The Reckoning

Chapter 36

Two weeks after his execution, the last will and testament of Pete Banning was probated in the Chancery Court of Ford County. John Wilbanks had prepared the will not long after the trial. It was straightforward and left the bulk of Pete’s assets in a trust for Liza, with Wilbanks serving as the trustee, or controller. Pete’s most valuable asset, his land, had already been deeded to Joel and Stella in equal shares, and this included their fine home. Pete had insisted on a stipulation that Liza be allowed to live in the home for the rest of her life, provided she did not remarry, and provided that she was one day released from Whitfield. John had cautioned him that such a clause might be hard to enforce if the children, as owners, for some reason wanted to prevent their mother from living there. The will had other problems, all carefully pointed out by the lawyer and all stubbornly ignored by the client.

At the time of his death Pete owned his farm equipment, vehicles, and bank accounts, from which Liza’s name had been removed after her commitment. Before then, the accounts had been held jointly, but Pete did not want her to have access to the money. His personal checking account had a balance of $1,800. His farm account, $5,300. And he had $7,100 in a savings account. A week before his execution he transferred $2,200 to Florry’s account to cover the expenses of Joel’s and Stella’s education. He also gave her a small metal safe containing just over $6,000 in cash and gold coins, money that could never be traced. He had no loans and no debts, save for the usual ongoing expenses of running the farm.

He instructed John Wilbanks to probate his estate as soon as possible and file tax returns. He appointed Florry his executrix, and, in writing, told her to pay the Wilbanks firm whatever was owed, and left her a list of other matters to attend to.

In 1947, good farmland in Ford County was worth approximately $100 an acre. In broad strokes, Pete left to his children real estate worth around $100,000, including the home. To his wife, he left about one-fourth of that amount, all tied up in a trust, and, as John Wilbanks pointed out over and over, all subject to trouble should Liza decide to challenge the will.

Pete was certain that she would not.

Upon opening the estate, Wilbanks followed the statutory requirement of posting a notice in the county newspaper on three consecutive weeks to alert potential creditors that all claims against the estate must be filed within ninety days. No other information about the estate was given, none was required.

Over in Rome, Georgia, Errol McLeish received through the mail his weekly copy of The Ford County Times. He scoured it every week to monitor the news, and he was waiting on the notice to creditors.

Soon after the burial, Joel and Stella left the pink cottage. It had been a pleasant place to come home to from college, with hot food on the stove, a fire in the winter, music on the phonograph, and Florry with all of her eccentricities and animals, but she was such a large presence that the walls closed in quickly.

They settled into their old bedrooms, and went about the impossible task of trying to breathe some life into their home. They opened the doors and windows in an effort to circulate fresh air; it was summer and the heat and humidity suffocated the land. The phone rang constantly as all manner of strangers and friends called with kind words, or ridiculous questions, or meddlesome requests. They finally stopped answering it. There was a flood of mail and they opened and read the letters. Most were from war veterans who said nice things about Pete, though few had known him personally. For a few days, Joel and Stella attempted to answer the letters with short notes, but soon grew weary of the task and realized it was futile. Their father was gone. Why respond to total strangers? The mail piled up in his abandoned study. A few kind souls from town brought out dishes and desserts, the usual ritual after a death, but when Joel and Stella realized that most of the visitors were only curious, they stopped going to the door.

Reporters came and went, all looking for an angle or a quote, but they received nothing. One from a magazine hung around until Joel shooed him away with a shotgun.

Nineva was of no help. She was crushed by the death of her boss and couldn’t stop crying. She busied herself in the mornings with halfhearted efforts at cooking and cleaning, but by noon she was too exhausted to work. Stella usually sent her home midday, happy to have her out of the house.

Each evening, after supper and just before dark, as the heat broke, Joel and Stella walked the dirt trail to Old Sycamore and had a word with their father. They touched his tombstone, had a tear, said a prayer, and walked back toward the house, arm in arm and speaking softly and wondering what in the world had happened to their family. As the long days passed, they accepted the reality that they would never know why their father had killed Dexter Bell, just as they would never know why their mother had had such a devastating mental breakdown.

They told themselves that they did not want to know. They wanted to escape this nightmare and get on with their lives, lives to be lived somewhere far away.

Joel called the director at Whitfield, for the third time, and asked to visit his mother. The director promised to consult with her doctors, and called back the following day with the news that a visit was not permissible. It was the third denial, and as with the first two the reason was that she was not able to receive visitors. Nothing more was said, and the family speculated that Liza had been informed of Pete’s death and had slid even deeper into her dark world.

Before he died, Pete made no provision for the appointment of a successor guardian for his wife. Joel met with John Wilbanks and insisted that he ask the judge to appoint either him or Stella, but Wilbanks wanted some time to pass.

This angered Joel and he threatened to hire another lawyer to represent him and the interests of his mother. Under pressure, he proved to be quite an effective advocate, quick with his tongue and smart with his reasons. John Wilbanks was impressed enough to mention to his brother Russell that the kid might have a future in the courtroom. After two days of constant badgering, John relented and walked with Joel across the street to meet with Judge Abbott Rumbold, the ancient dictator of chancery court. For many years, Judge Rumbold had been doing whatever John Wilbanks asked him to do, and within an hour Joel was appointed the new guardian of his mother’s care. He obtained a certified copy of the new court order and immediately called Whitfield.

On August 7, four weeks after the death of their father, Joel and Stella drove south to see their mother for the first time in more than a year. Florry was ambivalent about tagging along, and Joel, the new man of the house, suggested that she wait until the next visit. Eventually, that was fine with Florry.

The same guard they had confronted months earlier was waiting with a clipboard at the gate, but the paperwork seemed less cumbersome. Joel drove straight to building 41 and, armed with his court order, marched inside to see Dr. Hilsabeck. The two had spoken by phone the day before and everything was in order. The doctor was somewhat pleasant for a change, and after reviewing the edict from old Rumbold, he clasped his fingers together and asked how he might help.

Stella went first. “We want to know what is wrong with our mother. What is her diagnosis? She’s been here for more than a year, so surely you can tell us what’s wrong with her.”

A tight smile, then, “Of course. Mrs. Banning is suffering from intense mental distress. The term ‘nervous breakdown’ is not really a medical diagnosis, but it’s used quite often to describe patients like your mother. She suffers from depression, anxiety, and acute stress. Her depression leaves her with no hope and thoughts of suicide and self-harm. Her anxiety is evidenced by high blood pressure, tense muscles, dizziness, and trembling. She suffers from insomnia one week and then sleeps for hours and hours the next week. She hallucinates, sees things that are not real, and often yells at night when she has nightmares. Her mood swings are extreme, but almost always on the dark side. If she has a good day, one in which she appears somewhat happy, it is almost always followed by two or three days of darkness. At times she is virtually catatonic. She is paranoid and thinks someone is stalking her, or that someone else is in the room. This often leads to panic attacks in which she is stricken with absolute fear and has trouble breathing. These usually pass within an hour or two. She eats little and refuses to take care of herself. Her hygiene is not good. She is not a cooperative patient, and in group therapy she goes into total isolation. We were seeing a slight improvement before the murder of Dexter Bell, but that event proved to be catastrophic. Months passed and she got better, then your father was executed and Liza regressed considerably.”

“Is that all?” Stella asked, wiping her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is she schizophrenic?” Joel asked.

“I don’t think so. For the most part, she understands reality and does not engage in false beliefs, with the exception of an occasional bout of paranoia. She does not hear voices. It is difficult to determine how she would act in social settings since she has not been released from here. But, no, I do not diagnose your mother as schizophrenic. Severely depressed, yes.”

Stella said, “Eighteen months ago our mother was fine, or at least she certainly appeared to be. Now she’s suffering from what sounds like a severe nervous breakdown. What happened, Doctor? What caused this?”

Hilsabeck was shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I agree with you in that it was something traumatic. From what I gather, Liza and the family managed to survive the news that your father was missing and presumed dead. His return was a joyous event, one that I’m sure brought great happiness, not severe depression. Something happened. But, as I said, she is not very cooperative and refuses to go into her past. It’s quite frustrating, really, and I fear that we may not be able to help her until she is willing to talk.”

“So, how is she being treated?” Joel asked.

“Counseling, therapy, a better diet, sunshine. We try and get her outside but she usually refuses. Barring any more bad news, I think she will progress slowly. It’s important that she sees you.”

“What about medications?” Stella asked.

“In this business, there are always rumors of antipsychotic drugs in development, but they appear to be years away. When she’s not sleeping or overly anxious we give her barbiturates. Also, an occasional pill for high blood pressure.”

There was a long pause as Joel and Stella absorbed the words they had been desperate to hear for so long. The words were not encouraging, but perhaps they were the beginning. Or, the end of the beginning.

Joel asked, “Can you put her back together, Doctor? Is there a chance she can one day go home?”

“I’m not sure home is a good place for her, Mr. Banning. From what I gather, it’s a rather dark and somber place these days.”

“You could say that,” Stella said.

“I’m not sure your mother can handle more bad news at home.”

“Nor can we,” Stella mumbled.

Dr. Hilsabeck suddenly stood and said, “Let’s go see Liza. Please follow me.”

They marched down a long hall and stopped at a window. Below them in the distance was a grove of trees and a series of wide walkways around a small pond. Near a pretty gazebo a lady sat in the shade, in a wheelchair, with a nurse close to her side. They seemed to be chatting. “That’s Liza,” Hilsabeck said. “She knows you’re coming and she’s eager to see you. You can exit through that door.” He nodded and they backed away.

