Emma pushed her away. "Wait until she reads your paper. It's full of mistakes."
"Stop it!" I commanded.
Emma and I sat on the bed and went over her paper. It was a very good first draft.
"How long have you been working on this?"
"About two weeks. Mama wants it finished by Friday."
Ellie's essay was titled "Thomas Jefferson's Bible." She focused on the rationalist beliefs of the primary author of the Declaration of Independence. There was overlapping research with her sister's paper, but also information unique to Jefferson, including a discussion of the founder's personal New Testament with all the references to miracles carefully cut out. Ellie was a better writer than her sister, but I was careful to make an equal number of corrections and suggestions.
"That's all for today," I said when we finished. "I'll tell Mama how well you're doing. Supper will be ready in a few minutes."
"I'll pray," Emma volunteered.
Our homeschool experience was saturated with prayer. Deism had no place in Mama's theology. God was omnipresent; a truth that both scared and comforted me.
We held hands while Emma prayed. I smiled when she included a heartfelt request for God's blessing upon Ellie.
"And thank you that Tammy Lynn will be home with us in a few weeks for the whole summer. In Jesus' name, amen."
I squeezed both small hands. To spend a summer in Savannah would require convincing more than my parents.
2
THE TWINS AND I WENT DOWNSTAIRS TO HELP MAMA SET THE table. From the kitchen I could see the dirt basketball court where I'd spent many hours practicing my three-point shot. While putting the forks in place, I glanced out one of the windows in time to see my eighteen-year-old brother, Kyle, leading a Hereford steer by a rope halter toward the feedlot on the opposite side of the family garden. A senior in high school, Kyle worked part-time for a local livestock broker. He'd already made enough money buying and selling beef cattle to buy an old pickup truck and a secondhand hauler. Trailing behind Kyle and the steer were our two dogs, Flip and Ginger. The dogs spent their lives outside and never entered the house. I would have loved a little indoor dog, but Mama and Daddy said our home wasn't Noah's ark.
Daddy always took a shower before he left the chicken plant, but I knew he carried the smell of fifty thousand chickens in his nostrils. As a line boss, he supervised a score of women who processed the naked, headless birds that a few weeks before had been tiny yellow chicks. For five summers I'd worked on Daddy's crew as an eviscerator, a fancy word for the person who cuts open the chicken and scoops out its internal organs. No part of a chicken was foreign to me.
My sixteen-year-old brother, Bobby, had finished his work in the garden and was sitting on the back steps quietly strumming his guitar. Bobby had been singing in church since he was a little boy; the guitar was a recent addition.
"He's writing his own songs," Ellie said as she took out a pack of paper napkins. "Bobby," she called through the screen door. "Make up a song for Tammy Lynn."
Bobby increased the tempo and volume. "Tammy Lynn! Tammy Lynn!" he called out. "Where have you gone? Why did you leave me here alone? I waited till dawn, but you never came home. Now, all I can do is moan."
I looked at Mama and rolled my eyes. "Are you going to let him do that?"
Mama smiled. "As long as he sings about his older sister, I'm not going to worry too much about it."
The dogs started barking and ran around the corner of the house to the front yard.
"Daddy's coming," Ellie said. "I'll set Tammy Lynn's place. I want her next to me."
"No, she's next to me," Emma protested.
"Put her in the middle," Mama said.
I heard the front door open, and the familiar sound of my father's uneven footsteps as he walked across the wooden floor. When Daddy was in the army, a drunken soldier shot him in the right foot. Two surgeries later, Daddy was left with a misshapen foot and a VA disability check that made the monthly payments on our house. He claimed the injury was a blessing in disguise, which sounded reasonable except for the pain on his face during cold weather. Daddy wore insulated rubber boots and two pairs of socks at work, but I think the foot still hurt because of the cool temperatures in the plant. When he came into the kitchen and saw me, he smiled.
