Mountain Top

by Robert Whitlow

The old woman extended her hand. “No, but it’s good to see you again. Please sit down.”

  For the next thirty minutes, we enjoyed a pleasant conversation. Mrs. Fairmont asked Zach questions. She was mostly interested in people he’d met whom she knew. I didn’t try to sort out the cast of characters. The intricacies of Savannah society seemed as complicated as Chinese history. At a pause in the discussion, Zach looked at me.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “I’m not working today.”

  “I’m not talking about the office. I meant for a ride.”

  “On your motorcycle?”

  “Make sure you wear a good helmet,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

  “I have an extra with me,” Zach replied. “It’s strapped to the bike.”

  “But I’ve never ridden a motorcycle.” I paused. “And I don’t have any jeans. I wouldn’t feel comfortable behind you on the seat.”

  “You don’t have to put your arms around my waist, and you can wear anything you like,” Zach replied. “I have a sidecar. It’s not much different than the fancy convertible you were driving, just a little bit closer to the ground.”

  “It sounds like fun,” Mrs. Fairmont said. “Ferguson Caldwell used to own a motorcycle. He took me for a ride.”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  Zach held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise not to go any faster than you like. If you feel uncomfortable, we’ll just go around the block, and I’ll drop you off by the front door.”

  I was wearing a loose-fitting blue skirt and a white short-sleeved blouse. “I need to do the breakfast dishes,” I said.

  “I’ll help,” Zach volunteered.

  “Go ahead, I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Fairmont added. “It’s so pleasant out here this morning.”

  In the kitchen I studied Zach’s face. “Why are you asking me to go for a ride?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he replied. “I promise.”

  There wasn’t time to call my parents and get their counsel. I had to decide myself. My mind leaned toward no, but my mouth must have been connected to another part of me.

  “Okay, but not long.”

  It only took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen. Zach loaded the dishwasher exactly the same way I did. I went downstairs, brushed my teeth, and tied my hair in a ponytail. I threw some things in a casual handbag. Zach and Mrs. Fairmont were on the veranda, continuing their conversation about Savannah.

  “I’m ready,” I announced.

  “Have fun,” Mrs. Fairmont said.

  I followed Zach outside. Parked alongside the curb was a big black motorcycle with a sidecar attached to it.

  “I thought you had a red motorcycle,” I said.

  “I do. This one belonged to my parents. It’s twenty years old. I used to ride in the sidecar when I was a kid. That’s when I fell in love with motorcycles. My father was going to sell it last year, so I bought it from him. I couldn’t stand the thought of it leaving the family.”

  The passenger carrier had orange flames flickering along the side.

  “You make it sound like a family heirloom.”

  “In a way, it is.” He handed me a black helmet also decorated with the orange flame motif. “This is my mother’s helmet. It should fit.”

  I pulled the helmet over my head. It rested snugly against my ears. A plastic shield covered my face.

  “It feels claustrophobic,” I said, speaking extra loud so I could be heard.

  “You’ll be glad the first time a june bug crashes into your face at fifty miles an hour.” Zach slipped on his helmet. “And you don’t have to yell,” he said in a voice that echoed inside the chamber. “There is a microphone connection embedded near the right corner of your mouth. It helps with the guided-tour portion of our ride.”

  “Testing, one, two, three,” I said.

  He tapped the side of his helmet and nodded. “I’ll help you get settled in the sidecar.”

  He held out his hand, but I ignored it and stepped in. As I sat down, I quickly slid my legs forward, making sure my knees remained covered. My feet barely reached the nose of the narrow car.

  “It has plenty of legroom, doesn’t it?” Zach asked.

  “Like a limo.” I reached down with my hands. “Where’s the seat belt?”

  Zach threw his right leg over the motorcycle seat. “There isn’t one. If a motorcycle wrecks, staying attached to it isn’t always the safest thing.”