Liza smiled when she saw them. She reached for Stella first and pulled her close, then did the same with Joel. The nurse smiled politely and disappeared around a corner.

They maneuvered the wheelchair to a park bench and sat facing her. Joel held one hand, Stella the other. They had braced themselves for how terrible she might look, so they tried to appear unsurprised. Pale, extremely thin and gaunt, and with no makeup or lipstick or jewelry, nothing to remind them of the beautiful and vivacious woman they knew and loved. Her sandy-colored hair was graying and pulled back into a bun. She wore a thin white hospital gown and her bare feet were exposed.

“My babies, my babies, my babies,” she said over and over as she clutched their hands and tried to smile. Her eyes were so disturbing. Gone was their color and exuberance, replaced by a hollow, unblinking stare that, at first, did not meet their eyes. She cast her eyes down a few inches and seemed to be looking at their chests.

Minutes passed as Liza mumbled about her babies while Joel and Stella patted her gently and tried to think of something to say. Assuming any conversation was good, Joel finally said, “Dr. Hilsabeck says you’re doing great, Mom.”

She nodded and said softly, “I guess. Some days are good. I just want to go home.”

“And we’re going to take you home, Mom, but not today. First, you’re going to get well, you’re going to eat better, get some sun, do whatever the doctors and nurses tell you, and then one day soon we’ll take you home.”

“Will Pete be there?”

“Well, uh, no, Mom, Dad will not be there. He’s gone, Mom. I thought the doctors told you this.”

“Yes, but I don’t believe them.”

“Well, you should believe them because Dad is gone.”

Stella rose gently, kissed her mother on the top of her head, and walked behind the gazebo, where she sat on its steps and buried her face in her hands.

Thanks for nothing, sis, Joel thought to himself. He began a windy narrative about nothing, or at least nothing to do with the obvious fact that they were sitting in the garden of an asylum with their mother, who was mentally ill. He talked about Stella and her upcoming return to Hollins for her junior year, and her plans to land a job in New York. He talked about his own decision to enroll in law school. He was accepted at Vanderbilt and Ole Miss but was thinking of taking a year off, maybe to travel. As he gabbed, Liza heard his words and lifted her eyes as if soothed by his voice. She smiled and began to nod slightly.

He wasn’t sure about the law and therefore might take a break from his studies. He and Stella had spent time in D.C. and enjoyed themselves, and he had met a friend there who owned a restaurant and had offered him a job.

After a good cry, Stella returned and joined in the one-way conversation. She went on about her time as a nanny in Georgetown, and her upcoming courses, and her plans for the future. At times, Liza smiled and closed her eyes as if their voices were a pleasant narcotic.

The clouds disappeared and the midday sun beat down with a fury. They pushed her wheelchair to a shaded area under some trees. The nurse watched them but kept her distance. During a lull, Liza whispered, “Keep talking.” And they did.

An orderly brought sandwiches and glasses of iced tea. They arranged their lunch on a picnic table and encouraged Liza to eat. She took a few bites of a sandwich but showed little interest. She wanted to listen to their lovely young voices, and so they talked, tag-teaming and always careful to keep their stories far away from Clanton.

Long after lunch, Dr. Hilsabeck appeared and suggested that the patient needed some rest. He was delighted with the visit and asked if Joel and Stella could return the following day for another round. Of course they could.

They kissed their mother good-bye, promised to be back soon, and drove to Jackson, where they found rooms at the stately Hotel Heidelberg in downtown. After checking in, they set out on a walk to the state capitol and back, but the heat and humidity were too much. They retreated to the coffee bar, asked the waiter about alcohol, and were directed to a speakeasy behind the hotel. There they ordered drinks, and tried not to talk about their mother. They were tired of talking.

Chapter 37

Because he did not have a license to practice law in Mississippi, Errol McLeish was required to associate local counsel for his carefully laid plans. He never considered hiring anyone from Clanton. All the good lawyers there were kin to the Wilbankses anyway. McLeish wanted a lawyer with an aggressive reputation who was well-known in north Mississippi, but with no close ties to Ford County. He took his time, did his research, asked around, and finally selected a Tupelo lawyer named Burch Dunlap. The two met a month before Pete’s execution and began laying the groundwork. Dunlap liked the case because it had the potential for press coverage, and, at least in his opinion, it would be an easy win.

On August 12, Dunlap, on behalf of his client Jackie Bell, filed a wrongful death suit against the estate of Pete Banning. The lawsuit set forth the facts as virtually everyone knew them, and asked for half a million dollars in damages. In an unexpected twist, it was filed in federal court in Oxford, not state court in Clanton. Jackie Bell claimed to now be a resident of Georgia and thus entitled to relief in federal court, where the jurors would be summoned from thirty counties, and where sympathy for a convicted murderer would be difficult to find.

Since Florry was the executrix of the estate, papers had to be served upon her. She was in the backyard tending to her birds when Roy Lester appeared from nowhere with a look of deep concern.

“Bad news, Florry,” he said, tipping his hat. He handed over a thick envelope and said, “Looks like more legal trouble.”

“What is it?” she asked, knowing full well that he and Nix and probably everybody at the jail had read whatever was in the envelope.

“A lawsuit filed by Jackie Bell, over in federal court.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

“Would you sign right here?” he asked, holding a sheet of paper and a pen.

“For what?”

“It says that you have been served with the lawsuit and you have it in your possession.”

She signed, thanked him, and took the papers inside. An hour later, she barged into John Wilbanks’s office and charged up the stairs. She thrust the lawsuit at him and fell onto the sofa in tears. John lit a cigar as he calmly read the three-page pleading.

“No real surprise here,” he said as he sat in a chair across from the sofa. “It seems as though we’ve discussed this as a possibility.”

“A half a million dollars?”

“An exaggeration, just part of the business. Lawyers typically demand far more than they expect to receive.”

“But you can handle this, right, John? There’s nothing to worry about?”

“Oh, I can handle it all right, in the sense that I can defend the lawsuit, but there is much to be concerned with, Florry. First, the facts, and they are fairly well established. Second, Burch Dunlap is a fine lawyer who knows what he’s doing. Filing in federal court is a brilliant move, and, frankly, one I didn’t expect.”

“So you knew this was coming?”

“Florry, we discussed this months ago. Jackie Bell’s husband was murdered and the killer had assets, which is unheard of.”

“Well, I don’t remember what we discussed, John, to be honest. My nerves have been shot to hell this past year and my poor brain can’t take much more. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Nothing for you. I’ll defend the lawsuit. And we’ll wait for more to come.”

“More?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

They waited two days. Burch Dunlap filed his second lawsuit in the Chancery Court of Ford County and named as defendants Joel and Stella Banning. Errol McLeish figured the two would soon be leaving to pursue their studies, and decided to serve them with process before they left town. Roy Lester again drove out to the Banning farm and handed papers to Joel, Stella, and Florry.

Being sued by a good lawyer was uncomfortable enough, but facing two lawsuits with little in the way of defenses was terrifying. The three defendants met with John and Russell Wilbanks, and while it was somewhat comforting to be in the presence of loyal friends who were fine lawyers, there was an unmistakable sense of uncertainty in the air.

Could the Bannings really lose their land? Florry’s, of course, was safe, but the deed to Joel and Stella was being attacked by a lawyer who knew what he was doing. It was clear that Pete had planned the murder, and in doing so attempted to transfer his most valuable asset to his children in an effort to avoid the claims of judgment creditors.

The Wilbanks brothers discussed what might happen in the months to come. They agreed that Dunlap would probably press hard for a trial on the wrongful death claim, and, assuming he won, and frankly it was difficult to see how he could lose, then he would bring his judgment to the Chancery Court of Ford County and assault their land. Depending on who won and who lost in which trial, the litigation and appeals could drag on for years. Attorneys’ fees could be substantial.

John Wilbanks promised a vigorous defense on all fronts, but his show of confidence was not altogether believable.

They left his office in a depressed state and, on a whim, decided to drive to Memphis, to the Peabody, where they could drown their worries at the elegant bar, eat a fine meal, spend a carefree night, and get out of Ford County. Better burn some cash while they had it.

Joel drove, perched like a chauffeur alone up front with the gals in the rear seat, and for several miles nothing was said until they crossed into Van Buren County. Stella broke the ice with “I really don’t want to go back to Hollins. Classes start in three weeks and I cannot imagine walking into a classroom and trying to listen to a lecture on something as unimportant as Shakespeare when my father has just been executed and my poor mother is in a mental institution. Seriously? How can I be expected to study and learn?”

“So you’re quitting college?” Florry asked.

“Not quitting, just taking a break.”

“And you, Joel?”

“I’m having the same thoughts. The first year of law school is a boot camp and I’m just not up to it. I was leaning toward Vanderbilt but now with money more of an issue I was thinking about Ole Miss. Truth is, though, I can’t see myself sitting in a classroom getting hammered by a bunch of crusty old law professors.”

“Interesting,” Florry said. “And with no classes and no jobs what will the two of you be doing in the months to come? Sitting around the house and driving Nineva crazy? Or perhaps you could help out in the fields and pick cotton with the Negroes? Buford can always use some extra hands. And if you get bored in the fields, you can always pull weeds and gather vegetables from the garden so we’ll have something to eat this winter. Amos will be happy to show you how to milk cows at six every morning. Nineva would love to have you under foot in her kitchen as she cooks and cans. And when you get bored on the farm you can always venture into town, where everyone you bump into will ask how you’re doing and pretend to be so sad about your father. Is that what you want?”

Neither Joel nor Stella responded.

