Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope (18 page)

“If we believe it’s God’s will, the man can ask me to marry him. After he gets my parents’ permission, of course.”

“Wow. Does Zach know this?”

“Which part?”

“That you’re considering marriage.”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He didn’t grow up in the backwoods where you’re an old maid if you’re not married to your third cousin by the time you turn eighteen. Have you considered a brief period of fun before settling down to a lifetime of boring monogamy?”

“I can have fun without sinning.”

Julie held up her hands with her palms out. “Remind me not to touch you with my sin-stained fingers.”

“That’s not the point. Courting is about getting to know another person, not manipulating a relationship for selfish reasons.”

“And you can share a milk shake through separate straws, but if you want to take the tingles up a notch, you’ll have to graduate from holding hands while you pray. I think you should have encouraged him to kiss you, and if you need pointers on how to reel him in faster than a hungry catfish, I’m your expert.”

I decided to shift the topic of conversation.

“Do you like Joel?” I asked.

Julie shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a talented photographer, a nice sum-mer diversion, and a better-than-average kisser.”

“Have you thought about marrying him?”

“Not really. I’m in no rush to populate a minivan with a load of fat babies.”

“Which is fine. And I’m not entirely focused on that with Zach, but at our age it would be naive to ignore the possibility that the next man we meet might be our husband.”

Julie nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. The old biological time clock is ticking, and if we don’t find a soul mate soon, we could end up eating dinner alone in a nursing home.”

I laughed. The door to the library opened. It was Myra Dean. She pointed at me.

“I hate to break up the party, but Mr. Carpenter wants to see us about the Paulding case in the main conference room.”

“Could Julie come, too?” I asked. “She wrote a research paper in school last year about libel and slander.”

“Tell me more, Julie.”

“I worked on it an entire semester. One of my professors is writing a book on tort law in Georgia and needed background material for the section on defamation. I think he’s going to mention me in tiny print after he praises the person who typed the manuscript.”

“Do you have access to your work?”

Julie opened the drawer in the middle of the table and took out a sheaf of papers.

“Here are four copies.”

Myra took two of them. “Okay, both of you meet me in the conference room in five minutes. Mr. Carpenter will decide if you’ll become part of the team.”

Myra left.

“Go team,” Julie said as she handed me a copy of the paper.

I flipped through the section headings. I could see the research was heavily annotated.

“This is impressive.”

“Don’t suck up to me. I’m proud of my legal analysis. But how can that compare with someone like you who has two men panting after her? I’d trade with you any day of the week.”

“Two men?”

“Don’t think Vinny has given up. He’ll want to hold your hand while you pray and see how he registers on the tingle meter.”

I blinked.

“Yeah, it’s the eyes that lure them in.”

JULIE AND I WALKED together to the conference room.

“Will the client be there?” she asked.

“I hope not. He’s kind of creepy.”

“Don’t be judgmental. Remember, he’s the victim.”

Mr. Carpenter was sitting at the end of the shiny table with Myra to his left.

“I’ve looked over Julie’s research paper,” Mr. Carpenter said, placing the report on the table. “I know Professor Hamilton. We played golf last year at Wild Dunes near Charleston.”

“How was his golf game?” Julie asked.

“Not as good as your writing. Given your recent review of the topic, it makes sense for you to work on this case.”

Julie and I sat down next to each other.

“Do you still need me?” I asked.

Julie kicked me under the table.

“Of course,” Mr. Carpenter replied. “You’re going to give me insight into the twisted religious motivations of Reverend Dabney.”

“That will be second nature for Tami,” Julie said.

Mr. Carpenter stared at Julie for a second, then laughed. “I get it. That was a joke.”

“Yes, sir,” Julie replied with a smile.

I kicked her under the table.

“You can use Julie’s paper to prepare interview questions for the witnesses,” Mr. Carpenter continued. “Divide the names and find out who can provide the best testimony. It’s not just about finding friendly faces but people whose testimony will support an element of the case. Someone can be hostile, yet helpful.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, not sure what he meant.

“If you get good information, make arrangements to record a statement or prepare an affidavit. We’ll notice the best candidates for deposition as soon as the case is filed.”

