Deeper Water

by Robert Whitlow

"Yes ma'am, but there is a problem with my move from Athens to Savannah."

  "What sort of problem?"

  I explained the delay due to the death of Mrs. Fairmont's friend. "Would it be possible for me to start work on Tuesday?"

  "When did you say Mrs. Fairmont will be home?"

  I hadn't mentioned the day. I swallowed. "Sunday afternoon."

  "Can't you move in on Sunday?"

  "I'd rather do it on Monday."

  "The firm has arranged a special catered luncheon for the summer clerks on Monday. All the partners and associates will be there, and with vacation schedules, it may be the only time this summer when everyone will be together," she continued with emphasis. "The one day you need to be here is Monday. A key part of the summer clerk program is the opportunity for the partners to get to know you."

  I remembered Zach Mays' rules. "Yes ma'am. I'm aware of that. I want to meet people."

  "Good. Then you'll be here?"

  In desperation, an idea was born. "Ms. Patrick, are you Jewish?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Do you keep the Sabbath?"

  "Not as strictly as my rabbi uncle in Fort Lauderdale would like me to," she said after a brief silence.

  I took a deep breath. "I'm a Christian, and my family keeps Sunday as our Sabbath. We don't do any work on Sunday and spend the time after church services in rest and spiritual reflection. It would violate my religious convictions to move my furniture on Sunday."

  "I'm not familiar with the New Testament teaching on the Sabbath."

  It wasn't a question, and the inflection in Ms. Patrick's voice didn't sound like a request for a biblical explanation.

  "Are you asking for a religious accommodation under the federal antidiscrimination laws?" she continued coldly.

  "No ma'am," I answered hurriedly. "I'm not raising a legal issue or trying to put the firm in an awkward position. I'm appealing to you as a person. I've agonized over this ever since I received the news from Mrs. Bartlett last night."

  "And I don't question your sincerity. But I'm not sure I can give you an answer. I'll need to check with Mr. Carpenter and let you know what he says."

  My heart sank. No matter how well Ms. Patrick tried to explain my position, the reaction of one of the senior partners to my predicament was easy to imagine.

  "Could you talk to Zach Mays instead?" I asked. "I realize he's an associate, but he understands something about my background."

  "Zach Mays? How do you know him?"

  I had no choice but to mention my brief visit to the office.

  "Can you stay on the line while I see if he's in the office?" she asked.

  "Yes ma'am."

  While I waited on hold, I listened to classical music. It was a Bach organ concerto, composed to the glory of the God, whose laws the world now tried to ignore. It was a moment of musical irony. Ms. Patrick returned.

  "I mentioned your dilemma to Zach. He thinks you should definitely be at the luncheon on Monday and offered to solve your religious objection by meeting you at Mrs. Fairmont's house on Sunday to unload the furniture for you. He also suggested that you read a verse from the New Testament about an ox falling in a ditch on the Sabbath and the owner pulling it out. I wrote down the reference-Luke 14:5."

  "Is he also willing to load the truck in Athens?" I asked, chafing at the young lawyer's advice. "My ox is in two ditches at once."

  "He didn't mention it. Do you want me to connect you to him?"

  "No ma'am. I'm sorry. It's nice of him to offer to help."

  "Zach is a fine young man and an excellent lawyer. There's no pretense with him."

  "I'll call my father and get his advice. He's the one who will be helping me move. Oh, and please don't mention this to Mr. Carpenter. I wouldn't want to trouble him."

  "I can't promise confidentiality," Ms. Patrick responded stiffly. "Everything related to personnel issues is an open topic for the partners. That's a part of my job."

  "Yes ma'am. I understand. I'll call back later today."

  I ended the call. People who didn't want to honor the Sabbath used Luke 14:5 as an excuse for just about any activity. I phoned home. Mama answered.

  "Is Daddy still there?" I asked.

  "Yes, I'll get him."

  "We're both here," Mama said after a few moments.

  I told them about my conversation with Ms. Patrick, leaving out Zach Mays. Daddy spoke.