Florry continued. “Here’s the better plan. In three weeks you’re getting the hell out of here because you need to finish school before we lose all the money. Your father put me in charge of your education, so I’m writing the checks. If you don’t finish school now, then you never will, so you have no choice but to go. Stella, you’re going back to Hollins, and Joel, you’re going to law school. I don’t care where, just get away from here.”

A few miles passed in silence as the finality of the decision sank in.

Stella finally said, “Well, on second thought, Hollins is not a bad place to hide these days.”

Joel said, “If I go to law school, I’ll probably go to Ole Miss. That way I can visit Mom on the weekends, and I can also hang around Wilbanks’s office and help with the lawsuits.”

“I’m sure he has things under control,” Florry said. “We can afford Vanderbilt if that’s what you want.”

“No. Four years there is enough. I need to branch out. Besides, there are more girls at Ole Miss.”

“When did that become important?”

“Always.”

“Well, I think it’s time you got serious about a girl. You are, after all, twenty-one and a college graduate.”

“Are you giving unsolicited advice on romance, Aunt Florry?”

“No, not really.”

“Good. Just keep it to yourself.”

Before leaving for the fall, Joel and Stella made three more trips to Whitfield to sit with Liza. Dr. Hilsabeck encouraged this and assured them their visits helped immensely, though they certainly could not see any improvement. Liza’s physical appearance remained unchanged. For one visit, she refused to leave her dark little room and said virtually nothing. For the other visits, she allowed them to roll her around the grounds in a wheelchair, looking for shade from the August heat. She smiled occasionally but not often enough, said very little, and never strung together enough words for a complete sentence. So she listened as her children tag-teamed their way through the same long narratives. To break the monotony, Joel read articles from Time magazine and Stella read from The Saturday Evening Post.

The visits were emotionally exhausting, and they said little driving the long way home. After four trips to Whitfield, they were becoming convinced that their mother would never leave.

Early on September 3, Joel loaded his sister’s luggage into the trunk of the family’s 1939 Pontiac, and together they drove to the pink cottage for a farewell breakfast with Aunt Florry. Marietta stuffed them with biscuits and omelets and packed a lunch for the road. They left Florry in tears on the porch and hustled away. They stopped for a somber moment at Old Sycamore and said a prayer at their father’s tombstone, then sped to the train station, where Stella almost missed the 9:40 to Memphis. They hugged each other, tried not to cry, and promised to keep in touch.

When the train was out of sight, Joel got in the car, drove a lap around the square, then through the side streets past the Methodist church, and finally returned home. He packed his own bags, said good-bye to Nineva and Amos, and drove an hour to Oxford, where law school was waiting. Through a friend of a friend he had a lead on a tiny apartment near the square, above a widow’s garage, a cheap place rented only to graduate students. The widow showed him a tiny three-room flat, laid out the rules, which included no alcohol, no parties, no gambling, and of course no women, and said the rent was $100 cash for four months, September through December. Joel agreed to her rules, though he had no plans to follow them, and handed over the money. When she left, he unpacked his bags and boxes and arranged his clothing in a closet.

After dark, he walked along North Lamar toward the courthouse in the distance. He lit a cigarette and smoked it as he strolled past stately old homes on shaded lots. Porches were filled with the post-supper gossip as the families and neighbors waited for the heat and humidity to break for the night. Though the students were back the square was dead, and why wouldn’t it be? There were no bars, clubs, lounges, dance halls, or even nice restaurants. Oxford was a small, dry town, and a long way from the bright lights of Nashville.

Joel Banning felt a long way from everywhere.

Chapter 38

The lawsuit was over a deadly collision between a sedan filled with a young family and a flat railcar loaded with several tons of pulpwood. It occurred late at night on a main highway between Tupelo and Memphis, at a crossing that for reasons never to be known had been built at the foot of a long hill, so that the traffic coming down the hill at night could not always see the trains until the last moment. To avoid collisions, and there had been several, the railroad installed red flashing lights on both sides, east and west, but did not splurge on gates that descended and actually blocked the highway. The flat car was the eleventh in a long train of sixty, with two engines and an old red caboose.

The lawyers defending the railroad made much of the fact that any driver paying sufficient attention to the road could certainly see something as large as a flat railcar that was eighty feet long and stacked fifteen feet high with timber. They passed around enlarged photos of the flat railcar and seemed confident in their proof.

However, they were no match for the Honorable Burch Dunlap, attorney for the deceased family — both parents and two small children. In two days of trial, Mr. Dunlap attacked the men who designed the crossing, exposed the railroad’s lousy safety record, proved that it had been warned that the crossing was dangerous, discredited two other drivers who claimed to be eyewitnesses, and presented the jury with his own set of enlarged photos that clearly revealed a severe lack of maintenance by the railroad.

The jury agreed and awarded the family $60,000, a record verdict for federal court in north Mississippi.

Sitting low in the back row, Joel Banning watched the trial from beginning to end, and felt sick. Burch Dunlap was masterful in the courtroom and owned the jury from start to finish. He was at home, comfortable and relaxed and thoroughly credible. He was meticulously prepared, smooth on his feet, and always two steps ahead of the witnesses and the defense lawyers.

Now he was coming after the Bannings and their land.

Because Joel was watching the court’s Oxford docket with a keen eye, he happened to notice the upcoming trial involving the railroad collision. Out of curiosity, he decided to skip classes and watch it. And then he wished he had not been so curious.

After the verdict, Joel thought about calling Stella, but why ruin her day? He thought about calling Florry, but her phone line was not private. And why bother? He needed someone to talk to, but in his first weeks of law school he had remained reclusive and met few other students. He was detached, aloof, almost rude at times, and always on the defensive because at any moment he expected some loudmouth to ask about his father. He could almost hear the whispers behind his back.

Three months after the fact, the wounds from the execution were still open and raw. Joel was certain that he was the only student in the history of Ole Miss whose family had suffered through the shame of such a spectacle.

On October 9, he skipped class and drove to a lake where he sat under a tree and sipped bourbon from a flask. One year ago, his father had murdered Dexter Bell.

Joel studied hard but found the classes boring. On Saturdays, when the talk was of nothing but football, he drove to Whitfield to sit with his mother, or he drove home to check on Florry and look at the crops. Home had become an awful, empty place with only Nineva to talk to. But she, too, was depressed and moped around the kitchen with little to do. Hell, it seemed as if everybody was depressed. On most Friday afternoons, Joel stopped by John Wilbanks’s office to discuss the family’s legal troubles, or to hand over a brief or a memo he had polished off at law school. Wilbanks was impressed with young Joel and had mentioned more than once that the firm could use some fresh talent in a few years. Joel was polite and said he had no idea where he wanted to live and practice law.

The last place would be Clanton, he thought to himself.

As the holidays approached, Florry began dropping hints about another road trip to New Orleans. However, her plans seemed to collapse almost as soon as she made them. Joel and Stella suspected the reason was money. With the family’s finances so uncertain, they had noticed a few cutbacks here and there. The 1947 cotton crop was good but not great, and with Pete gone the picking had lacked some intensity and efficiency.

Stella arrived home on December 21, and that night they decorated a tree while carols played on the phonograph. And they were drinking, a bit more than usual. Bourbon for Joel and Stella, gin for Florry. Nothing for Marietta, who hid in the basement and was convinced they were all cracking up and going to hell.

As gloomy as things were, they tried their best to find the holiday spirit, with small gifts and big meals and lots of music. The two lawsuits facing them and threatening their future were never discussed.

On Christmas Day, they once again loaded into Florry’s Lincoln and drove to Whitfield. A year earlier, they had made the trip, only to be denied access to Liza. Those days were over now because Pete was certainly out of the way and Joel was now his mother’s legal guardian. They sat with her in one corner of a large activity room, and gave her gifts and chocolates sent by Nineva and Marietta. Liza smiled a lot and talked more and seemed to enjoy the attention.

In every corner there was a quiet little family doting on a loved one, a patient with pale skin and hollow cheeks. Some were ancient and appeared half-dead. Others, like Liza, were much younger, but they seemed to be going nowhere too. Was this really her future? Would she ever be well enough to come home? Were they destined for decades of such pathetic visits?

Though Dr. Hilsabeck maintained that he was pleased with her progress, they had seen little improvement in the past four months. She hadn’t gained a pound, and the nurses kept her in a wheelchair so she wouldn’t burn calories walking. She often went for long stretches of time without a word. Occasionally, her eyes had a sparkle, but it never lasted.

Driving home, they discussed whether the trips to Whitfield were worth the trouble.

After Christmas, the music stopped and the cold rains began. Making merry became a chore, and even the pink cottage, with its eccentricities, was enveloped in moodiness. Stella suddenly needed to return to Hollins to finish some vague projects. Florry spent more time in her room reading and listening to opera.

To escape the gloom, Joel left a day early and returned to Oxford. When the law school opened, he eagerly checked his grades and was pleased with his first-semester test scores.

At the end of January, he found himself back in federal court as a representative of the family. A magistrate had scheduled a pretrial hearing and all lawyers were present. Florry, as executrix of the estate of Pete Banning, was supposed to attend, but, typically, she called in sick with the flu. Besides, Joel was already in Oxford and he could certainly handle things.

Joel nervously sat at one table between John and Russell Wilbanks, and kept an eye on Burch Dunlap and his associate at the other table. Just being in the same arena with Dunlap was terrifying.

The magistrate covered the list of all potential witnesses at trial and wanted summaries of the testimony of each. The lawyers politely discussed exhibits, jury lists, the usual pretrial details. The magistrate studied his calendar and announced a trial date of February 24, barely a month away. He then asked if there was any chance of settling the case without going to trial. The lawyers looked at each other and it was obvious they had not yet reached that point.

