Deeper Water by Robert Whitlow Page B

of green in the downtown area. I explored the park and ran around a fountain with a statue of a Confederate soldier facing north on top. I left the park and ran south all the way to the Savannah River. Large container vessels slowly moved upriver to the port area. I ran along River Street, past Factor's Row and the Cotton Exchange. The streets were deserted. I felt the gates of the city had been opened just for me. As I jogged, I prayed that everywhere I set my feet would be a court of praise.

    I crossed West Bay Street and reentered the historic district. After several wrong turns I finally stumbled upon Lafayette Square. There wasn't a place for a long, wide-open sprint, but I ran twice around the square at top speed before coasting to a stop.
    When I returned to the B and B, preparations for breakfast were complete, a lavish spread of food that included everything from grits to quiche.
    After taking a shower, I selected a bright dress that shared colors with the fruit platter downstairs. The dress reached to the midcalf of my leg. While I brushed my hair, I practiced standing up straight. Mrs. Bartlett was right about one thing. Good posture was always in style.
    Downstairs, I sampled most of the items on the breakfast buffet. At home I ate a big breakfast because there was work to do that would burn up plenty of calories. Breakfast at the buffet was decadent-food for the sake of food. I bowed my head for a blessing before starting and kept a thankful attitude all the way to the final pastry.
    After I finished, I returned to my room, brushed my teeth, and applied a very faint hint of lipstick not much darker than my natural color. Sunday mornings at home were makeup-free, but Mama said God ordained beauty to females in the human family and subtle enhancements were acceptable-as long as there was no intention to allure. The only times I saw Mama wearing makeup were rare occasions when Daddy took her out to dinner. She claimed her attractiveness to him was based on inner qualities, not her outward appearance. Daddy whispered to me and the twins that he thought Mama was the most beautiful woman, inside and out, in the whole world.

    I was blessed with naturally long eyelashes, and in college I'd experimented with a light touch of eye shadow. I liked the change, but I'd always quickly rubbed it off. Each time I put it on I thought it looked nice, but I'd never left the bathroom with it in place. This morning I gave it another try. Perhaps it was the fancy room or being in a new town, but this time I didn't remove it. Also, there was no chance of causing a man to sin since I would only be meeting with Mrs. Bartlett and her mother.
    I sat in a comfortable chair in the corner of the narrow foyer that served as the lobby. The people coming and going seemed at ease with the sumptuous surroundings. Or perhaps they were pretending. A well-dressed woman in her fifties came in, and I nervously swallowed, but she wasn't Mrs. Bartlett. A grandfather clock chimed the hour. I thought about reading a magazine, but nothing on the coffee table looked interesting. At 10:15 a.m. a short, slightly overweight woman with reddish-blonde hair burst through the front door and scanned the room. I stood up.
    "Mrs. Bartlett?"
    "Yes, yes," she said. "You must be Tami."
    I tried not to stare at Mrs. Bartlett's obviously dyed hair as she approached. It was accentuated with highlights that would require a lot of maintenance. She was wearing a blue silk blouse, black slacks, and sandals that revealed a pedicure as flawless as her hair color. I held out my hand, but Mrs. Bartlett ignored it and gave me a hug that included a European greeting. She had to rise up on her toes to deliver the peck on both my cheeks.
    "You certainly are statuesque," Mrs. Bartlett continued.
    "Yes ma'am. I played basketball in high school."
    "An athlete? You'd never know it now, but I had a five handicap in golf until about ten years ago. I beat Ken all the time, although I never