wouldn’t make something up.”

  “I’m glad you have such a high opinion of lawyers,” Zach replied, a more natural smile on his face.

  “When we saw him last week in town, he was using a walker,” Emma continued. “It took him forever to go from the car to the post office. Today he jumped right up onto the platform. Miriam Smith told me he’s going back to the doctor for a checkup on Tuesday to make it official.”

  “You should have been there,” Ellie added. “People wanted to meet you and find out more about your healing gift—”

  It was my turn to squirm in my seat.

  “Did someone say I had a healing gift?” Zach asked, looking squarely at me.

  “Not me,” I answered quickly.

  Zach spoke to the whole table. “Look, all I did was ask God to touch Mr. Callahan. I didn’t say anything about it afterward because when God does something in private, it’s often better to keep it that way. I’m just an ordinary guy, and people shouldn’t have a higher opinion of me than my character deserves.”

  Zach ate another bite of chicken salad. The rest of us waited for more. Emma broke the silence.

  “Is that the first time you’ve seen God make a sick person better?”

  Zach wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Did you hear what I said?”

  Emma opened her mouth, then shut it.

  “I see your point,” Daddy said thoughtfully. “If you’d been at the church this morning, people would have crowded around you like sports fans wanting a professional athlete’s autograph.”

  “Or a lock of your hair,” Ellie added.

  Mama burst out laughing. We all stared at her.

  “That’s enough,” Mama said, regaining her composure. “Let’s enjoy our day of rest until Tammy Lynn and Zach have to leave.”

  The dirty dishes went into the sink. Mama and the twins would wash them after the sun set.

  WHEN IT WAS TIME to leave, Zach came upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door frame.

  I looked at the clock. “Are Mama and Daddy asleep?”

  “No, we’ve been talking in the front room.”

  “What about?”

  “Our favorite subject, you.”

  Ellie looked at Zach with puppy-dog eyes. The young lawyer was setting a standard for romance that would be hard for Roscoe Vick or anyone else to match. He reached out and took Ellie’s hand in his. I thought for a second he was going to lean over and kiss it.

  “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you,” he said, shaking her hand. He turned and did the same to Emma. “I can see why your sister loves you.”

  I saw a hint of red in both girls’ cheeks.

  “Thanks again for the sweater,” Emma said.

  “I’ll think about you every time I put it on,” Ellie added with a giggle.

  Zach picked up my suitcases and carried them downstairs. After hugging the twins, I followed. Kyle and Bobby were in the front room with my parents.

  “Here’s some homemade peanut butter,” Mama said, handing Zach a small brown bag.

  “And corn we picked yesterday,” Daddy said, handing him a larger sack. “Cook it tomorrow and it’ll still be sweet.”

  Daddy shook Zach’s hand and then, to my shock, Mama stepped forward and hugged the young lawyer. Kyle and Bobby looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

  “You can share the corn with Tammy Lynn and Mrs. Fairmont,” Daddy added.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Daddy kissed my head in the usual place, and I hugged Mama. She whispered in my ear, “Stay true.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Everyone gathered in the front yard while Zach loaded the car. Ginger and Flip came out from under the porch to get a better look.

  Zach opened the car door for me. I got in and rolled down the window. As we drove off, I waved.

  My heart felt full of love for my family.

  AS THE DISTANCE from Powell Station increased, my thoughts flowed downhill toward Savannah. Sunday afternoon traffic was light in Atlanta. We zipped through the city before veering southeastward toward the coast. I stared out the window and thought about the remaining weeks at the law firm.

  For every student except a handful at the top of the law school class, getting a job offer at any firm was a huge relief. I’d been a good student, but not in the rarefied air of those who could expect a judicial clerkship or an offer from a prestigious law firm. Landing the clerkship in Savannah had been a shock and happened only because another student decided to go elsewhere. Summer clerkships at law firms like Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter were the result of three-month job interviews. The possibility of a future with the firm upon graduation raised a new set of issues.

  “I know it may not happen, but if I get an offer from the firm, how long does it usually take to become a partner?” I asked.

  “Already spending all that money in your mind?” Zach asked, glancing at me with a smile.

  “Yes, I want to set up a foundation to help victims of catfish stings.”

  Zach laughed. “Put me on the list. But seriously, some lawyers like Barry Conrad never make partner. He’s a permanent associate.

  Others don’t get enough votes, so they leave. There’s a small firm in town—Baker, Thurber, and Judson—made up of lawyers who put in their time at our firm and weren’t invited to join.”

  “But Mr. Appleby relies on you so much. If he didn’t have you—”

  “He’d bring in someone else. No lawyer is indispensable.”

  “When will you know if you’ll make partner?”