  "We prayed about the situation last night and this morning," he said. "Your mother and I both agree that this is a Luke 14:5 situation. The ox represents your livelihood, and now that you tell us about the Monday luncheon, it's clear you need to be there. If the only way to make sure that happens is for us to move your things on Sunday, then that's what we'll do. I'll be at your apartment by ten in the morning. Try to have all your boxes ready by sundown on Saturday."

  "Yes sir," I mumbled.

  "What?" Mama asked.

  "Thank you," I said. "See you then."

  10

  WHEN DADDY ARRIVED, I THREW OPEN THE DOOR OF THE apartment and ran out to greet him before he turned off the motor. I threw my arms around his neck as soon as his feet touched the asphalt.

  "Well, that's a nice welcome," he said.

  "It's good to see you, Daddy," I said. "Sorry about what I'm putting you through."

  He kissed the top of my head in the usual spot.

  "Don't mention it again. Let's get your ox out of the ditch and load him on the truck."

  All the stuff going to Powell Station was loaded in the front of the truck. To the rear was the furniture I would use in Mrs. Fairmont's basement apartment, my summer clothes, pots, pans, and dishes, toiletries, and books to occupy my free time in the evenings. Daddy's foot was bothering him, so I jumped in and out of the truck to arrange the load. When we finished, Daddy tied a blue tarp over the top of the pile and lashed it down.

  "There's a chance of rain this afternoon as we get near the coast," he said.

  WE LEFT TOWN and followed the same route I'd taken to Savannah. Being with Daddy, my spirits lifted. I liked riding with him in Kyle's truck ten times better than driving an expensive convertible with the top down. As we rolled along, I asked question after question about the family.

  "Bobby starts at the chicken plant tomorrow," Daddy said.

  "Is he going to be an eviscerator?"

  "No, it wouldn't be good to throw him in with all those ladies. He's going to work on the loading dock."

  "Coming in or going out?"

  Dealing with frozen dead birds in cardboard cartons was much easier than the noise and stench of the live ones in wire-mesh crates.

  "Coming in," Daddy replied.

  Kyle's truck didn't have air-conditioning, and the late spring air blowing through the window was warm. I brushed a strand of hair from my face and returned it to the ponytail behind my head. I looked at Daddy. He was a relaxed driver, not stressed by the responsibilities of being on the road. Before he met Mama, he worked for a couple of years as a long-distance truck driver.

  "What was it like driving across the country?" I asked.

  "I liked it. But once I got married, I didn't want to be away from your mama for weeks at a time. Then when you came along, I had to come home every night and plant a new kiss on top of your head."

  "What did you do about driving on Sunday?"

  "My partner did it. He was a Seventh-Day Adventist. I drove on Saturday; he drove on Sunday. It worked out good for both of us."

  "Did you ever go to California?"

  "Los Angeles."

  "What was it like?"

  "Oh, the land out there is dry but green where they irrigate. It made me think about the verses in the Bible where the desert blooms like a rose. It's a fragile place. Unless people pipe in water, not much can live there. There are trees up in the mountains, but no forests on the flats."

  "What about the city?"

  He shrugged. "Every truck terminal is the same whether it's in Omaha or L.A. I couldn't tell you mu
ch about Los Angeles except that once it started it never seemed to stop. I never made it all the way to the Pacific. We'd drop a load, eat a steak at a truck stop, and head back."

  I stared out the window. Trees had always been part of the landscape of my world. I wondered if there were trees where Zach Mays' family lived.

  "One of the attorneys at the firm in Savannah is from Los Angeles," I said.

  "How did he get to Georgia?"

  "I'm not sure."

  We stopped for gas.

  "Do you want me to drive?" I asked.

  Daddy stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. "That would be nice. I talk about being a long-distance truck driver, but those days are long gone."

  The gears on Kyle's truck grated when I started off. Once I reached highway speed, Daddy leaned against the door frame and went to sleep. His ability to catch a nap at a moment's notice amazed me. He could stretch out on a blanket beneath the poplar tree in front of the house and doze off within seconds. Flip and Ginger would see him and curl up at his feet.

