Moses sat up in the boat and pulled back the netting. Two sets of dark brown pants, khaki shirts, and shiny black shoes came into view. When he could make out faces, he saw two young deputiesone white, the other black. He took a deep breath and relaxed. These were flesh-and-blood men.
'Moses Jones, boss man.'
The black deputy spoke. 'Who gave you permission to tie up at this dock?'
Moses looked at the rope looped over the wooden piling. He couldn't deny his boat was connected to the dock. He quickly appealed to a broader reality.
'The river. It don't belong to nobody,' he said.
'The river belongs to the State of Georgia,' the same deputy responded. 'And this dock belongs to the folks who live in that house over there.'
Moses peered through the mist but couldn't see a house.
'Don't strain your eyes,' the white deputy said. 'There is a house there, and the people who live there built this dock, which is private property. You're trespassing.'
'No sir. I didn't set one foot on this here dock. I've just been asleeping in my boat, not bothering nobody but myself.'
'Do you have any identification?' the black deputy asked.
'I ain't got no driver's license. I don't own a car.'
The deputy pointed to the white bucket in the front of the boat. 'What's in that bucket?'
'Two little of fish that I'll cook for my dinner,' Moses replied, then had an idea. 'Would you gents like 'em? They're nice-size croakers, plenty of meat and plenty of bones.'
'Are you trying to bribe us?' the white deputy asked.
'Uh, no sir, boss man. I'm just sharing my catch.'
'We don't want your fish,' the black deputy said. 'Do you have a fishing license?'
'Yes sir. I sure do. I be totally legal.'
Moses kept his fishing license in the bottom of his tackle box. He opened the box and rummaged around until he found it. He handed it up to the deputy, who inspected it.
'This expired two months ago.'
Moses' face fell. 'I guess the date slipped right past me. What are y'all going to do to me?'
The two deputies glanced at each other. The black one spoke.
'Mr. Jones, there are surveillance cameras on several docks up and down this stretch of the river. A man fitting your description has been illegally tying up his boat for months, and a lot of people have complained. We're going to have to take you to the jail.'
'What about my boat?'
'It will be confiscated as evidence,' the white deputy replied.
'What do that mean?'
The black deputy spoke. 'It will go to the jail compound too. We'll keep it in the lot where we put stolen cars.'
'But this boat ain't stole! It was give me by Jabo Nettles, the bartender who used to work at the Bayside Tavern. He got to where he couldn't use it 'cause of his sugar.'
'Do you have a registration for it?'
'What's that?' Moses asked, bewildered.
'Mr. Jones, get out of the boat and come with us.'
SUNDAY MORNINGS, I usually stayed at my apartment. There wasn't a church in the area similar to my church in Powell Station, and I preferred solitude with God to apostate religion. I had a drawer full of cassette tapes of sermons by Pastor Vick and guest preachers at our church. I'd listened to some of them so many times that I'd almost memorized the messages.
Two men from the rental car company came to pick up the convertible. I'd carefully checked the car to make sure it hadn't been scratched or dinged by another vehicle. It was a good lesson in the burden imposed by the objects of wealth. Watching after them was a hassle.
'How fast did you get it up to?' one of the men asked as he checked the mileage.
'Not above the speed limit.'
The man looked at his coworker and rolled his eyes. 'And I only had two beers last night. High-performance cars like this have to be pushed every so often to keep them running right. Use or lose it.'
The other man eyed me. 'Isn't that right, sweetheart?'
I set my jaw. 'Do you want me to contact the district manager of your company and ask him why one of his employees called me `sweetheart'?'
The man held out his hand. 'I was only trying to be friendly.'
'Professional would be a better goal.' I put the car keys in his palm. 'Thanks for picking up the car.'
I peeked out the window of my apartment and could see the two men shaking their heads as they talked about me. Modest apparel helped keep males at bay, but it wasn't armor that prevented all attacks. The closest I'd come to physical harm happened in high school. One of the boys on the basketball team surprised me with a crude grab around the waist and attempted to kiss me on the lips while we walked in the dark from the gym to the bus. He received a stinging right hand to the cheek that knocked him back a couple of steps and left a mark I could see the following day at school.
After the men from the car rental company left, I spent the remainder of the afternoon reading a devotional book written by a sixteenth-century Puritan writer. The old saints had a better grasp of the demands of the gospel than contemporary Christians. In Oliver Cromwell's era, believers like my family would have found a welcome seat around the cultural campfire. Sometimes, I felt like I'd been born 350 years too late.
As soon as the sun set I called home. Mama held the phone so Daddy could listen. I told them about the rental car without the detail that it was a convertible and described the bed-and-breakfast simply as a clean place to stay. I provided a lot more information about my meeting with Mrs. Fairmont. Mama interrupted when I told about Flip and the use of my dress to save the rug.
'I never made you clean up a spill with your dress,' she said.
'But you made me willing to do it. There's no telling what the rug on the floor was worth. I'm presoaking the dress in the sink right now. I think the stain will come out.'
'And don't get any ideas about bringing a Chihuahua into our house,' Daddy added. 'I can tell you liked the little fellow, but if a dog can't scare possums away from the chicken coop or chase squirrels out of the cornfield, it won't find a place around our table.'
'When was the last time Flip and Ginger ate in the kitchen?' I asked.
'You know what I mean,' he replied.
I could picture the twinkle in his eyes.
'I won't bring home a pet without permission,' I reassured him. 'But a house dog might be just what you and Mama need after we're all grown and on our own.'
'That's a ways off,' Mama said. 'Emma and Ellie seem slow to mature. Yesterday they got in an argument that would have shamed a pair of five-year-olds.'
'The relationship between Mrs. Bartlett and her mother lacked maturity too,' I said.
Mama and Daddy listened as I told them about my honesty with Mrs. Fairmont and her response.
'That cleared the way for her to ask me to live with her,' I said. 'What do you think?'
As soon as the question escaped my lips, I realized I'd made a terrible mistake. I'd accepted the invitation to live with Mrs. Fairmont without obtaining my parents' permission. It was an amazing lapse of protocol for an unmarried woman. Letting me make the decision to work in Savannah for the summer did not give me unfettered authority over my life. I could hear Daddy and Mama talking softly to each other on the other end of the line but couldn't make out what they were saying. If they rejected the arrangement, I would have no option but to call Mrs. Fairmont and Mrs. Bartlett and ask their forgiveness for prematurely acting without permission. Daddy spoke.
'Go ahead and stay with Mrs. Fairmont if you have peace about it. But don't be surprised if her daughter gives you trouble at some point.'
'Yes sir,' I said with relief. 'I'll try to be a blessing to both of them, and it will help me save more money for the school year.'
After my near miss on the Mrs. Fairmont issue, I decided not to mention my visit to the law firm. Mama would
