Tides of Truth [03] Greater Love (24 page)

“That’s right. I also know that if she gets out and has no place to stay except here or on the street, Jessie is going to leave town, and we’ll lose our chance to snatch her from the fire.” Sister Dabney pointed her finger at me. “But if she gets out and stays with you and Mrs. Fairmont, the Lord says she won’t run. It’s part of his plan.”

My mouth dropped open. “Mrs. Fairmont would never allow—”

“How do you know that if you don’t ask her?”

“And you have to consider her daughter. Mrs. Bartlett had a hard time agreeing to let me live with her mother. If I mention the possibility of a defendant in a criminal case moving into the house, it may be the end of my staying there.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I hesitated. “No, Mrs. Fairmont wouldn’t let that happen.”

“She still rules her house.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The Lord is asking both of us to take a risk, to sacrifice something. Do you remember what I told you about risk?”

“It’s related to faith.”

“And about you as a lioness?”

“That I shouldn’t be afraid.”

“What else?”

I thought for a moment. My eyes grew big.

“That she has cubs. Are you saying I should treat this young woman as my child?”

Sister Dabney laughed. I didn’t think it was funny.

“Your decision only affects you,” I continued. “Letting Jessie stay with Mrs. Fairmont isn’t my choice to make.”

“Which means your job is to ask her permission and trust God for the answer.”

I sighed. Sister Dabney stared at me for a few seconds and then spoke in a more tender voice.

“Tami, the Christian life consists of one sacrifice after another. When you view those situations as opportunities, not problems, you’ll understand what it means to take up your cross and follow the Lord. The ability to really help people is God’s gift to those willing to lay down their lives for others.”

“Okay,” I responded slowly. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Fairmont, but you’ve got to pray for me.”

“I already have.”

“Is she going to agree to do it?”

“Sometimes the Lord takes delight in hiding things as much as he does in revealing them.”

I rocked back and forth in the chair a few times as I tried to imagine myself talking to Mrs. Fairmont. Sister Dabney interrupted my thoughts.

“And your search for love will only succeed when you’re more interested in giving than receiving. There’s a greater love that romance doesn’t know.”

I felt the blood rush from my face.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. The Lord is jealous. He won’t share the deepest devotion of your heart with any man.”

“Are you saying I’m never going to get married because it’s not the kind of love God has for—”

Sister Dabney cut me off. “I said what I said. And it’s true whether you like it or not. Be careful that your selfish desires don’t knock you off course.”

My stomach clenched in a knot. “I need to go. I’ll let you know what I decide about Jessie.”

W
HEN
I
REACHED THE CAR,
I
TURNED ON THE AIR CONDITIONER
full blast. In my mind I returned to the night in my apartment when I read 1 Corinthians 7. The apostle had no qualms recommending singleness for those who could accept it. And logic couldn’t deny that undistracted dedication to the Lord was easier without the competing presence of a spouse. Now, Sister Dabney held up an even more austere future—one marked by the sacrificial life of Jesus
and
the celibate life of Paul.

W
HEN
I
PULLED INTO THE OFFICE PARKING LOT,
I
REALIZED
I’
D NOT
said a word to Sister Dabney about Shannon. I could have returned to Gillespie Street, but, lioness or not, I didn’t have the strength to do so. After walking quickly through the reception area to avoid Shannon, I put my head in my hands and rested my elbows on my desk.

Toward the end of the day, I’d calmed down enough to at least make a stab at evaluating Jessie’s case. Tackling my own future would have to wait. Taking out a fresh legal pad, I decided to write down my options. I wrote my new client’s name at the top of the page.

One approach would be to allow Sister Dabney to post a property bond and talk to Mrs. Fairmont about Jessie moving in with us. I put large question marks at both ends of that statement. Beside one of them I wrote “Christine Bartlett.” Beside the other I wrote “Breakdown of Attorney-Client Relationship.” Even as a brand-new lawyer, I knew a certain detachment was best between attorney and client. Living in the same household would make that impossible.