A smile from Daddy after I'd been away from home for a few weeks at school could make me cry, so I lowered my gaze. I crossed the floor and gave him a quick hug.
"It was cloudy today until I saw you," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Did the girl from Dalton give you a ride home?"
"Yes sir. She didn't mind coming through the mountains."
"Did you give her gas money?"
"Yes sir."
Kyle and Bobby came inside and began discussing the status of the garden with Daddy. It was early spring, but our family used the entire growing season. In north Georgia, that meant early harvests of cabbage, leaf lettuce, and broccoli.
Unless company came for supper, Mama served meals from the stove. As soon as she called out, "Supper's ready," there would be a few minutes of chaos until all seven people were seated at the table. No one dared nibble a piece of corn bread until Daddy bowed his head and prayed a blessing. Then, conversation broke out on every side. Our family might be quiet around outsiders, but with one another we didn't hesitate to talk. Tonight, Daddy's focus was on me.
"Tell me about your classes," he said after his first bite of dumplings.
"This semester I'm taking secured transactions, introduction to labor law, municipal corporations, and civil procedure."
"Which class do you like best?"
"Municipal corporations. It's the study of city government law. The professor is a woman who worked for a firm in Seattle, Washington."
"How did she get to Georgia?" Mama asked in surprise.
"Lawyers move all over the place," I said, planting a tiny seed.
I ate a bite of squash and onions. Compared to Seattle, Savannah was next door. As supper continued, I brought Daddy up-to-date on my strictly regulated life-going to class, eating, studying, sleeping, reading the Bible, and praying.
"And I've been playing basketball. Several girls at the law school invited me to join a team that plays in a graduate school intramural league. We're undefeated in our first five games."
"Have you scored a basket?" Kyle asked mischievously.
"Of course," I replied.
In high school, I'd averaged fifteen points a game during my senior year.
"Ellie and I have been practicing every day since the weather warmed up," Emma said. "Will you play with us later?"
"Maybe tomorrow."
Mama had put extra effort into the meal because it was my first evening home. I complimented every dish individually and the entire meal collectively.
"Have you lost weight?" Daddy asked.
"Maybe a little. I do miss home cooking."
Mama smiled in appreciation.
"We'll have you home in a few weeks so we can take care of you," Daddy said. "When is your last exam?"
"I'm not sure about the exact date," I replied with a glance at Mama, who shook her head.
"The plant is running overtime," Daddy continued. "The company has taken on quite a few new growers, and production is way up. An experienced hand like you can really pile up the cash if you take all the available overtime."
"Is there a place for me?" Bobby asked.
"Next year when you're older would be a better time for you to get on as a temporary worker," Daddy replied.
"Could you ask?" Bobby persisted. "I'll still take care of my share of work in the garden. I want to save enough money to buy another guitar."
"What kind of guitar?" Mama asked sharply.
Bobby smiled. When he did, he looked like Daddy. "Don't worry, Mama. I want a better acoustic, not electric. Some of the best are made by a company called Taylor, so it would already look like it had my name engraved on it."
I wanted to yield my place on
the eviscerating crew to Bobby right then. It didn't take long to master the art of cutting open a chicken with razor-sharp scissors and removing its entrails.
"I'll check with Mr. Waldrup," Daddy replied.
Mama surprised me with a lemon meringue pie for dessert. The peaks and valleys of white and light brown meringue were as pretty as a photograph of the Alps. I held the knife in my hand, almost hating to cut the pie.
"What are you waiting for?" Ellie asked impatiently.
I lowered the knife and destroyed perfection. Seven pieces later, the pie pan was empty.
"The twins and I will clean up," I said to Mama when we finished eating. "Sit on the porch with Daddy."
