Greater Love

by Robert Whitlow

  “I’m familiar with this area. Sister Dabney’s church is on this street.”

  “I know,” Zach replied, glancing in the rearview mirror.

  The car in front of us reached Sister Dabney’s house and slowed to a stop beside the curb.

  “I can’t stop. It might attract attention,” Zach said as he drove past the car and turned into the driveway of a house located on the far side of the church.

  I turned sideways so I could see the car. Its lights were off. No one got out.

  “The longer it sits there, the more time we have for Detective Houghton to call,” I said. “He’s the one who investigated the burglary at the office. He won’t ignore me.”

  At that moment the car turned on its parking lights and eased forward to the driveway for the church and turned in. I couldn’t see where it parked because of a row of thick bushes between Zach’s car and the church. But there was no doubt the car had to be near the front door of the church.

  “Sister Dabney doesn’t lock the doors of the church,” I said. “She trusts the Lord to take care of it.”

  “Whether it’s locked or not, if someone enters without permission that would be as much a criminal act as the break-in at your office.”

  I looked across the dark interior of the car toward Zach. “And the police couldn’t ignore a report of a burglary in progress.” I said.

  “Right.”

  Zach cracked open the car door. The interior light flashed on, but he quickly reached up and turned it off.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m going to make sure someone has actually entered the building. I won’t go any farther than those bushes.” Zach patted the cell phone in the front pocket of his shirt. “And this time, I’ll call 911.”

  He got out of the car and quietly shut the door. There weren’t any streetlights nearby, and the house where we were parked was dark. Zach walked around to the front of the car and stepped close to the bushes. He pushed them aside with his hands and moved forward.

  Then he was gone.

  I couldn’t believe he’d passed through the bushes. I strained my eyes, trying to see him as he returned. But he didn’t. I glanced at the clock in the dashboard of the car. I hadn’t checked the time when he left, but it already seemed like minutes although I knew it was probably only seconds.

  My mind frantically ran through my options. I could get out of the car and follow Zach or wait for him to return or for Detective Houghton to call. I quickly dismissed the idea of exiting the car. Instead, I pushed the button that locked the doors and slipped over the console into the driver’s seat. A quick honk of the horn would not be an unusual occurrence this close to the street but would summon Zach. The key was in the ignition. I started the car and backed a few feet down the driveway so I would be closer to the street. I pressed the button for the horn and quickly released it. Even the short burst of sound seemed deafening in the quiet of the night. I nervously stared at the spot in the bushes where I last saw Zach. Nothing moved.

  Panic set in.

  I backed farther down the driveway until I had a clear view of the church. The car we’d been following was parked close to the front door, but the church remained dark. I didn’t see anyone moving about. I frantically glanced over at Sister Dabney’s house. There was a light on toward the rear of the house in the area of the kitchen. I took my cell phone from my purse and, my index finger shaking, entered her number. The phone rang several times, but knowing she rarely answered on the first few rings, I let it continue. After at least ten rings, I ended the call and slammed the phone down on the seat. If she was rocking in one of her chairs, Sister Dabney had picked a bad time to ignore the phone.

  I backed the car into the street so it faced in the direction of the church. Rolling down the window, I stuck out my head, preparing to yell Zach’s name. But at that moment, I saw the flicker of a flashlight in the open area in front of the church. Voices, all male, were speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then I heard a female voice cry out before being abruptly cut off.

  It had to be Jessie.

  Car doors slammed, and the engine in the dark car roared to life. The driver backed rapidly down the church driveway toward the street. When the car reached the curb, I turned on the car’s bright lights. The driver of the dark car turned toward me. I didn’t recognize him, but I saw Clay Hackney in the backseat behind him. The driver put his hand up to shield his eyes. I stomped on the accelerator. The car shot forward. Holding my arms straight out to brace myself, I slammed into the dark sedan, hitting it squarely between the driver’s side and rear doors. There was a crash of glass and metal. The air bag in Zach’s car inflated, momentarily blinding me. Dazed, I put my hands to my head to make sure I wasn’t bleeding.

  There was a loud bang near my left ear. It was Zach, hitting the window with his fist. He tried to open the door, but it was locked shut. I groggily pushed back the lock with my finger, and he jerked open the door.

  “Get out!” he yelled.

  He half dragged, half carried me out of the car. When I got a view of the other car, I was amazed at the damage I’d caused. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. I couldn’t see into the backseat.

  “The other side,” I started.

  Zach had his cell phone next to his ear. “Yes, there’s an automobile accident with injuries at the Southside Church on Gillespie Street. I’m the one who reported the burglary a couple of minutes ago.”

  Zach pulled me away from the wreck. The sound of the impact had attracted the attention of people living in houses along the street. Several of them could be seen standing on their front porches.

  “What about Jessie?” I managed. “She’s still in that car. And Hackney can get out the other side and escape.”

  “It’s too dangerous. You’re not going back.”

  Within seconds, the sound of sirens and sight of flashing lights could be heard and seen on Gillespie Street. As soon as the first patrol car arrived on the scene, Zach left me sitting on the ground and ran over to it. Another police car arrived, followed immediately by a fire truck. I kept watching the dark car, but nobody got out.