  “The initial vote usually takes place after five years. First-ballot elections are rare. Rumor has it Mr. Carpenter never votes for some-one the first time around. If the partnership door opens, it usually happens in year six or seven.”

  “What do you think of a woman becoming a partner?”

  “None have become associates yet. That’s the first hurdle.” Zach pulled his ponytail. “Currently I have the longest hair of any lawyer at the firm.”

  IT WAS EARLY EVENING by the time we reached Savannah. The car rumbled across the cobbled streets of the historic district toward Mrs. Fairmont’s house.

  “This feels a little bit like home, too,” I said. “Not like Powell Station, of course.”

  “It’s part of growing up.”

  I smiled. �
�After this weekend do you think I’m grown-up?”

  Zach glanced sideways at me. “You’re a tall woman, but you might’ve added another quarter of an inch.”

  “Am I too tall?”

  Zach laughed and shook his head. He stopped in front of Mrs. Fairmont’s house. When we reached the front, I could hear Flip barking inside.

  “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

  “No. I need to get to bed early. I have to be at the office at 6:00 a.m. for a conference call with the solicitor of a shipping company in New Delhi.”

  After being with Zach the whole weekend, I didn’t want him to leave.

  “But I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow,” he continued.

  “Thanks again for taking me home.”

  Zach reached forward and put his hand beneath my chin. “I like it when you keep your chin up.”

  “It doesn’t make me seem too tall?”

  He looked into my eyes. “No, you’re just right.”

  I stole a glance at Zach as he returned to his car. I hoped it wasn’t a sin to seek compliments from a man, but if so, it was an exquisite vice.

  AS SOON AS I ENTERED the foyer, Flip became a writhing wriggle of greeting. I knelt down and scratched up and down his narrow back.

  He stretched to his full length. If he’d been a cat, he would have purred.

  Mrs. Fairmont came to the doorway. She was wearing a carefully tailored cotton dress and expensive shoes. The multiple rings on her fingers glistened. Her appearance was a dramatic contrast with that of Mama in Powell Station, but her face showed its own welcome.

  “Did you have a nice weekend?” Mrs. Fairmont asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Flip missed you. Several times a day he ran to the basement door and sniffed to see if you were there.”

  The little dog was carefully inspecting my ankles with his nose.

  “He smells my two dogs.” I looked up. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little tired. Christine felt sorry for me being alone and took me to brunch at her club this morning. I’ve been napping off and on all afternoon.”

  “Did you eat supper?”

  “Just a cup of yogurt.”

  I pointed to the bag of corn. “Would you like fresh corn on the cob?”

  We stood at the kitchen sink and cleaned the corn together. I tore off the shucks and pulled off most of the corn silks. Mrs. Fairmont enjoyed carefully removing the more stubborn strands. Her fingers, though gnarled by arthritis, retained enough dexterity to do the job, and when she finished an ear of corn, it was in pristine condition. I placed a large pot of water on the stove to boil, then opened the refrigerator.

  “Gracie left you well supplied,” I said, taking a quick inventory. “Let’s warm up a few pieces of ham and the green beans.”

  “I’m not that hungry,” Mrs. Fairmont answered.

  “You will be after you take a bite of corn.”

  One of my jobs was to interest Mrs. Fairmont in food. Her daughter fought to keep the pounds off; Mrs. Fairmont needed to eat to live. I put the green beans on the stove and the ham in the oven.

  “I like Vince,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “He’s a very nice young man.”

  “It was Zach Mays who took me home,” I corrected her. “You’ve talked to him several times in the den.”

  “No, I mean the other young man who works with you. He came to see me yesterday.”

  The ear of corn I was about to drop in the pot of boiling water slipped from my fingers, spilling water over the side.

  “Vince Colbert came here yesterday?”

  Mrs. Fairmont blinked her eyelids behind her glasses and nodded.

  “Yes. We know some of the same families in Charleston. He’s not from old money; his father is a professor at the college, but his great-aunt lives south of Broad. He mentioned that his father is also an inventor. Something to do with plastics.”

  “Why did he come here?”

  “To see you.”

  Vince didn’t know Zach was taking me to Powell Station.

  “And you invited him inside?”

  “It was the polite thing to do. He left some beautiful flowers for you. They’re in a vase in the blue parlor.”

  I put the corn in the pot, set the timer, and went into the parlor. There was a large arrangement of fresh flowers in a clear vase resting on a small round table. I returned to the kitchen.

  “Was there a card with the flowers?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Did you tell him where I’d gone?”

  “I mentioned that you’d gone home for a visit.”

  “And did you tell him about Zach?”

  Mrs. Fairmont wrinkled her nose. “If they both work for Sam Braddock, I’m sure they know each other.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But Vince didn’t know that I was spending the week-end with Zach.”