Burch Dunlap stood and said, “Well, Your Honor, I am always ready and willing to settle, on good terms of course. As you are aware, we have another lawsuit pending in the Chancery Court of Ford County in which we are attempting to set aside the conveyance by the deceased of his section of land to his children. This happened three weeks before the murder. We’ve had the land appraised.” He picked up a binder and sort of waved it at the magistrate. “The land is worth $100 an acre, or about $65,000 total, and we firmly believe this land belongs in the estate of Pete Banning, and is therefore subject to the claim of our client, Mrs. Jackie Bell. The home is appraised at $30,000, and there are other assets.”

John Wilbanks stood, smiling and shaking his head as if Dunlap were an idiot. “Those figures are much too high, Your Honor, and I’m not prepared to argue over them. But any talk of settlement is premature. We expect to prevail in Ford County and protect the acreage. And who knows what the jury will do in this case? Let’s allow the litigation to run its course; then we can have this discussion.”

“It might be too late, Mr. Wilbanks,” the magistrate said.

Listening to Burch Dunlap so casually discuss land that had been purchased, cleared, and plowed by Joel’s great-great-great-grandfather made his blood boil. How dare this gifted shyster toss around values of hard-gained assets and sums of someone else’s money as if bidding at an auction or wagering in a card game. Did he really intend to somehow squeeze the Bannings for everything they owned? And how much of the loot would his sticky fingers steal?

The lawyers swapped comments but made no progress. The magistrate called the next item on his docket. Outside the courthouse, Joel and John Wilbanks walked around the square while Russell ducked into a diner.

“We should at least discuss the possibility of settlement,” Wilbanks said.

“Okay. I’m listening,” Joel said.

“Dunlap is high with his numbers, but not outrageously so. We could offer them $20,000 in cash and see what happens. That’s a lot of money, Joel.”

“Damned sure is. Where would we find that much?”

“There’s about $15,000 in cash in the estate. You and Stella could mortgage the land. My family owns the bank, remember? I’m sure I can arrange a small loan.”

“So you want to offer $20,000?”

“Discuss it with Florry. I don’t need to remind you that the facts are not with us in this case. Your father did what he did and there’s no excuse for it. The jury will be sympathetic to the Bell family, and sympathy is our enemy.”

Chapter 39

Errol McLeish scoffed at the suggestion that Jackie settle so cheaply. Nor would they consider $25,000. McLeish wanted it all — the land, the house, the livestock, the people who worked there — and he had a plan to get it.

Late in February, he and Jackie drove to Oxford and checked into a hotel on the square. Same room, though they were not yet married.

The trial began on the morning of the twenty-fourth. Jackie, the plaintiff, sat with Dunlap and her lawyers, and was attractive in solid black. Florry, on tranquilizers, sat between John and Russell Wilbanks, with Joel right behind her.

When the opportunity had presented itself, Joel spoke to Jackie, shook her hand, and tried to be polite. She did not. She was the grieving widow, out for justice and revenge. Florry loathed her and never acknowledged her presence.

As Judge Stratton went through the preliminaries with the fifty or so prospective jurors, Joel turned and faced them and the spectators. There were a few reporters in the front row. The doors opened, and much to his dismay a class of third-year law students filed in with their professor. It was a federal procedure class, and since the trial had some notoriety, it needed to be studied. He noticed a few other law students in the crowd, watching intently. At that moment, he wished he had chosen another law school on a campus in another state.

The morning was consumed with jury selection, and by noon six had been selected and seated. A seventh would sit as the alternate. Since it was a civil case, four votes would be needed for a verdict. Three to three would hang and cause a retrial.

After lunch, Burch Dunlap walked to the podium in front of the jury box, straightened his fine silk tie, flashed a big smile, and welcomed the jurors to the center of justice. Joel watched every move, absorbed every word, and in his biased opinion Dunlap was a bit sappy in his gratitude for the jurors’ time and service, but he soon got down to business. He explained the facts and said liability was clear. It was a cold-blooded murder that led to a just execution of a man they would not meet. The real defendant was dead; therefore, under the law, the plaintiff was forced to proceed against his estate. Much of the trial would revolve around the value of Dexter Bell’s life, a value that could not really be measured. Dunlap suggested no amount; that would certainly come later. But he left no doubt that Reverend Bell was an extraordinary man, superb father, devoted pastor, and so on, and his life was worth a lot of money, even though he earned little as a preacher.

As Dunlap spoke with great eloquence, Joel could almost feel the family’s assets slipping away. Several times during his opening statement, Dunlap referred to Pete Banning as a “wealthy farmer” and a “rich landowner.” Each time Joel heard it, he flinched and glanced at the jurors. He and Stella had not been raised to believe their family was wealthy, and being described as such by a silver-tongued orator was discomfiting. The jurors, all middle-class at most, seemed to be onboard. Rich farmer murders poor preacher. The theme was established at the very beginning of the trial, and it would stick with the jurors until the end.

John Wilbanks made a brief opening statement in which he asked the jurors if it was really fair to make the family of a man convicted of murder pay the price for his sins. Pete Banning’s family had done nothing wrong, absolutely nothing. Through no fault of their own, his children had also lost a father. Why should they be punished? Hadn’t the Banning family been punished enough? The lawsuit was nothing but a naked grab for the hard-earned money of a family that had toiled the soil for decades, fine, honest, hardworking people who were not rich and were not wealthy and should not be subjected to such claims. In Joel’s biased opinion, John Wilbanks did a splendid job of portraying the plaintiff as opportunistic and money hungry. He was almost indignant when he sat down.

The first witness was Jackie Bell, and just as she had done some thirteen months earlier in Clanton, she took the stand in a very tight dress and was soon crying. As she described finding her dead husband, the jurors, all men, absorbed every word and seemed quite sympathetic. John Wilbanks passed on cross-examination.

Nix Gridley was next. He laid out the crime scene as he’d found it, produced the same enlarged photos of poor Dexter bleeding out, showed the jury the Colt .45 owned by the accused, and stated to a certainty that Pete Banning, a man he had known well, had indeed been executed in the electric chair. Nix witnessed the execution, and had been present when the coroner pronounced Pete dead.

After Nix was excused, Burch Dunlap entered into evidence, without objection, certified copies of the court orders finding Pete guilty of the first-degree murder of Dexter Bell, and the orders from the supreme court affirming his conviction.

After the first long day of trial, it had been clearly established that Pete Banning murdered Dexter Bell and had paid with his life. Finally, thought Joel. While it was the same old dreary news to him, it was riveting to the jurors.

With causation established, the trial moved to the question of damages. At nine Thursday morning, Jackie Bell returned to the witness stand and produced the family’s tax returns for the years 1940 through 1945. At the time of his death Dexter was being paid a salary of $2,400 a year by the Methodist church of Clanton, and had not received a raise since 1942. He had no other income, nor did she. The family lived in a parsonage provided at no cost by the church, with utilities included in the package. Obviously, the family lived frugally but that was the life they had chosen and they had been content with it.

She was excused, and Dunlap called as an expert witness an economics professor from Ole Miss, one Dr. Potter. He held several degrees, had written a few books, and it was immediately apparent he knew more about money and finances than anyone else in the courtroom. John Wilbanks prodded with a few questions about his field of expertise, but was careful not to push too hard and get embarrassed.

On direct from Burch Dunlap, Dr. Potter went through the history of Dexter Bell’s earnings as a pastor, compared that history to other ministers on similar paths, and crunched all manner of numbers. At the time of his death, at the age of thirty-nine, Dexter’s total compensation was, in Potter’s opinion, $3,300 per year. Assuming a conservative annual rate of inflation of 2 percent, and assuming Dexter would work until he was seventy years old, which was the norm for ministers in 1948, then his expected future lifetime earnings amounted to $106,000.

Dunlap produced large color graphs and charts as he walked Dr. Potter through the numbers, and managed to convey to the jurors that the money being discussed was real, hard cash that had been taken away from the Bell family because of Dexter’s untimely death.

On cross-examination, John Wilbanks hit Dr. Potter hard with some of his assumptions. Was it fair to assume Dexter would work until the age of seventy? Fair to assume he would always be employed? Fair to assume a constant rate of inflation? And unending pay raises? Fair to assume his wife would not remarry a husband who earned far more? Wilbanks cast some doubt and scored some points, but, at least to Joel, he was attacking numbers that were so modest to begin with. Preachers earned little. Why make their meager salaries appear even less valuable?

The next witness was a real estate appraiser from Tupelo. After establishing his qualifications, Dunlap asked him if he had appraised the Banning property. He said that indeed he had and offered a binder. John Wilbanks practically exploded and objected to further testimony. This skirmish was expected and had not been settled before the trial.

Wilbanks argued strongly that the land did not belong to Pete Banning and was not to be included in his estate. Pete had gifted it to his children, in much the same manner as his parents and grandparents and great-grandparents had handed it down. He produced certified copies of the deed to Joel and Stella.

Dunlap roared back that the conveyance by Pete was fraudulent, and this upset Judge Stratton. He lectured Dunlap on using such prejudicial words as “fraudulent” when nothing had been proven. Wilbanks reminded the judge and Dunlap that there was another lawsuit pending in the Chancery Court of Ford County that dealt with the transfer of the land. Judge Stratton agreed and ruled that Dunlap could not attempt to prove that Pete Banning owned the land when he died. That matter had not been settled.

It was a crucial win for the defense, and Dunlap apparently had miscalculated. However, he was an actor onstage and soon collected himself. After the appraiser left, he called Florry to the stand as an adverse witness. Wilbanks anticipated this and had tried to prep her for the ordeal. He assured her she would not be on the stand for long, but she was still a wreck.