In spring and fall, Daddy liked to sit in the swing on the front porch after supper. It was his way of unwinding after the hectic activity at the chicken plant with its loud noises and fast pace. It was quiet at our house. Except for an occasional logging truck, we rarely heard vehicles passing by on Beaver Ruin Road. That left only the evening sounds of nature-in early spring a few katydids, in summer a more varied chorus. I especially enjoyed it when a great horned owl would issue a call. Daddy liked to hoot in return, drawing the bird into conversation. When I was a little girl, he would interpret the owl's hoots and make up stories about the owl's life. I loved owl stories.
After the twins and I finished cleaning the kitchen, I took my Savannah letter to the front porch. Daddy and Mama were sitting on the swing. The sun was down, but the sky still displayed a broad band of orange. Daddy had his arm draped over the back of the swing behind Mama's shoulders.
"Is now a good time to talk?" I asked Mama.
"Yes," she said.
Emma opened the front door and came outside.
"It's not a good time for you," Mama said to her. "Stay inside with Ellie."
Emma frowned but shut the door. I sat on the edge of the porch with my feet propped on the steps.
"Your mama says you got a job offer with a law firm in Savannah," Daddy said. "Tell me about it."
"Do you want to read the letter?"
"Yes."
I handed it to him.
"They misspelled your name."
"The spelling of my name isn't the important part," I replied with a twinge of guilt. "It's hard to get a summer clerkship like this one. The lady in the job placement office told me less than twenty-five percent of the second-year class is able to find a legal job with a law firm, fewer still with a law firm like this."
"What do you know about Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter?" Daddy asked, reading the names slowly.
I told him about my conversation with Gerry Patrick, leaving out the intrafirm miscommunication concerning the offer.
"There's no harm in getting information about the job, is there?" I asked, trying not to sound whiny.
Daddy handed the letter back to me. "Not if you keep your heart right."
The condition of my heart was somewhat shaky, so I stuck to practical arguments.
"Bobby could take my place on the chicken line. And Savannah isn't as far away as Seattle."
"Did you apply for a job in Seattle?" Mama asked in alarm.
"No ma'am. I was just making a point about the relative closeness of Savannah."
Daddy pushed the swing back and forth a couple of times.
"I guess you could tell the lady in Savannah to send the information to Oscar Callahan's office. Didn't you list him as a reference on your resume?"
"Yes sir, and if the Savannah job doesn't work out, I'll definitely talk to Mr. Callahan about working a few hours a week for him."
"Which is a much better idea than running off to a strange place to be with people you don't know anything about." Mama spoke rapidly. "Where would you live? How will you be able to afford the rent? What kind of cases does this law firm handle? You don't want to be representing criminals. Divorces would be just as bad. And the attorneys who manage a large law firm won't share your moral convictions."
These topics and many others had been discussed in great detail before I started law school, and I didn't want to revisit the debate. I remained silent. The band of orange had lost its hue. The sky was totally gray.
"I only have one question," Daddy said after a minute passed. "Will you honor your parents?"
I knew what he meant.
"Yes sir."
LATER THAT NIGHT I tiptoed into the darkened bedroom. Emmas voice from the top bunk startled me.
"Tammy Lynn."
"Quiet! You're supposed to be asleep."
"Exactly how old were you when we were born?"
I did a quick calculation. `Almost seven months younger than you are now."
"And you didn't mind sharing your room?"
"No, I was excited. But just like now, you were noisy when I wanted you to be quiet."
"I don't mind sharing the room with you when you come home."
"Thank you. I like being with you too."
I sat on the bed and slipped off my shoes and socks.
"When are you going to get married so I can have a baby to play with?"
"Don't be silly," I answered. "I've never even been kissed. Good night."
Emma sighed. Then sighed again.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Isn't Savannah the city founded by General James Oglethorpe for people in England who couldn't pay their bills?" she asked.
"Yes. Were you eavesdropping on my conversation with Mama and Daddy?"
"What's Savannah like now? We only studied about the 1700s."
"I've never been there, but it's very pretty with a lot of little parks and squares."
"How do you know that?"
"I read about it in a book that had pictures and information about historic places."
"If you take the job, does that mean we won't see you this summer?"
