Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay.” I sighed. “Do you want to testify? It’s not necessary, but if you insist—”

  “Only if I’m supposed to,” she interrupted.

  “Okay.” I started to hang up the phone. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please don’t come to the office and talk to Shannon. You and I can meet at your house or the church.”

  “I’ve wiped the dust of her sin from my feet,” Sister Dabney replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s up to her to nurture the seed of faith. I planted the word; she has to water it.”

  The call ended. I stared at my blank computer screen for a few moments. While in law school, I’d often imagined what it would be like to practice law. During those times, I assumed the serious challenges to my convictions would come from those with a worldly perspective. I never considered that difficult tests would come from people of faith. The door to my office opened and Julie came in.

  “You’ve been locked up in your office like a nun in a convent.” She stopped and put her hand over her mouth. “I want to take that back. It wasn’t meant to encourage your insane flirtation with celibacy.”

  “I’ve been busy working, not meditating.”

  I brought her up to date on Jessie’s case. As soon as I mentioned Jan Crittenden, Julie turned up her nose.

  “She’s more self-righteous than you are. I asked her for a continuance in one of Maggie’s DUI cases because our only witness was unavailable for a couple of weeks. She turned me down without a reason. I had to file a motion with Judge Howell, who granted it on the spot. It was a waste of time and money to have to go through that for something so simple.”

  “She wants to work with me.”

  “Because you’re kindred spirits.” Julie sniffed.

  “Maybe she doesn’t like drunks operating motor vehicles.”

  “Alleged drunks. Not everyone who’s charged with DUI is guilty.” Julie paused. “Have you talked to Zach? That’s what I’m really interested in.”

  “He’s still in Washington with Mr. Appleby.”

  “Oh, yeah. And as much as I hate to say it, I don’t think Vinny is going to be waiting for you at the altar. After our lunch the other day, I tried to visualize it, but my mind refused to form the picture. Is that how God tells you stuff? Kind of like flipping to a TV channel? However, I can easily tune in Zach wearing a white tuxedo and looking down the aisle as you prepare to walk in with your daddy. I even got your dress. I’ve never seen anything like it. It came all the way up your neck to your chin.” Julie motioned with her hands around her throat. “Your face was behind a thick veil, making it hard for Zach to know he was getting the right girl.”

  “Like Rachel and Leah,” I interjected.

  “Rachel and Leah?”

  “Sisters in the Bible. Their father fooled Jacob, the groom, by bringing Leah to the wedding instead of her sister Rachel. When Jacob found out who was behind the veil, he was upset.”

  “I’d guess so. It would be a great lawsuit. The worst case of bait and switch ever.”

  “But he got to marry Rachel, too.”

  “And years of counseling couldn’t straighten out that mess. Anyway, the only flesh showing in my version of your wedding dress was enough of your hand so Zach could slip on the wedding ring. What do you think?”

  “That you still have an overactive imagination. And who knows? Marriage may not be in my future.”

  “I wish you’d stop that talk. I told you not to pay attention to what I said a minute ago. It’s not funny.”

  “Funny or not, it’s something I have to consider.”

  Julie rolled her eyes. “Tami, I’d say you’ve been out in the sun too long except you don’t believe in getting a tan. Look, there are girls who’ve sworn off marriage because they want to conquer the working world, but you’re not in the same zip code as those women.”

  “It’s something I’m praying about, but it probably doesn’t make any sense to you.”

  “Yeah.” Julie threw up her hands. “Just promise you won’t say anything stupid to Zach or Vince while you grope your way out of your current delusion. If you mess this up, you’re going to need as much counseling as Rachel and Leah.”

  THAT NIGHT I CALLED HOME. MY LIFE IN SAVANNAH HAD BEEN such a storm of activity that, for a few minutes, I hoped to find a safe harbor. Mama answered the phone. Daddy was at a men’s prayer meeting at the church. I told her about my conversation with Zach and subsequent reading of 1 Corinthians 7, then waited a bit anxiously for her response.

  “I had the same thoughts before I met your father,” she said. “I was serving the Lord and seeing him work in people’s lives. Love can be found in sacrificially giving yourself on behalf of other people. I wasn’t looking for a husband.”

  This was news to me. I’d always assumed she and Daddy were praying for a spouse and saw the other as the answer to prayer. And, the similarity between Mama’s words and what I’d heard from Sister Dabney stunned me.

  “What changed?” I asked.

  “It takes a special grace to be single,” Mama replied. “And it takes a special grace to be married. My ability to remain single ended when I met your daddy. Then, I had to call out for a different kind of help. Not that he’s a hard man to get along with. But every marriage has its struggles. If you don’t sense the grace needed for your relationship with Zach, the best thing to do is stop it. As for Vince, we’d need to meet him before giving permission for you to court him.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking. Vince is a good man, but I don’t want to bring him home. Not yet.”

  “That’s fine. I’m glad you told me what’s going on. It makes me proud of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not forcing yourself beyond the place God has for you. I can’t argue with what the Bible says about these things, and you have my full support if you believe you’re supposed to stay single.”

  “What about Daddy?”