  A small convoy of large trucks passed us, and I thought about Daddy driving across the country. I wondered what other dreams he'd sacrificed to be home at night to kiss me on the top of the head. Like Daddy's truck-driving career, my summer job at the law firm in Savannah might be no more than a detour through Los Angeles on the way to a greater good.

  Daddy didn't wake up until we were close to the coast. He sat up and blinked his eyes as we passed a mileage marker.

  "Did that say twenty miles to Savannah?" he asked.

  "Yes sir. You must have been really tired."

  "It's been a long week. Your mama got her money's worth out of me yesterday. I spent several hours in the crawl space underneath the house spreading tar paper on the ground and treating for termites. Do you want me to take over?"

  "Yes sir, I'll pull off at the next exit. I don't trust myself shifting gears on the short streets of Savannah."

  WE ENTERED the historic section of the city, and I gave directions.

  "You already know your way around pretty good," he said as we made the third turn in four blocks.

  "Yes sir. It's not far to her house."

  The spring flowers I'd enjoyed during my first visit were giving way to summer's less-vibrant colors. Daddy had never been to Savannah.

  "It doesn't remind me at all of Los Angeles," he said as we passed the James Oglethorpe statue in Chippewa Square.

  "It's not Powell Station either," I said, wiping perspiration from my forehead. "There aren't any mountain breezes."

  We made a final turn, and I pointed to the house.

  "That's it, the one with the two large live oaks in front and ironwork up the steps. You can park at the curb."

  "How is living in a fancy place like this going to affect you?" he asked as the truck rolled to a stop.

  "Don't worry. I'll be living in the basement like a scullery maid."

  Daddy didn't smile. "Don't underestimate the power of the world to pull you into its grip."

  I pointed to my heart. "The truth you and Mama put in here is as alive as you are."

  I led the way up the steps and pushed the doorbell. Mrs. Fairmont answered wearing an expensive blue dress with pearls around her neck and the same diamond rings on her fingers. I introduced her to Daddy. He shook her hand and bowed slightly.

  "Hello, dear," she said to me. "Did you have car problems? I was expecting you yesterday."

  My eyes opened wider. "No ma'am. I thought you were out of town at a friend's funeral. Mrs. Bartlett sent me an e-mail the other night telling me you wouldn't be home until this afternoon."

  Mrs. Fairmont waved her hand in dismissal. "I told Christine about the change in plans. Didn't she get in touch with you? And it was a cousin who died, not a friend. The funeral was yesterday morning, and I came directly home. Sometimes Christine is worse about remembering than I am." The older woman's eyes brightened. "Today is a good day. I woke up feeling chipper this morning. How do you like my dress?"

  "It's beautiful," I managed, still processing the information that Daddy and I could have driven to Savannah on Saturday.

  "You have your father's eyes," Mrs. Fairmont said. "Come inside."

  "But thankfully she mostly looks like her mother," Daddy said as we entered the foyer.

  I turned to Daddy and mouthed an apology. He smiled and shook his head.

  "Would you like to see Flip? I told him you were coming."

  "Yes ma'am."

  "Have a seat in the blue parlor while I get him. He's in the courtyard."

  We went into the blue parlor. It was exactly the same except for a new arrangement of flowers. I heard the patter of little feet. Flip dashed into the room and began barking furiously. Daddy and I both lowered our hands in greeting. The little dog sniffed me briefly then spent more time examining the back of Daddy's hand. Daddy scratched the dog's neck.

  "Another friend." Mrs. Fairmont beamed as she came into the room. "Your whole family must have a way with animals."

  Mrs. Fairmont sat down, and Flip jumped into her lap.

  "I never let him do that when Christine is here," she said. "Now, Mr. Taylor, I want to thank you for letting Tami stay with me this summer. Are there any instructions about her conduct you want to share with me? I've raised two children, imperfectly I must admit, but I'm willing to do what I can to help mold her character."

  To my surprise, Daddy launched into a laundry list of guidelines, most of which would have been suitable for the twins. He included everything from cleaning my living area and helping with household chores to not staying out late at night and notifying Mrs. Fairmont when I wouldn't be home for supper. She nodded her head in agreement.