  He started the motor and revved the engine. It caused the sidecar to vibrate. I couldn’t believe I’d left the peace and safety of Mrs. Fairmont’s veranda to sit a few inches off the ground beside a motorcycle operated by a man I barely knew.

  “Ready?” Zach spoke in stereo into my ears.

  I nodded grimly.

  He looked over his shoulder at the street and pulled away from the curb. The first thing I noticed was the immediate sensation of speed. The street seemed to fly past.

  “How fast are we going?” I shouted.

  “About thirty. You don’t have to yell. It might make me wreck.”

  Some of the streets in the historic district were in need of repair, and we bumped along for several blocks. The helmet limited my view so I turned my head from side to side. Everyone we passed stopped to stare. If the twins had been on the sidewalk and saw me ride past attached to a motorcycle and wearing a black helmet with orange flames on the side, they would have fainted.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To a smoother road.”

  We left the historic district and turned onto President Street Extension, a broader, four-lane highway. The motorcycle picked up speed, and I could feel the wind rushing past my arms and neck. Even though it felt fast, I noticed that Zach stayed in the slow lane, letting most of the cars pass us.

  “How do you like it?” Zach asked.

  “Better than the back of a pickup truck,” I admitted.

  We left the city behind, but both sides of the road were still marked by commercial development. We stopped at a light, and I looked at the street sign.

  “Are we going to Tybee Island?”

  “Yes. Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  “Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I doubted Julie and the rest of the bikini crowd would be out this early. Without the presence of girls, the half-dressed men wouldn’t be seen either. And there was no reason why I couldn’t take a quick look at the ocean. My promise to Julie had been to stay away from the office. As we drove along, I relaxed and enjoyed the ride. I thought about Zach’s mother sitting in the sidecar.

  “Did your parents ever take long trips like this?” I asked.

  “Maybe a couple of hundred miles or so in a day. There are roads in California unlike anyplace else. The views are incredible.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Yes.”

  We popped over a bump that made me hit my knees against the top of the sidecar.

  “Sorry,” Zach said. “That one snuck up on me.”

  We came to Tybee Creek, an indistinct waterway that meandered through the landward side of a large marsh. The tops of the marsh grass rippled slightly in the breeze. A few white egrets stood motionless in the water. The tide was going out, exposing mussel beds at the edges of the watery channels. Expensive-looking homes lined the edge of the marsh on both the island and the mainland. We crossed a bridge onto Tybee Island.

  “We’ll stop near the main pier,” Zach said.

  We passed through residential areas with sandy driveways guarded by dune grass and into an aging business district. Several people on the sidewalks pointed in our direction as we passed. It made me feel special. We turned down a narrow street and parked in front of a meter. Zach turned off the engine. I climbed as gracefully as I could from the sidecar and removed my helmet. My skirt was wrinkled.

  “That was fun,” I said before Zach asked me. “You’re a good driver.”

  “Thanks, b
ut you drive a car; you ride a motorcycle.”

  Zach put on a pair of dark sunglasses. He locked the helmets to the motorcycle with a thin steel cable.

  “You don’t need any money,” he said. “Bring your bag or I can lock it in the sidecar.”

  “Lock it up. All I want is my hat.”

  There was a cover that slid over the sidecar, turning it into a storage compartment. Without the helmet over my face, I could smell a tinge of salt in the air. The morning breeze was coming in from the ocean. I put on my hat.

  “Ocean views, this way,” Zach said, retying his hair in a tight ponytail.

  Two- and three-story frame houses with rooms to rent crowded against the sidewalk. There weren’t many people on the street.

  “It will be crowded here by noon,” Zach said.

  After a couple of blocks the street made a turn to the left, and I could see the blue glint of ocean in the distance. There were seagulls riding the air currents. Sand scattered the sidewalk. The street ended at a modest sand dune. Looking to the right, I could see the pier stretching its thick finger past the surf into deeper water. Tiny figures of fishermen stood at the end of the pier. I took a deep breath, enjoyed the sensation for a few seconds, and exhaled.