  “He’s the romantic,” Mama answered in a voice I knew came with a smile. “But he’s practical enough to know the foundation has to be strong for a house to last. If a man and woman don’t have confidence the Lord is the cornerstone of the relationship, the marriage is going to be shaky from the beginning.”

  “That’s how I feel now—shaky.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  I glanced at the clock in Mrs. Fairmont’s kitchen. It was late for Mama to be on the phone.

  “This has helped me a lot. Please don’t say anything to the twins. They’re totally on the romantic side of things.”

  “Which is one reason why they’re not ready to interact with boys.”

  “Thanks, Mama. I love you.”

  After listening to Mama, Sister Dabney’s challenge to unselfish living as the way to greater love seemed less like a rebuke and more like an opportunity.

  15

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, JULIE RETURNED TO MY OFFICE SHORTLY before noon.

  “Listen, Maggie and I are going to grab a quick bite to eat. Want to join us?”

  I hesitated.

  “Come on,” Julie pressed. “It’s going to be the closest thing we’ve had to a firm meeting since we started thirty days ago.”

  I hadn’t realized it had been a month since I first sat down in this chair and turned on my computer.

  “I know,” Julie responded, reading my expression. “It seems like a year to me. One month down, four hundred and seventy-nine months to go.”

  “Four hundred and seventy-nine?”

  “Assuming we practice law for forty years. Now that you’re going to devote yourself totally to your work, you need to be planning for the long term.”

  “That’s not what I meant yesterday.”

  “It’s what will happen.”

  Maggie joined Julie at the door. “Unless you’re too busy, I’d like you to go with us to lunch.”

  “I’d like that,” I answered.

&n
bsp; “You make me deliver a three-minute oral argument in favor of going to lunch without getting a commitment,” Julie protested, “and Maggie persuades you in one sentence.”

  “She’s good,” I responded, reaching for my purse.

  Maggie drove us to a local diner that served home-style meals.

  “I eat salads all the time for supper,” she said as we pulled into the restaurant’s crowded parking lot. “Every so often, I need something that reminds me of home.”

  “That’s why I eat barbecue,” Julie chipped in.

  Maggie and I both stared at her.

  “Did your mother fix barbecue when you were growing up?” Maggie asked.

  “No, but once I lied to my strict kosher cousins and told them I ate some. I got in big trouble for that one.”

  “These days, I’m filling in for Julie’s cousins,” I said to Maggie as we got out of the car.

  “Not exactly. You’ve got more fight in you than they ever did.”

  Maggie led us through the door to a back table in a quieter corner of the restaurant.

  “How are the chicken livers?” I asked Maggie as I scanned the menu. “When Julie comes to Powell Station for a visit, I’m going to ask my mama to fix them.”

  “Now who’s doing the harassing?” Julie pointed at me.

  “The chicken livers at this place aren’t that good,” Maggie responded. “I recommend the meat loaf and fried squash. Beyond that, you’re on your own.”

  After we ordered, Maggie turned to me.

  “How would you grade your first month at the firm?”

  “You’re the one to grade me.”

  “I’d give you an A,” Maggie replied. “Julie and I agree.”

  “I guess so,” Julie added. “Of course, I saw how hard you worked last summer, so I wasn’t at all surprised when Maggie showed me how many hours you’ve billed and the volume of work you’ve put out.”

  “It’s the volume that’s impressed me the most,” Maggie said. “Clients don’t mind paying if they think they’re getting their money’s worth. When you provide results and answers quickly at a reasonable rate, they appreciate it.”

  “Thanks. I’m doing my best, but I still feel lost at times.”

  “Everyone does. And that brings up my main suggestion for you,” Maggie said. “You almost never ask me questions about a project. My door is open unless I’m on a phone call and don’t want to be interrupted. Occasionally, you give me too much information. I’m not asking you to write a law review article.”

  “Tami wasn’t on law review,” Julie said.

  “Neither were you,” Maggie replied evenly.

  “Maggie was a notes editor for the law review at Georgia,” Julie whispered across the table.

  “And it didn’t get me a job offer at Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. That honor went to Tami.”

  “Mr. Carpenter didn’t want me to interrupt him with questions,” I said. “But that may have been part of my evaluation as a summer clerk. He probably wanted to see how we could perform without close supervision.”

  “You don’t need close supervision, just guidance that will make you even more efficient.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to Julie. “You’re my boss, too. What critique do you have for me?”

  “That will take more than an hour lunch. Here comes our food.”

  The waitress set our plates on the table before us. Maggie was right. The food reminded me of home, especially the carrots that were slightly sweetened with brown sugar and butter, just like Mama prepared them.

  “Did you talk to Ms. Dabney and tell her not to come to the office?” Maggie asked after we’d eaten a few bites.

  “Yes, it’s taken care of. She’s finished what she thought she should do.”

  “What do you mean?” Maggie asked.

  I explained what Sister Dabney told me.

  “She’s right, you know,” Julie chimed in. “Shannon is making a mistake. I met her husband. You could see in his eyes that he still cared for her.”

