Home Fires

20

“Thou Shalt Not Steal”—Exodus 20:15

—Island Road Baptist

The storm that had been threatening all afternoon finally tore loose shortly before four-thirty as I was finishing up for the day. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, a stiff wind tore leaves and twigs from the oaks that surrounded the courthouse and rain came down in such heavy sheets that when I looked out through the glass doors, visibility was less than a block.

Naturally I’d left my umbrella on the car.

“A real frog-strangler,” commented Thad Hamilton as he came up and looked out over my shoulder.

Thad’s one of the new breed. The first time he ran for county commissioner, he was a Democrat and finished far back in the pack. The second time around, he switched parties and became the first Republican elected to the county board in this century. He’s about six-one, heavyset and, though only in his early forties, has a thick shock of prematurely white hair that makes his slightly florid face look even more youthful than it would have under ordinary salt-and-pepper.

“Sorry I couldn’t make y’all’s pig-picking, but I was at a fund-raiser for King Richard.”

“We missed you,” I said with sweet insincerity, “but I know Richard Petty’s going to need all the money he can get if he actually wins the Secretary of State race—oh, but wait a minute! Didn’t he say he was going to keep his STP endorsements, win or lose?”

“He won’t lose,” Thad said with the confidence of one who knows his man’s ahead in the polls by double digits. “NASCAR champion versus that lady from Lillington?”

Never mind that Elaine Marshall was a sharp attorney and former state senator. As he travelled around the state, signing hats and T-shirts, Richard Petty couldn’t seem to remember either her name or her title. It was always “that lady from Lillington.” She talked of strategies to strengthen the office and better serve the state’s business interests overseas; he didn’t seem real clear on what the office entailed but was sure it was something that wouldn’t take up more than three days a week.

Of all the Council of State candidates, she was the one I most wanted to win. Unfortunately, Thad was right. To most statewide voters, Elaine Marshall was a virtual unknown and King Richard knew how to win races.

“You’ve got an easy time of it this year,” Thad said. “Running unopposed.”

“Yeah, that sort of surprised me, too,” I admitted. “I thought sure y’all’d put somebody up.”

“We had bigger fish to fry this year?” he said. “But don’t worry. We’ll get down to your level next time.”

He unfurled a huge red-and-white-striped golf umbrella. “Walk you to your car, Judge?”

“Thanks,” I said, “but I think I’ll wait for it to let up a little.”

Water was rushing across sidewalks and street too fast for the storm drains to handle it all and I knew that even if I shared Thad Hamilton’s umbrella, my favorite pair of cork-heeled red sandals would be wrecked before I was halfway to the parking lot.

Fortunately, there was nowhere I needed to be until the Harvey Gantt rally out at the community college at six o’clock. Too, I hadn’t really talked to Dwight on Saturday, so I took the back stairs down to the Sheriff’s Department.

“Sorry, ma’am,” said Deputy Jack Jamison. “Major Bryant and Sheriff Poole got called out to Mount Olive this afternoon and they’re not back yet. I know he plans to swing by here before he goes home. Can I leave him a message?”

“If he gets back before five, tell him I’m in the Register of Deeds office,” I said and went back upstairs to pester Callie Yelverton.

So far as we know, Miss Callie was the first Colleton County woman ever elected to a countywide office and she sort of got it by default since her daddy had held it from 1932 till his death in the seventies. (A county commissioner was the second and a school board member was third. I am the fourth.)

I had expected the records room to be empty, what with the rain and the late hour, but there were at least a dozen people busy with the big oversized books. I recognized a couple of attorneys’ clerks, including Sherry Cobb, the office manager from Lee and Stephenson. Most of the others worked for the bigger developers. With the county’s building boom, developers were knocking on kitchen doors all up and down every dirt lane, chirping, “Hi, there! Y’all interested in selling?”

I couldn’t find anything in the index for Burning Heart of God, so I tried Byantha Williams. She was listed, but that particular deed book wasn’t on the shelf, so I looked up Balm of Gilead instead.

Its origin was as the papers had reported: “Witnesseth, that said Leon Starling, in consideration of five hundred dollars and other valuables to him paid by Augustus Saunders, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, does convey to said Augustus Saunders and his heirs and assigns a certain tract or parcel of land in Cotton Grove Township, Colleton County, State of North Carolina, bounded as follows.”

I wondered if the saintly Augustus Saunders had indeed thrown in the jug of moonshine that Charles Starling impugned him with.

A subsequent deed transferred that parcel to the board of trustees of Balm of Gilead Baptist Church.

Sherry spotted me and motioned me over. “Reid said you were there for lunch. Sorry I missed you.” She was copying from the deed book that lay open on top of the waist-high bookcase in front of us.