  Mrs. Fairmont nodded, then leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I understand. I dated two boys at the same time when I was in college. I kept one on the hook here in Savannah and the other wrapped up in Macon. It made for an interesting summer. They took turns coming to see me. I had a grand time until my father got them confused and started calling one by the other’s name.” She paused.

  “Now I can’t remember either one of them.”

  “I’m not dating Zach and Vince,” I said. “Or I guess you could say I’m dating Zach, only we call it courting.”

  “Courting?” Mrs. Fairmont’s eyes brightened. “That’s what my mother used to call dating. It’s amazing how things come back in style if you wait long enough.”

  “It has more to do with the philosophy behind male-female relationships.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it does, especially for a smart girl like you. However, even the brightest girl’s philosophy can get confused when a good-looking boy shows up.”

  It was time to take the corn out of the pot. I drained it in the sink.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have called it a philosophy.”

  “It does sound a bit cold when describing matters of the heart.”

  I glanced at Mrs. Fairmont. During her lucid times, the elderly woman showed flashes of personality that made me wish I could turn back the clock and know her in her prime.

  “I’ll fix your plate and bring it to you in the dining room,” I said.

  I prepared a generous portion of steaming corn, green beans, and a thick piece of ham. Flip had followed Mrs. Fairmont into the dining room and lay curled up beneath her chair.

  “Don’t slip anything to Flip,” I said.

  She looked up at me innocently. “That’s a nice rhyme.”

  “Table scraps aren’t good for him. I’ll be back with my plate and a pitcher of ice water in just a second.”

  When I returned Flip was licking his lips. Mrs. Fairmont was too polite to start eating without me, but her code of etiquette didn’t prevent her from dropping a morsel in the little dog’s eager mouth.

  “I’ll say the blessing,” Mrs. Fairmont volunteered.

  My face registered surprise.

  “I’m not an expert at prayer like you,” the older woman continued. “Harry always said the blessing at Thanksgiving and Christmas, but he’s dead and you’re stuck with me.”

  Mrs. Fairmont pushed back her chair and walked over to an antique sideboard. She opened one of the top drawers and took out a yellowed sheet of paper.

  “Here it is,” she said. Returning to the table, she positioned her glasses and read, “Almighty God, we thank thee for this bounty thou hath provided. Bless this food and all thy children throughout the earth. Amen.”

  Our church preferred the King James Bible, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard someone use old English in a prayer. Mrs. Fairmont laid the sheet on the table.

  “Harry wrote that when we first married and took it to our rector so he could approve it. See, Father Pat Jenkins’ signature is on the bottom.”

  I could barely make out a faded signature. />
  “What do you think?” Mrs. Fairmont asked. “Don’t you think it’s a perfect prayer?”

  “It’s, uh, traditional. Kind of like courting, I guess.”

  Mrs. Fairmont smiled. “Yes, it is.”

  Reading the prayer made Mrs. Fairmont nostalgic. While we ate, she told me how her mother staged a meeting for her with Harry Fairmont, a young architect who recently arrived in Savannah from Richmond. It sounded like the plot of a Victorian novel in which the man doesn’t have a chance against a matchmaking mother seeking a spouse for her marriageable daughter.

  After describing the scene down to the details of the dress she wore and the food they ate, Mrs. Fairmont asked, “Do you want to get married?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is it more important to you than your career?”

  “Yes, I want to marry and have a family.”

  “Some people would accuse you of being old-fashioned, but I bet a lot of girls feel the same way.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said, thinking about my law school classmates, “but I wouldn’t choose a job at a law firm over the chance to be with the right man.”

  “You know, Sam Braddock came to my wedding,” Mrs. Fairmont said, staring across the room. “He was a little fellow in a cute outfit.

  I have the picture in an album upstairs. I’ll have to show you some­time.”

  “Where was the wedding? In one of the old churches?”

  “No, outdoors at the Weingarten place on a bluff overlooking the river. It’s burned down now. Have you planned your wedding?”

  “No, ma’am, but I’m sure it will be a simple service.”

  “Posh.” Mrs. Fairmont sniffed. “It’s a woman’s day to shine brighter than all the stars in the universe. There will never be another like it.

  You’ll walk the aisle in a flowing white gown on your father’s arm and remember the scene for the rest of your life.”

  I could imagine myself standing at the back of our church in a white dress. Identifying who might be waiting for me at the altar was still fuzzy. Mrs. Fairmont continued.

  “After we married, Harry and I took a long trip to Italy and the Greek Islands.”

  Mrs. Fairmont then described a monthlong junket they had taken to the Mediterranean that dwarfed the three-day stopovers at Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, typical for newly married couples from Powell Station. The elderly woman’s recollection was extraordinarily clear; however, in the midst of a detailed account of their stay on a tiny Greek island, she stopped and stared at me for a few seconds.