Tides of Truth [02] Higher Hope by Robert Whitlow Read Free Book Online

she saw no need for unusable information.
    She poured a cup of coffee. There was a knock on the front door. Visitors to the house weren’t always friendly. There was another knock. She sighed and took a sip of coffee before walking down the hall. She peeked through the spy hole. It was a young man who came to the church when hungry. He was in his midthirties but looked ten years older. Sister Dabney opened the door.
    “What do you want, Rusty? You walked out of the meeting the other night before it was over. Have you been drinking this morning?”
    “You don’t have to ask, sister. You know that for yourself.” The man wiped his hands against dirty jeans and looked at her hopefully. “A hot biscuit would be nice.”
    “There are biscuits in the oven if you’re willing to work for them, and there are a few bits of ham left in the skillet.”
    “If ’n a man don’t work, he don’t eat,” Rusty replied. “I know my Bible. You taught me.”
    “You can have two ham biscuits if you’ll pick up the trash left by those heathens wanting to steal God’s property from me. The men hauling off what’s left of Harrison’s Garage didn’t bother to clean up after they ate lunch behind the church yesterday.”
    “Did you preach at ’em?”
    “No, I wasn’t home.”
    “Can I do my chore after I eat? I’m feeling kind of puny.”
    Sister Dabney pointed to the door. “There are black plastic bags in the empty planter on the porch. Fill a bag up to the brim and come back for your biscuits.”
    Sister Dabney closed the door after him and watched through the spy hole as Rusty picked up a plastic bag, shook it out, then dropped it back in the planter. The homeless man took a few steps, stopped, and after a glance back at the door, returned to pick up the bag and head toward the church. Sister Dabney opened the door.
    “That’s what repentance looks like, Rusty,” she called out after him.
    “You decide it’s better to bag up the trash of life than go off looking for something in a bottle that can’t really take away how rotten you feel.”
    Rusty waved his hand in the air without turning around. Sister Dabney returned to the kitchen and put a fresh piece of country ham in the skillet. It would be sizzling brown by the time the trash bag was filled.
    I AWOKE TO THE CALL of Chester the chicken. Our rooster needed no clock except the sun in the east. And he didn’t wait for broad daylight. Chester summoned forth the day with all the volume his chicken lungs could muster.
    After a few mornings at home, Chester’s crowing became part of the background noise, but the first day it always wrenched me from sleep with a shock. I put my head under the pillow, but it was no use.
    Chester was persistent, his crowing piercing. I sat on the edge of the bed. Ellie and Emma were still asleep, as unaffected by the rooster’s noise as I’d been when I was their age.
    Saturdays were workdays at our house, but since Zach was here I put on a plain skirt, collared blouse, and sandals. Getting dressed at home was so different from in Savannah. I tied my hair in a ponytail and then, after inspecting it critically, decided it looked better brushed out and falling across my shoulders.
    I walked softly downstairs. The door to Mama’s sewing room was closed. Mama wasn’t in the kitchen. Suddenly I had a sinking feeling that Zach had left in the night. Holding my breath, I rushed into the front room to look out the window. Zach’s car was still there. When I turned around, he was standing in the doorway, watching me.
    “Good morning,” he said.
    “Hi,” I said, gasping slightly. “Did you hear the rooster?”
    “It was hard not to. Are you okay?”
    “Yes.”
    Zach stepped closer to me and spoke in soft voice. He was wearing blue jeans, a red T-shirt, and tan boots. He had dark eyes and chiseled features that would make attracting women simple. I glanced down at my homey skirt and wondered why he was interested in a girl like