  The pier was thirty feet above the water and wide enough for two cars to drive side by side. We passed fishermen using long, sturdy poles. Coolers of bait shrimp and fish rested beside the poles. Most of the fishermen were shirtless, tanned, and smoking cigarettes. I kept my eyes directed toward the water.

  “What are they fishing for?” I asked Zach.

  “Fish.”

  “What kinds?”

  “Saltwater varieties. I’m not an expert about pier fishing.”

  We passed several black men with poles in the water. “Moses could tell me what kind of fish live in these waters,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Moses Jones. Our client charged with trespassing.”

  “Maybe, but as I remember he also sees faces in the water.”

  We reached the end of the pier. Here were the serious fishermen, each with multiple poles. I watched one man bait four hooks on a single line and fling it into the air. It plopped into the water far below. Nobody seemed to be catching any fish. Gulls cried out as they swooped down, landing on the pier to scoop up bits of discarded baitfish and shrimp.

  The pier gave a panoramic view of the beach. When I was eighteen, I’d traveled to the east coast of Florida for a mission outreach sponsored by our church and waded briefly in the Atlantic early one morning before the sunbathers wearing nothing more than brightly colored underwear made their appearance. Even that brief contact with the sea intrigued me. Like a mountain panorama, the ocean revealed the expanse of creation—a vista so big and unfathomable that only an omnipotent God could have fashioned it. With the tide going out the strand was broad, the waves small. Zach and I found an empty spot along the north side of the pier to watch.

  “Are there many shells on this beach?” I asked. I couldn’t see anyone stooping over.

  “No. It’s sand, sun, and water.”

  “The one other time I was at the ocean, I loved collecting shells,” I said. “I have a jarful on a shelf in my bedroom at home. Most are broken, but there is still beauty in them.”

  Zach nodded his head. “People are like that too.”

  I turned toward him. “Are you teasing me?”

  “No.”

  More people streamed from the oceanfront motels toward the water. Included were the beginnings of the bathing suit crowd. Seeing the bikini-clad women made me wonder where Julie would spend the day.

  “I’ll help you with the Jones case this week,” Zach said, breaking the silence.

  “Okay. Just let me know.”

  We stood beside each other without speaking for a long time. A crazy thought raced through my mind that Zach wanted to throw me off the pier. I gauged the distance to shallow water. If I survived the fall it would be an easy swim. Zach touched my arm, and I jumped.

  “Are you ready to go back to the motorcycle?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  As we walked off the pier, the fear of harm at Zach’s hands didn’t leave me. It would be easy for him to ram the sidecar into a tree, endangering my life.

  “Why did you invite me on the motorcycle ride?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you at our next stop.”

  “How far is that?”

  “It’s on the island.”

  I put on my helmet and stepped into the sidecar. I wanted to return to Mrs. Fairmont’s house as soon as possible. Zach backed the motorcycle away from the curb with his feet and started the engine. We retraced our route onto the island. Before crossing the bridge at the marsh, Zach abruptly took a side road.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, my anxiety rising.

  “You’ll see.”

  After a few hundred yards, the paving gave way to sand. There were a few houses hidden among the trees. Zach turned down a driveway with no house at the end of it and stopped the motorcycle. It was a lonely spot. My heart was pounding in my chest. I sat in the sidecar, not moving.

  “Get out here,” he said.

  “I’m ready to go back to Mrs. Fairmont’s house,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

  “And I need to spend several hours at the office. We’ll only be here a few minutes.”

  I licked my lips and climbed out. Zach didn’t bother to lock up the helmets.

  “It’s a short path,” he said, heading off into the underbrush.

  I didn’t know whether to refuse and stay by the motorcycle or run down the road for help. I reluctantly followed. After about twenty yards we came into a clearing. There was the foundation of a destroyed house and a rickety pier with a lot of the boards missing. Zach pointed at the outline of the house.