After a few preliminary questions, Dunlap asked her if she was the executrix of her brother’s estate. Yes. And when was she appointed? Ignoring the stares of the jurors and locking in on the friendly face of her nephew, Florry explained that her brother, Pete, made a new will after he was sentenced to die. Dunlap presented a certified copy of the will and asked her to identify it, which she did.

Dunlap said, “Thank you. Now, pursuant to the law, and to the advice of Mr. Wilbanks here, have you filed an inventory of the assets and liabilities of the estate of Pete Banning?”

“Yes.” Wilbanks demanded that she keep her answers short.

Dunlap picked up some more papers and handed them to Florry. He asked, “Do you recognize this as the inventory you filed in his estate in November of last year?”

“Yes.”

“Once it’s filed it’s public record, right?”

“I suppose. You’re the lawyer.”

“This is true. Now, Miss Banning, if you will, would you please look at the list of assets that you filed in this inventory, paragraph C, second page, and read them to the jury?”

“Why can’t they just read it themselves?”

“Please, Miss Banning.”

Florry made a fuss out of adjusting her reading glasses, flipping a page, locating paragraph C, all performed in obvious frustration. Finally, she said, “Well, number one is Pete’s personal checking account at First State, balance of $1,800. Number two is his farm account, same bank, $5,300. Number three is his savings account, same bank, $7,100. Is that enough?”

“Please read on, Miss Banning,” Dunlap replied patiently.

“A 1946 Ford pickup truck, Pete bought it new when he came home from the war, approximate value of $750. I suppose you want to take that too.”

“Please continue, Miss Banning.”

“His car, a 1939 Pontiac, value of $600.” Joel shifted his weight as he pondered the loss of the car, one he had been driving since last summer.

Florry went on to testify that the estate included two John Deere tractors, some trailers and plows, and other assorted items of farm equipment, all appraised at $9,000. It was indeed a farm, complete with the usual collection of pigs, chickens, cows, goats, mules, and horses, and an auctioneer had placed a value on the animals of $3,000. “Plus or minus a chicken or two,” she said like a real smart-ass.

“And that’s all,” she said. “Unless you want his boots and underwear.”

She explained that Pete owed no money when he died and no claims had been registered against his estate.

“And what’s the value of the Banning mansion?” Dunlap asked loudly.

John Wilbanks bolted to his feet and growled, “Objection, Your Honor! The house is not separate from the land, and the land was deeded to the children. We just had this argument.”

“Indeed we did,” Judge Stratton said, obviously annoyed with Dunlap, who mumbled something like “I’ll withdraw the question.”

Withdrawn or otherwise, the word “mansion” hung in the air. When Florry was excused and stepped down, Joel glanced at the jurors and was not comforted by their faces. The rich guy who lived in the mansion had killed a humble servant of God, and justice was in order.

In the usual course of a wrongful death trial, the defense would contest liability with a parade of witnesses all testifying that the death was not caused by the accused, or that the deceased was at least partially responsible through his own negligence. Not so in Bell v. Estate of Banning. John Wilbanks could offer nothing to create even the slightest doubt about the cause of death, and to attempt such a feeble effort would risk losing what little credibility he had.

Instead, he chose to nibble around the edges of the damages and lighten the impact of the verdict. He called his only witness, another economics expert, and one from California, of all places. Wilbanks believed in the old maxim that, at least in litigation, the farther an expert traveled the more valid his testimony.

His name was Dr. Satterfield and he taught at Stanford. He’d written books and testified a lot. The gist of his testimony was that the total sum of Dexter Bell’s future earnings, whatever figure the jury accepted, must be reduced significantly to show a fair picture of its present value. Using a large colored chart, he tried to explain to the jury that, for example, $1,000 paid each year for ten straight years equals $10,000. Simple enough. But if ten thousand was given in a lump sum right now, the recipient would be able to turn around and invest that money, and the eventual earnings would be much greater. Therefore, it was only fair to reduce the immediate payment — that is, the verdict — to a present value.

Dr. Satterfield explained that this method had been adopted by courts across the country in similar cases. He implied that perhaps Mississippi was a bit behind the curve, and this did not sit well with the jurors. His bottom line, when a “more likely rate of inflation was applied,” was the figure of $41,000 in lost future earnings for the family of Reverend Bell.

John Wilbanks believed that any verdict under $50,000 was survivable. The land could be mortgaged to withstand it. Most farmers were saddled with debt anyway, and with hard work, decent weather, good prices — the daily prayer on every farm — the Bannings could eventually pay off the mortgage. Wilbanks was also counting on the traditional conservatism of rural jurors. People with almost no spare change always found it difficult to award big sums to others.

On cross-examination, Burch Dunlap haggled with Dr. Satterfield over his numbers, and within minutes everyone was confused over present values, discounted values, projected rates of inflation, and structured payouts. The jurors especially seemed baffled, and as Joel watched them drown he realized that Dunlap was intentionally muddying the water.

Late in the afternoon, after the testimony was over and the lawyers had finished their motions and legal posturing, Burch Dunlap rose to address the jury. Without notes and seemingly without forethought, he talked about the gravity of this wrongful death, one not caused by negligence. At times, everyone is negligent, so we can understand why certain accidents happen. We are all human. But this was no accident. This was a well-planned, premeditated, cold-blooded murder. A fatal assault against an unarmed man by a soldier who knew how to kill.

Joel could not take his eyes off the jurors, and they were spellbound by Dunlap.

The damages for such a monstrous deed? Let’s forget about the dead people — Reverend Bell and Pete Banning — and let’s talk about those left behind. He, Dunlap, wasn’t too worried about the Banning family. The two kids were being beautifully educated. Florry, well, she owned her own section of land, free and clear. They’ve had privileged lives. What about Jackie Bell and her three children?

Here, Dunlap digressed into a side story that was nothing short of brilliant. Near tears, he told the jury of how his own father died when he was only six years old, and of the heartbreaking devastation it brought to his mother and siblings. He went on, and when he began to describe the burial and watching his father’s casket disappear into the grave, John Wilbanks finally stood and said, “Please, Your Honor, this has nothing to do with our case.”

Judge Stratton shrugged and said, “It’s a closing argument, Mr. Wilbanks. I give great leeway.”

Dunlap thanked His Honor, then suddenly turned nasty and ridiculed the “wealthy Bannings” for trying to appear broke. They owned “hundreds of acres of rich farmland” while his clients, the Bells, had nothing. Don’t be fooled by the Bannings and their lawyers.

He ridiculed Professor Satterfield from Stanford, and asked the jurors who had a better understanding of life in rural Mississippi — “some bow-tied, pointy-headed liberal professor from California, or Dr. Potter from Ole Miss”?

Dunlap performed beautifully, and when he sat down, Joel felt nauseated.

John Wilbanks never mentioned liability, but chose to argue the numbers. He tried desperately to lowball everything, but the jurors appeared unmoved.

During his rebuttal, Burch Dunlap took off the gloves and demanded punitive damages, damages invoked in only the most offensive cases. Damages fitting here because of Pete Banning’s callous disregard for human life and his complete lack of responsibility.

Judge Stratton had presided over many trials, and he had a hunch this jury would not take long. He sent them away at 6:00 p.m. and adjourned court. An hour later, the jury was ready.

In a unanimous verdict, it found Pete Banning and his estate liable for the death of Dexter Bell, and awarded $50,000 in actual damages and $50,000 in punitive damages. For the second time in less than a year, Burch Dunlap set the record for the largest verdict in the Northern District of Mississippi.

Chapter 40

As Joel’s first year of law school wound down, he became more reclusive, even antisocial. The verdict against his father’s estate was well-known in legal circles, not to mention the now infamous execution. The Banning family was in free fall, and Joel suspected there were a lot of whispers behind his back. He envied Stella, a thousand miles away.

He drove to Whitfield to sit with his mother for a long weekend. First, though, Dr. Hilsabeck wanted to chat, and they strolled the grounds on a glorious spring day, with azaleas and dogwoods blooming. Hilsabeck lit a pipe, clasped his hands behind him, and ambled along slowly, as if heavily burdened.

“She’s not making a lot of progress,” he said gravely. “She’s been here for two years and I’m not pleased with her condition.”

“Thanks for admitting that,” Joel replied. “I’ve seen little improvement in the past eight months.”

“She cooperates to a point; then she shuts down. Something traumatic happened to her, Joel, something she cannot, or will not, confront. From what we know, your mother was a strong woman with an outsized personality with never a hint of mental instability or depression. There were several miscarriages, but they are not uncommon. With each, she withdrew and went through periods of darkness, probably temporary depression, but she always bounced back. The news that your father was missing and presumed dead was horrible, and we’ve discussed this many times. Me, you, Stella, Florry, we’ve covered this. That was in May of 1942. Almost three years passed, and, as you’ve said, the family did the only thing it could do — it survived. But something happened to her, Joel, during that period. Something traumatic, and I simply cannot get it out of her.”

“Are you suggesting I try?”

“No. It was something so awful I’m not sure she’ll ever discuss it. And, as long as she keeps it buried, improvement will be most difficult.”

“Do you think it involved Dexter Bell?”

“Yes. If not, why would your father do what he did?”

“That’s the big question. I’ve always assumed it was Bell, but the mystery is, how did my father learn their secrets? Now he’s dead, Bell’s dead, and she’s not talking. Looks like a dead end, Doc.”

“Indeed it does. The people who work for the family, have you quizzed them?”