Second, I could simply represent Jessie to the best of my ability. That could be done whether Jessie was in jail or released on bond. In fact, it might be easier to help her if she remained confined and unable to get into more trouble or run away from a criminal charge I had a reasonable chance of taking care of. It was an avenue that made sense as the best legal solution, although it might leave Jessie sitting in jail.

Third, I could file a motion to lower Jessie’s bond and make an effort to contact Jessie’s aunt, uncle, or some other relative. A family member could post bond and Jessie would be released into the care and custody of the people God ordained to take care of her in the first place. If she ran away, it would be their responsibility, not mine.

Fourth, if Jessie was eighteen or older, she was an adult responsible for herself. If released from jail on bond, it would be appropriate for her to seek refuge in a local facility that served homeless women. I could provide money for her needs either directly or to the shelter. I brightened at the idea, which would allow me to be unselfish yet maintain the kind of distance needed for a healthy attorney-client relationship.

Seeing options on paper made me feel better. Trying to get my arms around the whole problem was overwhelming; separating it into parts made it manageable. I then spent forty-five minutes trying unsuccessfully to locate Jessie’s lawyer uncle in Alabama.

When I left the office for the day, I carried the legal pad with me in case I had any other ideas later in the evening.

I was thankful for Flip’s unpretentious greeting in the foyer. He pattered down the stairs from the second floor and skipped into the foyer. The little dog held me to no greater standard of conduct than my willingness to scratch the favorite place behind his right ear for a few seconds.

“Mrs. Fairmount! I’m home!”

There was no answer. Seeing that Flip had been upstairs prior to my arrival, I called up the stairwell.

“Mrs. Fairmont! It’s Tami!”

Again no answer. I checked in the kitchen and then the den, but the TV was lifeless. It wasn’t the first time I’d arrived to a quiet house, but it always made me nervous.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I said to Flip, who had been following me from room to room.

The little dog scampered up the stairs in front of me and disappeared into Mrs. Fairmont’s bedroom. I followed and peeked through the open door. The elderly woman was propped up in bed, still dressed in her nightgown with a book on the floor where it appeared to have fallen out of her hand. I put my purse and the legal pad on the dresser near the door and hurried over to her. I couldn’t see her chest rising and falling and gently touched her on the shoulder.

“Mrs. Fairmont. Wake up.”

She suddenly snorted so loudly that I jumped. Flip barked. Her eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times and gave me a puzzled look.

“Did I oversleep?” she asked groggily. “Is it morning?”

“No, ma’am. It’s six o’clock in the evening. I just got home from work.”

“Have I been in bed all day?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered, glancing around the room and looking for signs of activity. “This wasn’t one of Gracie’s days to work. Are you hungry?”

Mrs. Fairmont rubbed her eyes. “I’m thirsty.”

“Do you want me to bring something to you?”

“No,” she said, swinging her legs slowly over the side of the bed. “I should have gotten dressed hours ago.”

“There’s no use going to that trouble now. It will be time to go back to sleep in a few hours.”

“Nonsense. I’m not going to eat supper in my nightgown. See what’s in the refrigerator, and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t properly dressed.”

Getting dressed every day was part of Mrs. Fairmont’s strategy for maintaining an independent lifestyle.

“What would you like to eat?” I asked.

“Something light. Maybe a salad.”

I returned to the kitchen and put together a fresh spinach salad with cherry tomatoes, then added roasted chicken for protein. I heard Mrs. Fairmont’s footsteps in the hallway.

“I’ve fixed a nice salad. Do you want to eat in here or the dining room?” I asked when she reached the door.

“Who is Jessie Whitewater?”

I glanced up. Mrs. Fairmont, wearing a slightly wrinkled dress, was standing in the doorway with my legal pad in her hand.

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to see that,” I said, stepping forward.

Mrs. Fairmont gave the pad to me. “It was on top of my dresser.”

“I know.”

“Why is Christine’s name written on there? Is she having some kind of legal trouble?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then what does she have to do with Jessie Whitewater? I don’t remember Christine mentioning anyone by that name, although it would be easy for me to forget.”

“Mrs. Bartlett doesn’t know Jessie Whitewater.”