"I'll try to come home or maybe you can visit me."
"Would Ellie come too?"
"Of course, but it would be up to Mama and Daddy."
There was a moment of silence.
"I want you to be here with us. This is like you're moving away forever and never coming home."
I could hear a tremor in Emma's voice. I came over and stroked her hair. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see a forlorn expression on her face. I kissed her on the forehead.
"I love you wherever I am."
"But it's not the same if you're not where I can see and touch you."
I felt a pang of remorse. My focus had been totally selfish. There was great benefit in spending a summer at home. The love of family wasn't a daydream-it was the most enduring reality in my world.
I ALWAYS SLEPT BETTER in my own bed. I woke up when Chester, the family rooster, began to crow but managed to tune him out and sleep for another thirty minutes until a finger tapped me on the cheek. Through bleary eyes I couldn't tell if it was Emma or Ellie.
"Who is it?" I asked.
"Guess."
"Ellie?"
"That's right. Are you going to get the eggs?"
I pulled the sheet next to my chin. Not having to get up for class made the bed feel extra nice.
"Who's been doing it?" I mumbled.
"This is my week, but I wanted to help with the biscuits."
Too many thoughts were now in my head to allow another snooze. "Okay. I'll get the eggs."
I got up and pulled on a loose-fitting cotton dress. The women and girls in our family never wore pants, and we made most of our day-to-day clothes. Learning how to sew was part of our training. When I went to high school, Mama was nice enough to buy me some inexpensive skirts, dresses, and blouses at Wal-Mart. Storebought clothes blunted the stigma of our private dress code, but I still stood out as a feminine island in an ocean of unisex apparel. Snide questions and critical stares were inevitable, but it helped that a few girls in the school came from families with similar rules. Those girls were my closest friends.
The high school basketball uniforms could have been an impossible fashion obstacle to overcome.
Mama played basketball in high school and was willing to bend on the rules, so long as the coach ordered a uniform with extra-long shorts that reached to my knees and a shirt with sleeves that came close to my elbows. At first glance, it looked a couple of sizes too big, but no one paid attention to the length of my shorts or my baggy shirt after I hit a nice shot or made a crisp pass for an assist. People in the church criti cized my parents for making an exception. Daddy told me not to worry about it.
I maintained the dresses-only rule through college and law school. I could always look Mama in the eye and answer truthfully when she asked me if I'd worn pants or blue jeans.
I SPLASHED WATER ON MY FACE, slipped my hair into a ponytail, and went downstairs. I grabbed the blue metal pail used to collect the eggs. The twins and I had decorated the pail with a chicken motif that included primitive portraits of some of our hens against a chicken coop landscape. I stepped outside into the cool morning air.
The wire enclosure where the chickens stayed was to the left of the basketball court. The birds stayed inside at night but were released to forage in the yard during the day. Flip and Ginger would bark at them, but our chickens' greatest enemies were possums.
Mama preferred white-shelled eggs, so we owned leghorns. We kept one rooster and four to six hens. Compact and muscular, our chickens bore little resemblance to the flaccid birds delivered to the processing plant in town. Daddy raised pullets to replace hens whose egg production declined. We never ate our hens. When they clucked their last cluck, the chickens received appropriate burial in the large pet cemetery at the edge of our property.
I went inside the pen. Chester charged in full-attack mode, but I ignored him. Top law students who could handle intense questioning by a tough professor would probably flee from Chester. The rooster came right up to my feet before giving a loud, self-satisfied squawk and strutting away.
I slowly entered the coop. Our hens were named after female characters in Shakespearean plays. Mama used an edited version of Shakespeare's works, with the bawdy jokes deleted, as part of her homeschool curriculum. Each bird's nesting box was marked with a carefully printed card: Juliet, Olivia, Viola, Cressida, Cleopatra, and Lady Macbeth. It was a noble company with Chester as their lord.
Deeper Water Page 2