“When will you depose Dabney?” Myra asked.

“What do you think?” Mr. Carpenter asked, looking at Julie and me.

My mind raced in several directions at once.

“Depose Dabney first,” Julie responded. “She might admit what’s needed to prove the case without realizing it. From what Tami says, she seems like an arrogant person who won’t consider the legal implications of her opinions and actions.”

I didn’t remember describing Reverend Dabney as arrogant.

“But what if the other deponents give me a lot of insight into what I should ask her?” Mr. Carpenter asked.

“Then take her deposition again based on newly discovered evidence. She might contradict her earlier testimony, which will be an added bonus.”

“Do you agree?” Mr. Carpenter turned to me.

“Uh, I still think we should make an effort to resolve the dispute.

All we have to go on is our client’s allegations, and they might prove unfounded. If that happens, we’ve wasted time and money.”

“So, you think I should write Dabney a letter and invite her to come into the office for a discussion about Paulding’s offer to buy the house and the church?”

“Yes, sir. It might make the expense and risk of a lawsuit unnecessary.”

Mr. Carpenter nodded thoughtfully. “After Jason’s blood pressure returned to normal on Friday, he called me and we discussed that very thing. He considered it, but in the end insisted we go straight to litigation, the sooner the better. He doesn’t have much confidence in lawyer letters, and I agree. They’re usually ignored.”

Myra’s fingers were rapidly tapping the keys of her laptop. I’d seen her memos of meetings in files. They were court-reporter accurate.

“Who will assume my role?” Myra asked.

“One of the associate attorneys,” Mr. Carpenter said. “I’m not sure who that will be.”

“Why is Myra not going to help?” I asked.

“She’s taking a leave of absence from the firm,” Mr. Carpenter said.

I stared at the paralegal, whose face was set like stone.

“Is it a health problem?” I asked.

“It’s personal,” the paralegal answered curtly.

“I wasn’t trying to be nosy,” I said, feeling my face redden.

“What about Ned Danforth?” Mr. Carpenter asked. “He’s outgoing and people like him, which would help when dealing with potential witnesses.”

“Could you ask someone else?” Julie said.

“Why?” Mr. Carpenter asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’ve worked with Ned on other projects this summer.”

“It’s personal,” Julie answered. I could see the side of her neck turn red.

“Zach Mays could do it,” I added quickly. “He and I worked well together in the Moses Jones case.”

“Zach’s not really a litigator,” Mr. Carpenter replied with doubt in his voice.

“But he’s very insightful when it comes to investigation. He steered me in the right direction when I got off track in the Jones case. He thought of issues that hadn’t crossed my mind, and if the supervising attorney doesn’t have to take the lead in court, he could supervise Julie and me.”

Mr. Carpenter studied me for a few seconds. I held my breath.

“I’d like an opportunity to work with Zach,” Julie added.

“Have either of you talked to him about the case?”

“I mentioned it briefly,” I replied. “He said that it sounded interesting.”

It was an incomplete truth, and I immediately felt guilty because Zach had also made it clear that he didn’t want to get involved.

Mr. Carpenter turned to Myra. “Organize the file and deliver it to Zach. I’ll send him an e-mail letting him know his responsibilities. I’ll give these ladies what they want and see how it works out.”

Julie and I left together but didn’t speak until we reached the library.

“I couldn’t believe I said that about Ned,” Julie said as soon as the door was closed. “It just popped out. Ever since the day on the boat, I’ve avoided him, but I think he’s mad at me, too.”

“Why would he be mad at you?”

“Because I made him feel like a rejected seventh grader.”

“You shouldn’t have to put up with any harassment.”

“Anyway, thanks for coming to my rescue with your suggestion about Zach. I don’t know what I would have done if Mr. C had started to cross-examine me.”

“And I don’t know what I’m going to tell Zach when he finds out what I did.”

“I thought he was interested in the case.”

“Yes, but only in a hypothetical way. We discussed it twice over the weekend, and I can bring it up again at dinner tonight.”

“That will work,” Julie answered, puckering her lips and touching them with her index finger. “Wait until he finishes eating; then make him forget about anything except being close to these.”