  “Which is none of our business,” Maggie replied. “Shannon hasn’t asked any of us for advice about her personal life. How many times she gets married and divorced isn’t our concern unless it interferes with her work.”

  “Is that right?” Julie asked me.

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be a wimp.”

  “I’m not, but there’s more wrong with the world than any one person can fix. If I think I’m supposed to help someone, then I’ll get involved, even if it’s risky. That’s what may happen with Jessie Whitewater.”

  “Your appointed case?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How would you get involved beyond representing her?”

  I took a deep breath. “If she makes bond, she may live with Mrs. Fairmont and me.”

  “What?” Julie exploded. “Drop her in the middle of all those antiques and diamonds? Mrs. Fairmont wears enough rocks on her fingers to finance a trip around the world. It wouldn’t be safe to have someone you don’t know around her. I can’t believe you’re considering this!”

  “Mrs. Fairmont wants to meet Jessie at the motion hearing, then decide.”

  “She’s not mentally competent to make that judgment,” Julie answered before looking at Maggie. “Does this sound as crazy to you as it does to me?”

  Maggie nodded. “It’s rarely a good idea to become personally involved with a client, especially at the level you’re suggesting. Doesn’t Mrs. Fairmont suffer from a form of dementia?”

  “Multi-infarct dementia as a result of ministrokes. But most of the time she’s fine. She’s been lucid when we’ve discussed this.”

  “And what will happen when she isn’t lucid and a stranger takes a hundred-year-old silver tea set out of the house and sells it to a pawnshop for twenty-five dollars?” Julie asked.

  “That’s a possibility anytime you help someone,” I answered with more confidence than I felt. “We take a chance that our clients won’t pay us.”

  “Please,” Julie responded. “That’s not even close.”

  “What time is the bond hearing?” Maggie asked.

  “Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. It’s a general motion calendar, so I don’t know when it will be heard.”

  Maggie checked her phone. “I can stay until ten, then, I have to leave for an appointment. Even if the motion isn’t heard while I’m there, I want to talk to Mrs. Fairmont. The firm isn’t directly responsible for what you’re considering, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you make the decision on your own.”

  “Sister Dabney will be there, too,” I added, deciding it was better to avoid another surprise. “She’s going to post a property bond so Jessie can be released.”

  Julie pressed her lips tightly together for a moment before she spoke. “I should have known she was behind this. That woman is going to ruin your life if you let her.”

  “You thought she was right about Shannon,” I replied defensively.

  “Maybe, but she thinks she’s right about everything and everyone! That’s dangerous.”

  The tension created at the table stayed with us during the return trip to the office. There was no conversation in the car, and we immediately went to our offices and shut the doors. I suspected Maggie and Julie would have a private conversation later about the issue. It didn’t take much imagination to guess what Julie would say. Maggie’s reaction was less predictable.

  THAT EVENING DURING SUPPER I REMINDED MRS. FAIRMONT OF the hearing in the morning.

  “What’s the child’s name?”

  “I think it’s Jessie Whitewater, but I’m not one hundred percent sure. And she’s not a child. She may be eighteen.”

  “Where is her family?”

  “That’s unknown, too. Both the assistant district attorney and I suspect she may be running away from a bad situation, which would explain why she won’t help in locating them.”

  “There are a lot of teenage runaways. I watched a TV show about it
this afternoon. Usually, they don’t take off on their own but travel with another person, often someone older.”

  I’d not considered Jessie might have a companion hiding out there.

  “I don’t think that happened here.”

  “Good. I talked to Christine.”

  I put down my fork. “What did she say?”

  “It was a first conversation, so I didn’t get very specific. All I mentioned was that you were interviewing a young woman who might be willing to stay with me for room and board in return for keeping an eye on me.”

  “Did you say I interviewed her at the jail?”

  “No, but she complimented you for taking the initiative to find someone to help when you’re at work. Of course, she wants to interview anyone before they come to stay.”

  “When and where would that happen?”

  “Here, after I make my decision.”

  “But if you’ve already made your decision, and Mrs. Bartlett doesn’t agree—”

  Mrs. Fairmont dismissed my words with a wave of her hand. “By the time I finish with Christine, she’ll go home and tell Ken it was really her idea in the first place.”

  “Maybe, but Jessie isn’t polished and sophisticated.”

  “Like you?” Mrs. Fairmont asked with a twinkle in her eyes.

  I stared at her for a second and then burst out laughing.

  EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I DROVE TO THE JAIL. A FEMALE GUARD escorted me to one of the interview rooms. A few minutes later Jessie came in wearing a white apron on top of her orange jumpsuit. She was slightly skinnier than I’d remembered.

  “Why are you wearing that?” I asked, pointing to the apron.

  “I work in the kitchen. I was scrambling eggs when the guard came to get me.”

  “Did you get a copy of Judge Cannon’s order refusing to remove me from the case?”

  “Yeah, but I’m going to appeal it to the United States Supreme Court.”

  “What?”

  “Appeal it to the United States Supreme Court. It’s in Washington, D.C.”

  “I know where it is, but you can’t appeal an order like that to the Supreme Court.”