Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope by Robert Whitlow

straighter. “Did you say Dabney?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Rachel Dabney?”
    “No, sir. Her name is Ramona.”
    “Do you know her husband’s name?”
    “No, I’m not sure she’s married.”
    “It’s probably a coincidence, but there was a young evangelist named Russell Dabney who traveled briefly with my father in the early years. I think his wife’s name was Rachel. Both of them were preachers, but the wife had a scary gift.”
    “What kind of gift?” Zach asked.
    “She could call people out of the congregation and list their secret sins, everything from adultery to usury. She only had to do it the first night. After that, as soon as she stepped behind the pulpit, people would start running to the altar. I wondered if her information came from God or someplace else. My father never told me why they went their separate ways.”
    “Do you think it might be the same person?” Zach asked.
    “If it is, you’ll know it quick.”
    “I won’t be having any contact with her,” Zach said. “I’ll leave that up to someone like Tami who doesn’t ever sin.”
    “I don’t know about Tammy Lynn being sinless,” Mr. Callahan answered. “She took a fancy pen from my office one time, without permission.”
    I sat up in indignation. “I was ten years old. Mama brought me back that same day as soon as she found it in my purse. I confessed my sin, and you gave me the pen.”
    “You’ve always been quick to repent.” Mr. Callahan smiled.
    “Mr. Callahan’s father was a famous preacher,” I continued, turning toward Zach. “He was one of the founders of our church.”
    “That I don’t attend anymore.”
    “But you’re welcome to come back.”
    “That’s nice of you, Tammy Lynn, but there are others with longer, less-forgiving memories.” Mr. Callahan pointed to the refrigerator.
    “Speaking of forgiveness, forgive me for not being a better host.
    Would either of you like a glass of lemonade or iced tea?”
    “Thanks, but we should be leaving,” I said, glancing at my watch.
    “Not on my account,” Mr. Callahan said. “I’ve been lonely out here. People are afraid to come see me because they don’t want to tire me out, but it makes me feel forgotten. Seeing your face has made this the best day of the week.”
    “That’s nice of you to say. I just have to have Zach home in time to clean the catfish for supper. He wants to drive the nail through the head of the one that stung him.”
    “Drive a nail?” Zach asked.
    “You’ll see,” I answered.
    “I had a case one time that involved catfish,” Mr. Callahan said.
    “At least stay until I can tell you about it.”
    I loved Mr. Callahan’s stories. While Zach and I drank lemonade, the older lawyer told us about a man who slipped and fell on a muddy riverbank while fishing with his boss on company time. The men worked third shift and when everything was running fine at the mill, often slipped out and went fishing. The supervisor didn’t know how to properly handle catfish and took the other fellow along as his mate. One night, they hooked a lunker and the worker injured his back trying to land the fish. The workers’ compensation insurance company denied the claim, but Mr. Callahan convinced the judge that helping his boss fish was a regular part of the man’s job.
    “I relied on the company picnic cases where a worker is hurt playing in a softball game and gets benefits,” Mr. Callahan said. “But the judge was mostly interested in finding out the size of the fish. It had grown huge eating chicken innards flushed into the river by the plant where Tammy Lynn’s father works.”
    “They do that?” Zach asked.
    I shrugged. “I think they grind them up first. It’s organic.”
    The older lawyer rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. I could tell he was tired.
    “Thanks for everything, Mr. Callahan,” I said, standing up. “But we really must be going. We’ll load the steers and deliver them to Kyle. Please give my regards to