13

SISTER DABNEY HADN’T TAKEN A DAY OFF OR VACATION IN FIVE years. She didn’t rest because poverty and suffering respected neither clock nor calendar, and she told people, “God rested on the seventh day, but not me.”

Over the past two days, Sister Dabney had spent a lot of time with the boy beaten by his father. After the young man slept a few hours, ate a hot breakfast, and listened to her preach on Sunday morning, he cried tears of repentance at the front of the church. His aunt picked him up following the service and promised to come back in the evening. Neither of them showed up. Another member of the congregation told Sister Dabney they’d left town in the afternoon before the boy’s father could post bail.

She didn’t blame them. The boy might not be back, but Sister Dabney had done her part. She warned him in advance, took him in when he suffered, fed and clothed him, and pointed him in the right direction. She’d planted many spiritual seeds since leaving the mountains as the seventeen-year-old bride of a flamboyant twenty-one-year-old redheaded preacher named Russell Dabney. She didn’t know whether the ground where most of her seed fell was rocky or fertile. Those questions wouldn’t be answered until harvesttime.

Sister Dabney’s version of the gospel didn’t sound like good news to most listeners. She used fearful illustrations of judgment to warn of coming wrath. Her preaching sounded dated in twenty-first-century America. A seminary professor from Atlanta brought a class to hear her one Sunday. He sat calmly through the threats of fire and brimstone, but several of the students squirmed in their seats. Afterward, he thanked her for the opportunity to experience what he called “primitive religion.” She responded with a piece of personal information about the professor’s private life that caused his face to pale before he quickly left the building.

Sister Dabney had limited opportunities to rail at the rich about the judgment to come. Most of her flock worked menial jobs, collected aluminum cans, dived into Dumpsters for discarded food, panhandled at traffic lights, and did anything else they could to make a few dollars or find something to eat. They were the type of people churches helped with Thanksgiving turkeys and donations of extra clothes in winter. Sister Dabney firmly believed the poor needed more than an occasional handout; they, too, were called to repent and live a holy life. Thus, she refused to let them hide behind poverty, either as a perverted seal of approval or an irreversible sign of judgment. Sin was the problem, and Jesus the solution. The road to heaven was narrow and hard. Get on it or abandon all hope.

Monday morning at eleven o’clock, she poured a cup of sweet tea and squeezed in the juice of half a lemon. She sat in the blue rocker on the porch.

And waited to see who the Lord would send by.

JULIE HAD TO MEET a deadline on another project, so I spent most of the morning preparing interview questions for the witnesses in
Paulding v. Dabney
. One of my goals was to create a comfort level with the process. To do that, I decided Julie and I should begin each interview by telling the person a little bit about ourselves. Since we were only summer law clerks, the environment would be less intimidating for people than talking to an experienced lawyer like Mr. Carpenter and might give us an edge in uncovering information. Julie’s research memo was helpful in crafting questions that sounded innocent yet had legal significance.

“Got it!” Julie said, breaking a long silence. “It’s an Eleventh Circuit case directly on point. I can’t believe Ned didn’t know it existed. He should stick to legal issues simple enough for his postfraternity, keg-party brain to process.”

“Congrats.”

Julie pushed her chair away from the computer screen and stretched her arms up in the air.

“Do you think Zach has received the memo from Mr. C yet?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I hope he’s not mad.”

Julie touched her lips. “Don’t fear. Remember your secret weapon.”

I minimized the computer screen. “I’d better call Mrs. Fairmont and ask permission to have supper with Zach.”

“Tell her it’s an emergency.”

I dialed the number for the house. An unfamiliar voice answered.

“Is this the Fairmont residence?” I asked.

“Yes. Tami, is that you?”

It was Mrs. Bartlett.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Mother and I were just discussing your job performance this summer. She’s very pleased with the way things are working out, and I must say, I am, too. Your references assured me you were a responsible young woman who wouldn’t shirk her duties, and you’ve proven them right. I had my doubts, especially when I found out you didn’t have a cell phone. And then you got all wrapped up in that situation with the death of the Prescott girl decades ago, but as far as I know, you’ve not been sneaking out late at night and leaving Mother alone with that lifeline thing around her neck, which I doubt she’d be able to press if something happened to her.”