“Is that the Burning Heart of God deed you’re copying?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. Were you looking for it, too?”

She moved over a little so that I could read the simple deed in which Langston King did convey to Washington Renfrow “one acre upon which to build a Negro church. And should said church cease to exist or remove itself from that place, then the land shall revert to Langston King or, if he be dead, to his heirs and assigns.”

Twenty-seven years ago, probably at the death of Washington Renfrow, another deed transferred title to Byantha Renfrow Williams, Chairman of the Board of Trustees for Burning Heart of God Holiness Tabernacle Church.

At this point, it could be argued that Sister Williams owned the church outright while an opposing attorney could no doubt argue that the church was a separate entity and owner of the land as implied in the original deed. Each would have a fair chance of winning the case depending on which way the wind was blowing or what day of the week Tuesday fell on.

“Technically, the church didn’t remove itself,” I mused aloud.

“But it’s sure ceased to exist,” said Sherry as she continued copying the deed’s provisions in her rapid shorthand of hooks and curlicues.

“The building’s ceased to exist,” I agreed, “but the church itself is a body of worshippers, not walls and roof.”

“You know, I never thought about it like that, but you’re absolutely right. You see all you need to?”

I had.

As she slid the thick canvas-bound book back into its place on the lower shelf and went off to look up something else, I was left to think.

How about if Sister Williams declared Burning Heart of God legally defunct or else removed permanently to the storefront in Cotton Grove? She could let the land revert as specified in the deed and, since Mrs. Avery was the only surviving child of Langston King’s only child, the land would then be safe from any immediate judgment. At that point, Sister Williams could declare bankruptcy and she’d have no assets a creditor could attach. If and when the church raised enough money to rebuild, Mrs. Avery could restore her grandfather’s legacy.

“You’re a judge now,” the preacher inside my head reminded me. “You’re not supposed to give legal advice, remember? Besides, Reid’s smart. He’ll probably come up with the same idea.”

“And if he doesn’t,” said the pragmatist, “you can always give him a little nudge tomorrow.”

“But what about the poor man who lent Sister Williams money? Declaring bankruptcy to avoid her debts is the same as stealing from him.”

“His reward is in heaven,” said the pragmatist.

Dwight was in his office and on the phone when I dropped by a second time. He motioned me in as he finished the call, hung up the receiver and leaned back wearily in his swivel chair. The chair was old and creaked as if it couldn’t hold up under his six-three frame, but he didn’t seem worried. He pulled the bottom desk drawer out with the tip of his boot and propped his size elevens on the ledge till he was nearly horizontal. His boots were caked with mud and so were the cuffs of his pants. His short-sleeved blue shirt was wet from the rain and there was a dark smudge on the shoulder.

I took the armchair across from him and saw the weariness on his face. He was supposed to have driven Cal back to Virginia yesterday and he’d probably gotten home late. “Rough day?”

“Yeah, you could say so. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just wondered if you’d talked to Reid this afternoon?”

“Not yet.” Dwight fanned some message slips with Reid’s name on them. “You know what all these are about?”

“I probably ought to let him tell you.”

“Probably. But all I’m getting is his answering machine, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me yourself?”

Dwight listened in silence till I got to the part about Bobbie Jean Last-name-unknown being afraid of what her husband would do to Jerry Somebody if he found out they’d gone bass fishing together somewhere up in Massachusetts.

“Bobbie Jean Pritchett and Jerry Farmer.”

“You know them?”

“Be nice if Bagwell had told us this before,” he sighed.

“Before what?”

“Before Cecil Pritchett gave Farmer three broken ribs, a concussion, and a broken jaw.”

“What?”

“Last night around nine. Pritchett made bail this morning. Farmer’s over in Memorial Hospital. Bobbie Jean’s hightailed it. Probably to her sister in Massachusetts for real this time.”

“Can Farmer talk?”

“Could when he finally came to last night,” said Dwight. “His jaw’s wired shut right now, though.”

“Can he communicate well enough to corroborate Bagwell’s story?”

Dwight gave a palms-up gesture. “Who knows? I’ll tell Ed Gardner, but I wouldn’t count on him turning Bagwell and Starling loose anytime soon though. Starling might not’ve struck the match, but that’s sure his printing on the walls.”

“But if those boys didn’t do it,” I said, “you’ve got an arsonist running around loose.”

“But if they did do it, we don’t have to worry about any more fires right now God knows we’ve got enough on our plate as it is.”

“What?” I asked, realizing that he was more weary than a late drive home should have caused. “Something else has happened, hasn’t it?”

He nodded. “Guess you might as well know. It’ll probably be on the six o’clock news if it isn’t already. They found another body out at Mount Olive.”