  “The house burned down shortly before I moved to Savannah. Mr. Appleby represented the owners who had to sue the insurance company on the policy.”

  “Why?”

  “The company alleged arson. There was no question it was a set fire, but the evidence connecting our clients was sketchy. They used the insurance money to pay off business debts and avoid bankruptcy instead of rebuilding the house.”

  The strip of land extended out and provided a nice view up and down Tybee Creek. In the distance I could see cars crossing over the bridge.

  “It’s a pretty spot,” I said. “Can we go now?”

  “You can see better from here,” Zach said, walking toward the water.

  I followed him to a gazebo near the edge of the water. It didn’t take many months for wood to weather in the salt air. Only a few flecks of white paint remained. The vines planted at the edge of the structure were in summer green. Zach didn’t enter the gazebo but sat on the front steps. I stood beside him. He was right about the view.

  “I like to come here and pray,” he said. “I’ve been in every season of the year.”

  I looked at him in surprise. I’d been thinking about him in such a negative way that his comment caught me off guard.

  “Why here?” I managed.

  “It reminds me of a place I liked to go in California. It wasn’t near the ocean, but it felt the same.”

  “What sort of place?”

  “Up in the mountains near an abandoned cabin that had fallen in on itself. That’s where the Lord told me to come to Savannah.”

  I sat down on the far end of the steps, leaving a healthy distance between us. “How did that happen? You promised to tell me.”

  “I know.” Zach smiled and took off his sunglasses. “And I try to always keep my promises.”

  It was such a sweet smile that I blushed in embarrassment at my fears of a few moments before.

  “Mr. Appleby read an admiralty case note I wrote for the Pepperdine Law Review and contacted me. I’d never visited this part of the country and agreed to fly out for a visit. I already had three offers from law firms on the West Coast but thought it wouldn’t hurt to check o
ut Savannah. I met with Mr. Appleby, and he offered me a job before I left town. The money didn’t compare with the other firms’ offers, but the cost of living is so much lower here that it was worth considering. Of course, like you, the most important consideration for me was God’s will.”

  “Did you ask your parents?”

  “We discussed it. They wanted me closer to home but tried not to let their emotions get in the way. In the end, they left it up to me. That’s probably easier to do with a son than a daughter.”

  “My parents allowed me to make my choice this summer.”

  “Good for them. Anyway, I rode the black motorcycle into the mountains so I could spend time praying about the decision. I took a tent and sleeping bag so I could spend the night.”

  “Alone?”

  “Except for the bears and mountain lions. The old cabin was built on land purchased by the state to include in a park. It was okay to camp there, but I couldn’t build a fire. Just before the sunset I was reading in Acts about the fellowship the early Christians enjoyed in Jerusalem.”

  “When they had all things in common?” I interrupted.

  “Yes, only the part that touched my heart was the phrase ‘fellowship of believers.’ In my family, relationship with other Christians stood at the center of everything. I knew if I took one of the other jobs, I might make more money, but that the fellowship of believers waited for me in Savannah.”

  “Where are these people?” I asked, feeling excitement rise up inside me. “I could go to church with you tomorrow.”

  Zach shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ve met them. I’m part of a church that meets in a house on the north side of the city. It’s a great group, but as I’ve continued to pray about the verse, I think it may be more personal than corporate.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The best fellowship often happens one-on-one with another person, not in a crowd of people.”

  I swallowed. “Are you talking about male/female fellowship?” I asked.

  Zach laughed. “With everything shared in common. You’re already good at cross-examination.”

  “Why are you telling me this? You’re not talking to me as you would a summer clerk.”

  “That’s right. You’re the type of girl who deserves the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I want to be completely up front with you. I’m interested in getting to know you better, but only with your permission. If you say no, I won’t bring it up again, and there won’t be any hard feelings on my part.”