  Police officers approached the sedan from both sides. In less than a minute, an officer appeared holding the arm of a man we’d seen at the docks. He was quickly followed by a fireman carrying a much smaller figure. It was Jessie.

  I got to my feet as quickly as I could and ran toward her.

  “Tami!” Zach called out, but I didn’t stop.

  The fireman with Jessie looked up as I approached.

  “Is she all right?” I asked frantically.

  Jessie’s body hung limp in the fireman’s arms. He laid her on the ground. Her eyes were closed.

  “She’s been hit in the head, probably knocked her unconscious. An ambulance is on the way.”

  I stepped closer. Jessie groaned slightly. It was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard.

  While I was kneeling beside Jessie, an officer approached with Clay Hackney beside him. Hackney had a gash on the right side of his forehead.

  “You!” he said when he saw me. His eyes flashed with rage. “You’re going to be sorry you did this. By the time I’m finished with you—”

  “Come on,” the officer interrupted him. “Let’s get that cut tended.”

  I put my hand on Jessie’s cheek. She blinked open her eyes and moaned.

  “In . . . ,” she started, then stopped.

  “Don’t try to talk,” I said. “An ambulance is on the way.”

  “The church,” she muttered.

  “I know,” I said, leaning closer to her. “Sister Dabney found the papers you left in the church. They are in a safe place.”

  Jessie shook her head and moaned again. An ambulance arrived and the EMTs examined Jessie. The firemen were busy freeing the driver of the sedan from the car. Still groggy, Jessie was placed on a stretcher and taken from the scene. I turned around and saw Zach talking to one of the po
lice officers. I joined him.

  “Can you positively identify the men who entered the church?” the officer asked him.

  “Yes, every one of them went inside. They took the girl with them.”

  I glanced back at Sister Dabney’s house. The light in the kitchen was on, but there was no sign of the woman preacher.

  “I want to go inside the church,” I said to Zach.

  “Why?” he asked. “All the men came out with Jessie.”

  “Please,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  We walked up the gravel drive to the darkened building. The front door was still ajar. I pushed it open and took a couple of steps into the darkness before tripping over an object in the aisle. I screamed as I fell. Before I could get oriented, Zach flipped on the lights. I blinked my eyes and saw Sister Dabney stretched out on the floor.

  “Get an EMT!” I yelled.

  Zach bolted out the door.

  24

  A FEMALE EMT WAS THE FIRST PERSON TO ARRIVE. SHE KNELT beside Sister Dabney, who was lying on her stomach, her face against the carpet. The EMT checked Sister Dabney’s vital signs, then glanced up at me.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “No. The men who kidnapped the teenage girl came in here. Ms. Dabney must have already been inside.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “She’s the pastor of the church. Her name is Rachel Ramona Dabney.”

  “Is she married?”

  “No, divorced.”

  “Next of kin?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked in alarm. “Is she going to be okay?”

  A second medical worker, a young man in his twenties, burst into the room. I sat in numbed silence as the two of them examined Sister Dabney.

  “Blunt trauma to the head,” the woman said, pointing to a place on the side of Sister Dabney’s skull, where I could see a trickle of blood oozing down to the floor.

  It didn’t look serious enough to be fatal. Two police officers arrived and immediately ushered me out of the church.

  “Is she alive?” I asked one of the officers.

  “Stay outside, please,” the officer said, holding up his hand. “We’re going to cordon this off as a crime scene.”

  I met Zach coming up the driveway.

  “How is she?” Zach asked.

  “I think she’s dead,” I replied, not believing the words coming from my mouth. “Something about blunt trauma to the head.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “Two of the men with Hackney had guns,” Zach said. “I saw a detective put them in clear plastic bags.”

  “But there wasn’t a gunshot.”

  “They could have used a gun to hit her.”

  Suddenly feeling unsteady on my feet, I reached out to Zach, who held me up.

  “You need to go to the hospital and get checked out,” Zach said. “You rammed the car very hard.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the church. “I can’t leave her.”

  “Come on. That’s where they’ll bring her, too.”

  Zach guided me down the driveway to a medical worker who shone a light in my eyes and asked some questions.

  “I don’t see a need for emergency medical transport,” he said, “but you should go to the ER to be sure.”

  “How can we get there? I wrecked your car,” I said to Zach.

  “I know, but I called Julie. She’s on her way.”

  A minute later, Julie came running up to us. There were multiple cars with flashing blue and red lights on the street.

  “What happened?” she asked anxiously.

  “I’ll tell you while we take Tami to the hospital,” Zach answered.

  They put me in the backseat of Julie’s car. As Julie sped away Zach started talking to her. I suddenly felt very sleepy.

  “Are you okay?” Julie asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep.”

  “Did she hit her head?” Julie asked Zach with alarm in her voice.

  “Just my face,” I replied groggily.

  The rest of the trip to the hospital was a blur. As I was rolled into the ER in a wheelchair, the bright lights revived me slightly.

  “I think she may be in shock,” Zach told a nurse who placed a blood-pressure cuff on my left arm.

