don't go to movies, the obedience to parents, the way you honor the Lord's Day by not doing anything on Sunday except go to church meetings. They don't realize that what makes you special is on the inside-your integrity and strength of character. That's rare, especially when joined with your intelligence.'
Mr. Callahan's words made me uneasy. It sounded like an invitation to pride. I kept silent.
'Is it all right for me to share my opinion?' he asked.
'Yes sir. That's why I'm here.'
The lawyer tapped his fingers on his desk. 'Just the answer I expected, and although my ideas don't always line up with your beliefs, hear me out. When I look at you, I appreciate what my grandfather and those like him stood for. The strict ways don't work for everyone, but in your case they do. And I'm open-minded enough to acknowledge the good done by God's grace when I see it.'
'Yes sir.'
'So, what are you going to do about the job?' the lawyer continued.
'Could I work for you?' I blurted out.
Mr. Callahan smiled. 'That's not the bait in the water. But to be honest, I thought about it after Joe Carpenter called me. I even prayed about it.'
My eyes opened wider.
'Does that surprise you?' he asked.
'No sir. I mean, I guess it does a little bit.'
'I believe in prayer,' the lawyer said. 'What does the Bible say? God blesses the children of the righteous to how many generations?'
'A thousand generations.'
'Did they teach you that in law school along with the rule against perpetuities?'
'No sir. It's in Deuteronomy.'
Mr. Callahan nodded and spoke thoughtfully. 'Well, I'm only two generations removed from a very righteous man, and all my life I've felt the stirring of his influence in my soul. When I prayed about offering you a job, the Lord told me to `ask for a continuance.' When does a lawyer request a continuance?'
'When he's not ready to try a case.'
'Or when the case isn't ready for the lawyer to try.'
I mulled over his words for a moment before responding. 'Do you think I have to learn more before I'm ready to make a decision about coming back to Powell Station?'
'Maybe, but don't treat my opinion like someone standing up at the church and saying, `Thus saith the Lord.' I don't claim infallibility or divine imprimatur. And it's not just about you. I need time to decide what I'm going to do over the next few years. Someday, I want to spend more time feeding my cattle than fighting with insurance companies. Unless I simply close the doors when I retire, I need to bring in a younger lawyer or two who can develop rapport with my clientele in preparation for taking over my practice.'
I knew the meaning of patience. Instant gratification wasn't part of my upbringing.
'Yes sir. Can I share what you've told me with my parents?'
He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. 'I'd expect you to. And if you need Internet access or use of the fax machine while you're home, come here.'
'Thank you.'
I stood up. Mr. Callahan spoke. 'Don't let go of the good planted in you.'
'Yes sir.'
As I drove home, I couldn't shake a deep longing that, in spite of his comments, Mr. Callahan might offer me a job. It would be a gracious next step along the path to independence. As I rounded a familiar curve, I appealed the lawyer's decision to a higher judge.
'Lord, could you tell him a continuance isn't necessary?'
AFTER SUPPER THAT NIGHT, Daddy, Mama, and I returned to the front porch. After making sure neither of the twins was eavesdropping, I told them about my meeting in town. I left out the part about praying that Mr. Callahan might change his mind. Mama started to interrupt a few times, but Daddy put his hand on her arm.
'That's it,' I said when I finished.
'So, the Spirit still moves on his heart,' Daddy said. 'Why would he wander from the fold?'
'His mother didn't like our ways,' Mama replied. 'And a family that isn't of one mind is a house divided. It will fall.'
'But he's aware of his heritage,' Daddy answered. 'Do you think Pastor Vick and some of the elders should visit him?'
Mama was silent for a moment as they rocked back and forth. 'It would be a glorious homecoming.'
I stared across the darkening yard, not sure what my parents' interest in Oscar Callahan's spiritual pilgrimage meant to me. I needed them to make a decision. The Braddock, Appleby, and Carpenter job offer wouldn't remain outstanding indefinitely. If I didn't accept it, and Mr. Callahan didn't change his mind, my summer would be spent with thousands of dead chickens. I cleared my throat.
'What about Savannah?' I asked.
'We'll seek the Lord about it tonight,' Daddy said. 'And tell you in the morning.'
Daddy's comment wasn't a religious put-off. He and Mama believed in praying until they received a definite answer. I'd seen the light shining beneath their bedroom door in the middle of the night when an issue of importance to the family required guidance from the Lord. People at our church would tarry at the altar as long as it took to find peace.
'I'll pray too,' I answered.
'It's right that you should,' Mama replied. 'A cord of three strands isn't easily broken.'
4
MOSES JONES LIVED IN A WATERFRONT SHACK ON AN UNNAMED tributary of the Little Ogeechee River. Years before he'd selected a place so marshy and uninhabitable that no one would have an interest in disturbing his privacy. No mobs of angry white men looking for a scapegoat threatened him.
It took several months to build his single-room dwelling with scrap lumber and plywood. When he finished, it rested on stilts four feet above the ground. Twice hurricanes damaged the house, but each time Moses scavenged enough lumber to rebuild.
It was a ten-minute walk through the woods to the lean-to where he kept his bicycle beside a narrow road. Every Monday morning, he pedaled into Savannah where he spent the day collecting aluminum cans to sell at the recycling center. He didn't pick up cans alongside the road. Moses had an arrangement with several bars and pubs that allowed him to haul away their beer and soft drink cans in return for cleaning around the back of their buildings. Included in his wages at one of the pubs was a free meal. The high point of Moses' week was sitting on a delivery dock savoring a plate piled high with spicy chicken wings.
After he sold the cans, Moses would buy a few fishhooks and fill up a plastic bag with free food from the community food pantry. Clothes and shoes were castoffs that couldn't be sold at a local thrift store. He washed his clothes once a month at a Laundromat. People mistakenly considered him homeless. They didn't know about his shack in the woods. He never begged or panhandled.
The old man's most expensive regular purchase was the kerosene that powered his stove, heater, and lantern. He'd strap a five-gallon plastic container onto his bike rack and fill it with fuel at a hardware store. Five gallons of kerosene would last a long time in the warm summer months when he only used it for cooking, but in the winter he had to buy more. Winter was hard on animals and hard on Moses.
Fish and an occasional squirrel he caught in a metal trap were his sources of fresh protein. Moses liked fish coated in cornmeal and quick-fried; a gray squirrel grown fat on acorns from live oaks provided a different taste in meat. He drank water boiled in a large pot and poured into milk jugs. Alcohol hadn't passed his lips since he'd worked years before as a bolita runner for Tommy Lee Barnes.
Moses slept on eight pillows wrapped in an old sheet and laid on the floor. It was a lumpy mattress, but it was