“Not really. Nineva came with the house and doesn’t miss much. She’s also loyal to a fault and would never utter a word. She practically raised me and Stella, so we know her well. She never talks.”

“Even if she might be able to help us?”

“Help us in what way?”

“Perhaps she knows something, saw something, heard something. If she could confide in you and you to me, it could give me the opportunity to confront Liza. It might shock her, and that might be a good thing. She needs to be confronted. We’re in a rut here, Joel, and things need to change.”

“I guess it’s worth a try. What is there to lose?”

They walked past an old gentleman slouched in a wheelchair in the shade of an elm tree. He eyed them suspiciously but said nothing. Both nodded and smiled and Hilsabeck said, “Hello, Harry.” But Harry did not respond because Harry had not spoken in ten years. Joel often said hello to Harry as well. Sadly, Joel knew the names of many of building 41’s permanent residents. He prayed fervently that his mother would not become one.

“There’s something else,” Hilsabeck said. “There’s a new medication called Thorazine that’s slowly making its way onto the market. It’s an antipsychotic drug that’s being used to treat schizophrenia, depression, and a few other disorders. I think Liza is a good candidate for it.”

“Are you asking for my approval?”

“No, just wanted you to know. We’ll start it next week.”

“Any side effects?”

“So far, the most common one is weight gain, which in her case would be welcome.”

“Then I say we do it.”

They walked to the edge of a small lake and found a bench in a shaded, cool spot. They sat down and watched some ducks splatter about. “How often does she talk of going home?” Joel asked.

Hilsabeck thought for a moment, took a puff. “Not every day, but it’s certainly on her mind. Liza is too young for us to consider her a permanent resident here, so we treat her as if she’ll one day be healthy enough to go home. She doesn’t dwell on this, but she assumes, as do we, that the day will come. Why do you ask?”

“Because home might be in trouble. I’ve told you about the lawsuits brought by the family of Dexter Bell. We just lost the first one. We’ll appeal, and appeal again, and we’ll fight to the end. Another lawsuit is looming, and we could lose it too. There could be liens, judgments, injunctions, even a bankruptcy. A lot of legal maneuvering yet to come, but there is a real possibility that when the dust settles, we could lose the land and the farm.”

“And when might this dust settle?”

“Hard to say. Not this year, probably not next. But within two years all of the lawsuits and appeals could be over.”

Hilsabeck tapped his pipe on the edge of the bench and scraped out the burned tobacco. He deftly refilled it with fresh tobacco from a pouch, fired up a match, lit the bowl, and took a long puff. Eventually, he said, “That would be catastrophic for her. She dreams of being home with you and Stella. She talks of working the gardens with Amos, of riding her horses, of putting flowers on your father’s grave, of cooking and canning with Nineva.” Another long puff. “Where would she go?”

“I have no idea, Doc. We haven’t had that discussion yet. I’m just looking far down the road. We have good lawyers, but so does the family of Dexter Bell. And in addition to good lawyers, they have the facts and the law on their side.”

“It would be devastating, just devastating. I cannot imagine treating Liza if she knew her home was gone.”

“Well, just file it away. Meanwhile, we’re brawling in court.”

On a Friday morning when he was supposed to be in Oxford, Joel awoke early in his own bed, hustled to the kitchen and put on the coffee, bathed and dressed while it was percolating, and was waiting at the kitchen table with a fresh cup when Nineva arrived on the dot at 7:00. They exchanged “Good mornings” and Joel said, “Let’s have some coffee, Nineva. We need to talk.”

“Don’t you want breakfast?” she asked, pulling on an apron.

“No, I’ll get something later in town. I’m not much for breakfast.”

“Never was, not even as a little boy. A bite or two of eggs and you’d be off. What’s on your mind?”

“Fix your coffee.”

She took her time with heavy cream and heavier sugar, and finally sat, apprehensively, across the table from him. “We need to talk about Liza,” he said. “Her doctor is not happy with her progress down there at Whitfield. There are a lot of secrets in her world, Nineva, little mysteries that don’t add up. Until we know what happened to her, there’s a good chance Liza is never coming home.”

Nineva was already shaking her head as if she knew nothing.

“Pete’s gone, Nineva. Liza might be too. There’s a chance her doctor can help her but only if the truth is told. How much time did she spend with Dexter Bell when we thought Dad was dead?”

She held her cup with fingers from both hands and took a small sip. She set it on the saucer, thought for a second, and said, “He was here a lot. It was no secret. I was always around, so was Amos, even Jupe. Sometimes Mrs. Bell came with him. They would meet in Mista Banning’s study and read the Bible, say a prayer. He never stayed long.”

“Were they alone?”

“Sometimes, I guess, but like I say, I was always right here. Nothin’ happened between them, not in this house.”

“Are you sure, Nineva?”

“Look, Joel, I don’t know ever’thing. I wasn’t with ’em. You think she fooled around with the preacher?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he, Nineva? Give me another good reason for Pete killing him. Did they see each other when you weren’t around?”

“If I wasn’t around how would I know?”

As always, her logic was pure. “So nothing suspicious? Nothing at all?”

Nineva grimaced and rubbed her temples as if coaxing something painful from her memory. Softly, she said, “There was one time.”

“Let’s have it, Nineva,” Joel said, on the verge of a breakthrough.

“She said she had to go to Memphis, said her mother was in the hospital there and in real bad shape. Said she had cancer. Anyways, she wanted the preacher to go visit with her mother in her last days. Said her mother had drifted away from the church and now that she was at the end she really wanted to talk to a preacher to, you know, get things right with God. And since Liza thought so much of Dexter Bell she wanted him to do the Lord’s work with her mother in Memphis. Liza hated to drive, as you know, and so she told me one day that she and the preacher would leave early the next day, after you and Stella got off to school, and go to Memphis. Just the two of them. And they did. And I didn’t think anything about it. Reverend Bell came in that morning, by hisself, and I fixed him a cup of coffee, and the three of us sat right here and he even said a little prayer asking God for safe travels up there and back, and for His healin’ hand on Liza’s mother. It was real touchin’, as I remember. I thought nothin’ of it. Liza told me not to tell you kids about it because she didn’t want you worryin’ about your grandmother, so I said nothin’. They took off and they were gone all day and came back at dark. Liza said she was carsick and had an upset stomach and went to bed. She didn’t feel good for a few days after that, said she thought she caught somethin’ at the hospital in Memphis.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You was busy with school.”

“When was this?”

“When? I don’t take down notes, Joel.”

“Okay, how long after we got the news about Dad? A month, six months, a year?”

“A long time. We heard about Mista Banning, when?”

“May of 1942.”

“Right, okay, then it was cool weather; they was pickin’ cotton. At least a year after we got the news.”

“So the fall of 1943?”

“I guess. I don’t do well with dates and times.”

“Well, that’s odd because her mother didn’t die. Grandmother Sweeney is alive and well in Kansas City. Got a letter from her last week.”

“Right. I asked Liza how her mother was doin’ and all, and she never really wanted to talk about her. Said later that the visit with Reverend Bell must’ve been a good one because the Lord reached down and healed her.”

“So they spent the day together and Liza came home sick. Did you ever get suspicious about it?”

“I didn’t think about it.”

“I doubt that, Nineva. You don’t miss much around here.”

“I tend to my business.”

“And everyone else’s too. Where was Jackie Bell that day?”

“I don’t keep up with Jackie Bell.”

“But there was no mention of her?”

“I didn’t ask. They didn’t say.”

“Well, did you ever look back at that day and think something didn’t add up?”

“Like what?”

“Like, well, there are a lot of preachers in Memphis and plenty between here and there. Why would Liza’s mother need a preacher from Clanton? She belongs to an Episcopal church in Memphis, one that Stella and I visited a few times before they moved away. Why wouldn’t Liza tell Stella and me that her mother, our grandmother, was real sick in a Memphis hospital? We used to see her from time to time. No one ever told us she had cancer and she damned sure didn’t die from it. This whole story smells bad, Nineva, and you were never suspicious?”

“I suppose.”

“Suppose what?”

“Well, I’ll just tell you. I never understood why it was such a big secret, their trip to Memphis. I remember thinkin’ that if her mother was real sick, then she ought to take you kids and go visit. But no, she didn’t want you to know about it. That was strange. It was like she and the preacher just wanted to go away for the day, and they needed some reason to feed to me. Yeah, all right, I got suspicious afterward but who was I gonna tell? Amos? I tell him everythin’ anyway and he forgets it all. That man.”

“Did you tell Pete?”

“He never asked.”

“Did you tell Pete?”

“No. I ain’t never told nobody, other’n Amos.”

Joel left her at the table and went for a long drive through the back roads of Ford County. His head spun as he tried to put the facts into place. He felt like a private investigator who had just tracked down the first major clue to a mystery that seemed permanently unsolved.

As confused as he was, though, he was also convinced that Nineva had not told him everything.

Chapter 41

In addition to studying for final exams, Joel wrote the briefs and perfected the appeal of the jury’s verdict in federal court. Since stalling was an integral part of their strategy, he and John Wilbanks waited until the last possible day and filed the final brief with the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals on June 1, 1948.

Two days later, on June 3, Chancellor Abbott Rumbold finally got around to the second lawsuit filed by Jackie Bell, her petition to set aside the allegedly fraudulent conveyance by Pete Banning of his land to his children.

Burch Dunlap had been demanding a trial for months, and Rumbold’s docket was not that crowded. However, the docket was the sole province of the chancellor, and he had been manipulating it for decades. Rumbold routinely did whatever John Wilbanks wanted him to do, plus he had enormous sympathy for the Banning family. If Wilbanks wanted to delay, then the case was certainly in the right court.