“Then why are their names beside each other?”

I sighed. Mrs. Fairmont was being as persistent as Julie.

“We’ll talk about it over supper.”

We ate in the dining room. Mrs. Fairmont liked the table set with silverware and cloth napkins, even when it was only the two of us. Once, I’d gently suggested using paper napkins, but she’d turned up her nose and replied it was cheaper and more civilized to use cloth ones. We settled into our usual places with Flip beneath Mrs. Fairmont’s chair. I prayed a blessing then began to eat. Mrs. Fairmont seemed to enjoy the salad and began telling me about the book she’d been reading when she fell asleep. She stabbed a small piece of chicken with her fork and held it over the floor. Flip stood on his hind legs and caught it in the air when she slipped it off her fork.

“One day, when Christine is here, I’m going to let him eat a morsel directly from my fork, then continue as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.”

Mrs. Fairmont held out her hand and let Flip lick the ends of her fingers.

“I’m listening,” she said to me.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me about Christine and Jessie Whitewater.”

I swallowed a bite and then took a sip of water.

“She’s a young woman Judge Cannon appointed me to represent.”

Mrs. Fairmont listened attentively as I told her about receiving the call from the judge and going to the courthouse. I tried to walk the line between public information and confidential communication. The most important piece of data I knew I couldn’t relate had to do with Jessie’s other thefts and breakins.

“She stole a bag of donuts?” Mrs. Fairmont asked when I told her the nature of the charge.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Aren’t there public facilities where homeless people can get a meal?”

“Yes, ma’am. And she’d been eating regularly at Sister Dabney’s house. It wasn’t a case of starvation.”

“The woman with the rocking chairs?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We talked for quite a while, then after I left she sent a letter to the judge asking for a different lawyer.”

“Why?”

“Maybe she didn’t like my connection with Sister Dabney or was afraid to put her freedom in the hands of an inexperienced lawyer.”

“You’ll work as hard as anybody.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, grateful for the compliment. “But she doesn’t know that. Anyway, the judge refused to take me off the case.”

Mrs. Fairmont nodded. “Cliff Cannon was stubborn when he was a little boy.”

“You knew Judge Cannon when he was a child?”

“Oh, yes. His mother and aunt were friends with my mother, and they’d bring him over to the house. I was in high school, and my mother would ask me to watch him while they drank tea in the parlor of our house at Beaulieu. He’d stamp that foot of his and refuse to obey me. The only way to get him to cooperate would be to give him something sweet to eat.”

I tried to wrap my mind around Judge Cannon as a little boy who could be bribed with sugar.

“He was the kind of boy who would have stolen a sugar donut if a batch was left unwatched on a plate,” Mrs. Fairmont continued. “Would that be burglary?”

“Not if he had permission to be in the house, but it would still be theft. Anyway, I don’t think reminding him about his love for sugar donuts is a good idea.”

“How do you think Christine can help?” Mrs. Fairmont asked. “I saw a question mark by her name so I guessed you wanted to ask her something.”

I put my napkin beside my plate. “Actually, the first question is for you. Sister Dabney is willing to post a property bond so Jessie can get out of jail, but she wants her to live with us while the case is pending in court. Otherwise, Sister Dabney believes Jessie will run away.”

“Live here?” Mrs. Fairmont asked, blinking her eyes.

“I know, it’s a crazy idea,” I replied, speaking more rapidly, “especially when I consider bringing it up with Mrs. Bartlett. That’s why I wrote all the other information on the legal pad. It was a way for me to get my options on paper and sort them out. I only listed Jessie living here because it was the first possibility mentioned. Legally, the best thing to do would be to leave Jessie in jail while I—”

“Have you prayed about it?” Mrs. Fairmont interrupted.

I stopped. It was my turn to blink my eyes.

“Kind of.”

“Isn’t that what both of us should do?”

“Yes, but if a stranger came into the house, there’s no way to guarantee she wouldn’t steal something a lot more valuable than a bag of donuts and leave.”

“Will you get my Bible from the den and bring it to me?” Mrs. Fairmont asked.