  The nurse took me into an examining room and helped me onto a bed.

  “The doctor will be in to see you in a few minutes.”

  “Where are Jessie and Sister Dabney?” I asked Zach when the nurse left. “Have they gotten here yet?”

  “Stay with her while I check,” Zach said to Julie.

  Julie came close to the bed and gently took my hand.

  “Are you hurting anywhere?” she asked.

  “I’m stiff,” I answered, moving my head from side to side. “It was such a strange feeling in your car. All I wanted to do was close my eyes.”

  “You may have had a concussion.”

  “But I got out of the car and walked up to the church.”

  “Do you always have to argue with me?” Julie sighed. “Maybe it was a light concussion, and it took a few minutes for the impact to penetrate your thick skull.”

  I managed a weak smile. An older doctor entered the examination area. He repeated some of the same tests I’d already had along with a few more and asked me simple questions, such as my name, address, phone number, and birthday.

  “Ms. Taylor, I think you’re going to be fine,” he said, removing the stethoscope from his ears. “You’ve been through a very stressful situation. I recommend you get some rest and follow up with your regular doctor if you feel you should.”

  “What about the other people who were injured?” I asked. “Jessie Whitewater, a teenage girl, and Ramona Dabney, a woman in her late sixties.”

  “The girl has already been taken to a room,” the doctor said. “I’m not sure about the other woman. A nurse will be in to help you check out.”

  The doctor left.

  “I wish he’d asked you my birthday,” Julie said. “That would have been a hard question.”

  “April 27.”

  Julie nodded. “Correct. I pronounce you healed.”

  Zach returned to the examination room.

  “Tami is fine,” Julie said to him. “The doctor said her system was trying to shut down because of an overload of stimuli, kind of like a computer that crashes.”

  “That’s not what he—,” I started, but the look on Zach’s face stopped me. “What is it?”

  “Sister Dabney is gone,” he said soberly. “They weren’t able to revive her at the church.”

  “How? What?” I asked, struggling to sit up and not able to form a complete sentence.

  “No one knows except Hackney, his men, and Jessie,” Zach replied. “I’m sure they won’t be talking, so we’ll have to wait until we can be with Jessie.”

  I collapsed back on the bed and closed my eyes. When I did, I instantly saw Sister Dabney sitting in the blue rocking chair on her porch in the crisp coolness of a bright summer morning, looking at me as only she could—with a gaze that saw to the depths of my soul. No room in my heart was hidden from her view. But there wasn’t any condemnation in her countenance. Only peace. Peace imbued with a gentle love.

  Sister Dabney was free of the burdens she’d carried. The scars of rejection, the disappointments of life, the betrayals by those she trusted. All of it gone, washed away in a glorious moment of unlimited grace. A pair of tears rolled out of my eyes and down the sides of my face. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes. Zach was standing beside me.

  “She’s okay,” I said as the tears flowed freely. “She’s more than okay.”

  WHEN I AWOKE IN THE MORNING, I WAS STIFF BUT OTHERWISE fine. I lay in bed for a few minutes. It would take weeks, not hours, to process everything that had happened the previous night. Going upstairs to the kitchen, I called home so I could talk to Daddy and Mama before he left fo
r work. Daddy answered.

  “Good morning, Tammy Lynn,” he said when he realized I was on the other end of the line. “Touch the top of your head where I like to kiss you.”

  Hearing my father’s kind voice released another wave of emotion. The next few minutes were a disjointed mess as I tried to tell Daddy and Mama what had happened. It took three attempts to convince Mama that I wasn’t seriously injured.

  “Please let Mr. Callahan know about Sister Dabney,” I said. “He’s known her since he was a young man.”

  “I’ll go by to see him today,” Daddy said.

  Mama ended the call with a prayer that made more tears flow.

  “We love you,” she said.

  AFTER EATING SOME FRUIT FOR BREAKFAST, I DROVE TO THE HOSpital to check on Jessie and Mrs. Fairmont.

  “What’s the room number for Jessie Whitewater?” I asked the lady at the information desk.

  The woman typed the name into her computer and examined the screen.

  “How do you spell that?” she asked.

  I spelled the name and waited.

  “I don’t find a record of her admission,” she said.

  I leaned forward over the desk. “She was admitted last night through the ER via ambulance from Gillespie Street.”

  The woman looked up at me then reached under her desk and pulled out the morning paper.

  “Did it have to do with this?”

  She put the newspaper on the counter. On the front page was an article with the headline “Woman Killed by Intruders at Church.” A photo of Sister Dabney was positioned beside a picture of the church. Tiny photos of Clay Hackney and me were off to one side. My picture was the one taken the previous summer by the public relations firm that worked for Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter. My name appeared in the first paragraph as the driver of a car that rammed the vehicle carrying Hackney, two other men, and a young woman named Jessie Beanfield.

  “Jessie Beanfield?” I said out loud.

  The woman at the information desk typed in the name.

  “She’s in room 3487.”

  I returned the newspaper to the woman and took the elevator to the third floor. Jessie’s room was on the left toward the end of the hall. The door was closed. I knocked. There wasn’t an answer. I peeked inside.