Dunlap expected to get a strong dose of home cooking. He wanted to take his lumps, get it over with, perfect his record, and appeal to the state supreme court, where the law meant much more than old friendships.

There were no juries in chancery court. The chancellors ruled like kings, and, as a general rule, the longer they served the more dogmatic they became. Procedures varied from one district to the next and were often changed on the spot.

Rumbold took the bench in the main courtroom without fanfare and said hello. Walter Willy’s screeching call to order was reserved for circuit court only. Rumbold would have none of it.

He noticed the nice crowd and welcomed everyone to the festivities. Present were the usual courthouse regulars — the bored retirees who whittled outside in the shade, the county employees on break, the secretaries from just down the hall, Ernie Dowdle, Hop Purdue, and Penrod up in the balcony with a few other Negroes — along with several dozen spectators.

The news of the $100,000 verdict in federal court three months earlier had not been well received around town, and folks were curious. The legend of Pete Banning continued to grow in Ford County, and most of the people took a dim view of Jackie Bell trying to steal land that had been in one family for over a hundred years.

Since Joel and Stella were named defendants in the case, they were required to attend. They sat at the defense table with a Wilbanks on each side and tried to ignore Jackie Bell at the other table. They were trying to ignore a lot of things — the crowd behind them, the stares from the clerks and lawyers, the fear of being sued and pursued — but the real horror of the moment was the fact that they were seated at a table that was about twenty feet from where their father had been electrocuted eleven months earlier. The entire courtroom, and courthouse for that matter, was a dark, wretched place that they wished to never see again.

Rumbold frowned at Burch Dunlap and said, “I’ll allow some very brief opening remarks. For the plaintiff.”

Burch stood and held a notepad. “Yes, thanks, Your Honor. Now, most of the facts have been stipulated, so I don’t have a lot of witnesses. On September 16 of 1946, some three weeks before the unfortunate death of the Reverend Dexter Bell, the late husband of my client, Mr. Pete Banning executed a quitclaim deed to his section of land, all 640 acres, to his children, the defendants, Joel and Stella Banning, in equal shares. A copy of that deed has been entered into evidence.”

“I’ve read it,” Rumbold growled.

“Yes, sir. And we will prove that this deed is the first deed to be used by the Bannings to transfer their land to the next generation since 1818. The family has always passed down their land through last wills and testaments, never deeds. Pete Banning’s purpose in using this deed was clearly to protect his land because he was contemplating the murder of Dexter Bell. Plain and simple.”

Dunlap sat down and John Wilbanks was already on his feet. “May it please the court, Your Honor, I’m not sure Mr. Dunlap is smart enough to explain to us what Pete Banning was contemplating when he signed the deed. He’s correct, though, this land has been in the family since 1818, back when Pete Banning’s great-great-grandfather Jonas Banning started piecing together his farm. The family has always kept the land and added to it whenever possible. Frankly, it’s appalling that a nonresident of Mississippi, or anyone else for that matter, now wants to take it from the family. Thank you.”

“Call your first witness,” Rumbold said to Dunlap. “You have the burden of going forward.”

“The Honorable Claude Skinner, attorney-at-law.”

Skinner rose from the spectator section, walked through the bar, swore to tell the truth, and took the witness stand.

Dunlap said, “Please state your name and occupation.”

“Claude Skinner, attorney. My office is in Tupelo and I do primarily real estate work.”

“And when did you meet Pete Banning?”

“He came to my office in September of 1946 and asked me to prepare a property deed for him. He had full title to a section of land here in Ford County, along with the house on it, and he wanted to deed it to his two children.”

“Had you met him before that day?”

“No, sir, I had not. He brought with him a plat and a full description of the property and house, and I asked him who did his legal work in this county. He said it was the Wilbanks firm but he preferred not to use them for this matter.”

“Did he give a reason for not using the Wilbanks firm?”

“He did not and I did not inquire. I found Mr. Banning to be a man of few words.”

“And you prepared the deed as he wished?”

“I did. He returned a week later and signed the deed. My secretary notarized it, then mailed it with the filing fee to the chancery clerk just down the hall. I charged him $15 for my work and he paid me in cash.”

“Did you ever ask him why he was deeding the property to his children?”

“Well, sort of. After reviewing the chain of title, I realized that the family had never used deeds before. Their property always passed down through wills. I commented on this, and Mr. Banning said, and I quote, ‘I’m just protecting my assets.’”

“Protecting from what?”

“He didn’t say. I didn’t ask.”

“No further questions.”

John Wilbanks looked rather perturbed as he stood and frowned at Skinner. “When you realized that my law firm had represented Mr. Banning for many years, did it occur to you that perhaps a phone call to me might be appropriate?”

“No, sir. It was quite evident that Mr. Banning did not want to use your firm or any other lawyer in this county. He drove to Tupelo to hire me for that reason.”

“So a professional courtesy by you was not considered.”

“It was not needed, in my opinion.”

“No further questions.”

“You may step down,” Rumbold said. “Call your next witness.”

Dunlap stood and said, “Your Honor, we would like to call Mr. Joel Banning to the stand, as an adverse witness.”

“Any objections?” Rumbold asked John Wilbanks. The move was expected and Joel was thoroughly prepared for his testimony.

“None,” Wilbanks said.

Joel swore to tell the truth and sat in the witness chair. He offered a quick smile to his sister, took in the view from a unique vantage point, nodded at Florry in the front row, then braced himself for questions from one of the state’s finest trial lawyers.

Dunlap began with “Mr. Banning, where were you when you heard the news that your father had been arrested for the murder of Dexter Bell?”

Joel instinctively said, “Why is that relevant to the issues in this case?”

“Please answer the question, sir,” Dunlap replied, somewhat startled by the question.

“And why don’t you answer my question?” Joel shot back like a real smart-ass.

John Wilbanks was on his feet. “Your Honor, the witness has a point. The question asked by Mr. Dunlap is completely irrelevant to the issues in this case. I object to it.”

“Sustained,” Rumbold said at full volume. “I see no relevance.”

“Never mind,” Dunlap mumbled. Joel wanted to grin at him as if to say, “Score one for me,” but managed to maintain a frown.

Dunlap asked, “Now, before your father deeded this property to you in September of 1946, did he discuss it with you?”

“No.”

“Did he discuss it with your sister?”

“You’ll have to ask her.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t think he did but I’m not completely certain.”

“Where were you on that date?”

“At college.”

“And where was she?”

“At college.”

“And after that date, did your father ever discuss this deed with you?”

“Not until the day before he died.”

“And that was when?”

Joel hesitated, cleared his voice, and said slowly and with volume, “My father was executed in this courtroom on July 10 of last year.”

After that bit of drama, Dunlap reached for a file and began withdrawing documents. One by one, he handed Joel copies of old wills signed by his ancestors, and asked him to validate each. The entire lot had already been introduced into evidence, but Dunlap needed some live testimony to spruce up his case. His intentions were clear, his points well made: The Banning family had religiously handed down their land to the next generation through well-prepared wills and testaments. Pete took ownership of his 640 acres and the house in 1932, when his mother died. She acquired it three years earlier, when her husband died. Slowly and studiously, Joel laid out the chain of title, along with a fair amount of family history. He knew it by heart and had virtually memorized the old wills. In every generation, the men died first — and at disturbingly young ages — and passed the land to their wives, none of whom remarried.

Dunlap asked, “So your father was the first man in the history of your family to bypass his wife in favor of his children, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Does this strike you as unusual?”

“It’s no secret, sir, that my mother is having some problems. I prefer not to go into this.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

As the hours passed, Dunlap slowly proved his point. Pete’s deed was suspicious on many levels. Joel, Stella, Florry, and even John Wilbanks admitted privately that Pete signed the deed to protect his land as he planned to kill Dexter Bell, and this became evident.

By noon, there were no more witnesses. The lawyers made some brief remarks, and Rumbold said he would issue a ruling “in the future.”

“When can we expect a ruling, Your Honor?” Dunlap asked.

“I don’t have deadlines, Mr. Dunlap,” Rumbold snapped, irritated. “I’ll review the documents and my notes and I’ll issue a ruling in due course.”

Dunlap, with an audience, drew a line in the dirt. “Well, certainly, Your Honor, it shouldn’t take long. The trial lasted less than four hours. The facts and issues are clear. Why should there be a delay?”

Rumbold’s cheeks flushed red and he pointed a crooked finger at Dunlap. “I’m in charge around here, Mr. Dunlap, and I don’t need any advice on how to run things. You’ve said enough.”

Dunlap knew what was common knowledge among local lawyers. Rumbold could sit on a case forever. The rules provided no time frame for chancellors to decide their cases, and the state supreme court, which always comprised several ex-chancellors, had never been willing to implement deadlines.

“Adjourned,” Rumbold said, still glaring at Dunlap, and slammed down his gavel.

Jackie Bell and Errol McLeish left the courtroom without a word to anyone and went straight to the car. They drove to a home a few miles from town and lunched with her closest friend from the Clanton days. Myra was her source of gossip and information about who was saying what in church and in the town, and she didn’t like the new preacher, Dexter’s replacement. Few in the church liked him and she had a list of grievances. The truth was that everyone missed Dexter, even now, almost two years after his death.

Nor did Myra like Errol McLeish either. He had shifty eyes and a soft handshake, and he had a quiet way of manipulating Jackie. Even though he was a lawyer who owned properties and put on airs about money, Myra suspected that his real objective was Jackie and whatever she might get out of the Bannings.

He had far too much influence over Jackie, who, in Myra’s opinion, was still fragile from her tragedy. Myra had voiced this concern, confidentially of course, to other ladies in the church. There were already rumors that Jackie had designs on the Banning land and fine home, and that McLeish would be calling the shots.