  "That's very helpful," she replied when he finished. "I'll try, but you know how young people can be."

  "Tammy is a fine young woman," Daddy replied. "All her mother and I ask is that you do the best you can. Now, we'd better unload her things from the truck."

  Daddy got up from the chair and left the room. Slightly numb, I followed him outside.

  "What was that all about?" I asked as soon as we reached the front steps. "Why mention all the rules to her? It sounded so juvenile."

  Daddy put his hand on the side of the truck and faced me. "You'll do all those things and more, but it satisfied Mrs. Fairmont, didn't it?"

  "Yes sir."

  "It was for her benefit, not yours. She needs to see herself giving you more than a bed to sleep in at night."

  We each carried a box into the house. Mrs. Fairmont was standing in the hallway with the door to the basement open.

  "I'd better stay here," she said. "I don't want to chance my luck on the stairs."

  Daddy followed me into the basement.

  "It's a plain room," I whispered. "Mrs. Bartlett thinks the dog lives down here. It was rented out years ago when this was a boardinghouse."

  I pushed open the door and stopped in shock. The efficiency apartment had been completely redecorated with new carpeting and furniture. I peeked into the bedroom. Light streamed in onto a pretty twin bed. There was a white chest of drawers with matching nightstand. I opened the door to a bathroom that was sparkling clean.

  "It's been totally redone," I marveled.

  I bounded upstairs.

  "Mrs. Fairmont, it's beautiful! You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."

  "Gracie and her nephews did all the work. It was fine as a hideout for Flip when Christine came for a visit, but not fit for a young lady like you."

  I leaned over and hugged her.

  "Thank you," I said.

  None of my secondhand furniture would look right in the garden apartment, so it only took thirty minutes to unload the truck. Everything else would spend the summer in Powell Station. It was work, but not as much as I'd expected. Mrs. Fairmont went into the den. Every time we passed the room on the way to the basement door, I could see her sitting in a chair, staring out the windows.

  "I'll unpack the other things after t
he sun goes down," I said to Daddy after I hung my dresses up in a long, narrow closet in the bedroom.

  We went upstairs. I knocked on the door frame of the den. "We're finished," I announced.

  Mrs. Fairmont didn't respond. I couldn't see her face. I turned to Daddy, who gave me a questioning look. I walked softly across the room.

  "Mrs. Fairmont? My father is leaving now. He'd like to say good-bye."

  I reached the chair. Flip was curled up on the floor at Mrs. Fairmont's feet. The old woman continued staring. I reached down and gently touched her on the arm. She jerked so violently that I stepped back.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her temples. "I have a headache. Did you hear the bird flying around inside the house? We need to open all the doors and let it out. It came in through the veranda."

  She pointed to a screened-in porch that overlooked the garden. I opened the door. All I saw was a set of beautiful wicker furniture and some green potted plants.

  "Mrs. Fairmont," I said calmly, "there's not a bird in the house. The doors are all closed."

  Mrs. Fairmont frowned and shook her head. "I heard it as plain as you talking right now. Be quiet and listen."

  We were all silent. Mrs. Fairmont waited a few moments then sighed.

  "It's gone." She looked up at me with sad eyes. "Or I had a hallucination. That can be part of my illness. What have I been doing?"

  "Sitting in this chair and staring out the window while we brought in my things and put them in the basement."

  "Gracie says I sit and stare at nothing. It's like my brain freezes up, and I don't know it. I'm so scared that IT put something on the stove and won't watch it."

  "Maybe I can cook for you," I said.

  Mrs. Fairmont stared out the window in silence so long that I thought she'd had another brain freeze. She turned in her chair and saw Daddy. He stepped forward and gently took her hand in his.

  "It was nice meeting you," he said. "I have to leave now. It's a long drive home."

  "Yes, it is," she responded then continued staring.

  Daddy and I quietly left the room.

  "Her condition may be more serious than her daughter realizes," Daddy said as we walked down the front steps. "Keep a record of what happens for her family and the doctors. And pray there will be a chance to tell her about Jesus."