A source at the Bedford Hotel leaked the gossip that they signed into one room as Mr. and Mrs. Errol McLeish, though Jackie had assured Myra she had no plans to get married.

Two unmarried adults in the same hotel room in downtown Clanton. And one was the preacher’s widow.

Chapter 42

The train ride from Memphis to Kansas City took seven and a half hours, with more stops than they could keep up with. But they didn’t care. It was summertime. They were out of school, away from the farm, riding in first class, where the porters served chilled wine when beckoned. Stella read the collected short stories of Eudora Welty while Joel struggled through Absalom, Absalom! He had seen Mr. Faulkner twice around Oxford, where his presence was hardly noticed. It was no secret that he liked to have supper late at night at a restaurant called the Mansion, just off the square, and Joel had sat close to him once as he ate alone. Before Joel finished law school, he was determined to muster the courage to introduce himself. He dreamed of having a bourbon on the great man’s porch and telling the tragic story of his father. Perhaps Mr. Faulkner had heard the story. Perhaps he would use it in a novel.

From the station in Kansas City, they took a cab to a modest home in the center of town. Papa and Gran Sweeney moved there from Memphis after the war, and neither Joel nor Stella had ever visited. The truth was they had spent little time with Liza’s parents because, as they realized as they grew older, Pete didn’t care for the Sweeneys and the feelings were mutual.

The Sweeneys had no money but had always tried to rub elbows with the upper classes. That was one reason Liza spent so much time at the Peabody when in high school. Her parents pressured her to. However, instead of snagging a rich Memphis boy for a husband, she’d gotten herself pregnant by a farmer from Mississippi, of all places.

As with most Memphis people, the Sweeneys looked far down their noses at anyone from Mississippi. They had been polite to Pete when Liza first brought him home, secretly hoping he was not the one, regardless of his good looks and West Point credentials. And before they could seriously object, he swept her away in a marriage that left them traumatized. They weren’t certain that she was pregnant when she eloped, but little Joel arrived quite soon thereafter. For years they had been forced to assure their friends that he was born a full nine months after the “wedding.”

When Pete was presumed dead, the Sweeneys provided little comfort to Liza, at least in her opinion. They seldom visited the farm, and when they did venture into the boondocks they were always eager to leave as soon as they arrived. Privately, they were embarrassed that their daughter had chosen to live in such a backward place. As ignorant city people, they had no appreciation of the land, the cotton, or livestock or fresh eggs and vegetables. They were appalled that the Bannings used “coloreds” to work in the house and toil in the fields. When Pete returned from the dead, they showed little interest and did not see him for months after he came home.

When the war ended, Mr. Sweeney was transferred to Kansas City, a move that was described as a major promotion, but was in reality a desperate effort to save a job. Their new home was even smaller than the one in Memphis, but both girls were gone and they didn’t need a lot of space. Then Liza had her breakdown and was sent to Whitfield. The Sweeneys told no one that their younger daughter had been banished to an insane asylum deeper down into Mississippi. They visited her once and were horrified at her condition and her surroundings.

Then Pete was arrested, tried, and executed, and the Sweeneys were grateful they had moved even farther away from Clanton.

Their only contact had been the occasional letters from Joel and Stella, who were growing up as the years flew by, and perhaps it was time to reach out and have a visit. They welcomed them into their home and seemed genuinely thrilled that they had traveled all the way to Kansas City. Over a long dinner, of impossibly bland food because Gran had never liked to cook, they talked of college and law school and plans for the future. They talked about Liza. Stella and Joel had just spent two days with her and claimed to have noticed improvement. Her doctors were optimistic that some new medications were working. She had gained a few pounds. The Sweeneys wanted to travel south to see her but Papa’s work schedule was downright brutal.

There was no mention of the mountain of legal troubles facing the Bannings, not that Papa and Gran would care much anyway. They preferred to talk about themselves and all the wonderful and wealthy friends they had made in Kansas City. It was a vast improvement over Memphis. Surely the kids were not thinking of settling in Mississippi.

Stella slept in the spare bedroom while Joel took the sofa. After a rough night, he awoke to sounds in the kitchen and the smell of coffee. Papa was at the table, eating toast and flipping hurriedly through the morning paper, while Gran mixed pancake batter. After a few minutes of chatting, Papa grabbed his briefcase and hustled away, eager to get to the office to save an important deal.

“He just works all the time,” Gran said as soon as he left. “Let’s sit and chat.”

Stella soon joined them and they enjoyed a long breakfast of pancakes and sausage. About halfway through, Stella broached the subject of an assignment she was working on for a class in the fall. She was required to gather as much information as possible about the health and fitness histories of her immediate relatives. The profiles would be studied in class with the goal of projecting the longevity of each student. On the Banning side, things looked rather grim. Pete’s father had died of a heart attack at forty-nine; his mother of pneumonia at fifty. Aunt Florry was fifty and seemed to be in reasonably good health, but not a single Banning, male or female, in the past century had lived to see seventy.

Joel claimed to be helping with the project and took notes. They discussed Gran’s parents, both dead, as well as Mr. Sweeney’s.

Mrs. Sweeney was sixty-six and claimed to be in excellent health. She was suffering from no maladies and taking no medications. She had never had cancer, heart disease, or any other serious illness. She had been hospitalized twice in Memphis for the births of her daughters, nothing else. She hated hospitals and tried to avoid them. Joel and Stella claimed to be relieved to learn that they had inherited more promising genes from the Sweeney side.

—

If Nineva told the truth, as she almost always did, why would Liza and Dexter Bell lie and create the ruse of visiting her mother, who was dying of cancer in a Memphis hospital? And hide it from the kids and everyone else?

Which led to the next question: What did they really do that day?

—

Two nights in Kansas City were enough. Gran drove them to the station and everybody had a hug. Promises were made to see each other soon and keep in touch. Back in the dining car, Joel and Stella took deep breaths and asked for some wine.

They stopped in St. Louis and checked into a downtown hotel. Joel wanted to watch a Cardinals game at Sportsman’s Park and insisted that his sister go with him. She had no interest in baseball but really had no choice. The team was in second place. Stan Musial was on a rampage and leading the league in hitting and homers, and this meant a great deal to her brother. Both enjoyed the game.

From St. Louis, they continued east, switched trains in Louisville and Pittsburgh, and finally arrived at Union Station in D.C. on the evening of June 17. Stella’s two-month internship with a textbook publisher began the following Monday and she needed to find a cheap room.

Joel’s hit-or-miss unpaid summer clerkship with the Wilbanks firm would resume when he returned to Clanton. He was not looking forward to it. He was fed up with the law and law school and was thinking of skipping a year, maybe two. He wanted to get away, to go search for adventure out west, where he could hide from all the crap he was dealing with. Why couldn’t he spend a few months fishing for trout in shallow mountain streams instead of sitting through dull classes, or driving to Whitfield for another depressing visit, or worrying about which legal hijinks Burch Dunlap might be cooking up next, or stopping by the pink cottage to hold Florry’s hand as opera wailed in the background?

He was low on cash, so he passed on first class and bought a regular ticket to Memphis. He was sitting on a bar stool drinking a beer in Union Station when she walked by. Short black hair, dark eyes, perfect features. Maybe twenty years old, a real stunner, and he wasn’t the only man in the bar to take notice. Tall, thin, nicely proportioned. When she was out of sight he returned to his beer, and his troubles, and found it hard to believe that he had passed on a first-class ticket because he was worried about money.

He drained his glass, walked toward departures, and there she was again. He maneuvered close and hoped she was going his way. She was, and he noticed a couple of other men measuring her up and down. He boarded behind her and managed to snag the seat next to her. He got himself situated, ignored her, opened a magazine, and stuck his nose in it. With their elbows almost touching, he managed to sneak another glance as the train jolted and began to move. There was some exotic ethnic stuff in play, and the result was stunning. Joel had never seen a face as beautiful. She read a paperback and acted as if she were alone on an empty train. Must be a defensive mechanism, he thought. She probably gets hounded every time she leaves home.

Outside D.C., as the temperature rose, he stood and removed his jacket. She glanced up. He smiled; she did not. He sat down and asked, “Where you headed?”

A smile that weakened his knees. “Jackson.”

There were several Jacksons down south and fortunately they were all at least a thousand miles away. If he got lucky, he would be at her elbow for hours. “Mississippi?”

“Yes.”

“I know it well. That your home?”

“No, I’m from Biloxi, but I’ll stay a night or two in Jackson.”

Soft, sultry voice, a trace of Gulf Coast accent. To the rest of Mississippi, the coast was another world. Heavily Catholic, influenced by the French, Spanish, Creoles, Indians, and Africans, it had become a melting pot with lots of Italians, Yugoslavs, Lebanese, Chinese, and, as always, Irish.

“I like Jackson,” he said, which was only partially true, but it was his turn to say something.

“It’s okay,” she said. She had lowered her paperback, a clear sign to him that she wanted to chat. “Where do you hang out in Jackson?” she asked.

Whitfield, because my mother is locked away in the nuthouse. He would offer his first name but not his last. That was his defensive mechanism. “There’s a little speakeasy behind the Heidelberg that I’m quite fond of. I’m Joel.”

“I’m Mary Ann. Malouf.”

“Where does Malouf come from?”

“My father is Lebanese; my mother is Irish.”

“And the dominant genes win. You are quite beautiful.” He couldn’t believe he had just said that. What an idiot!

She smiled and again his heart skipped a beat.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll get off at Memphis.” Or, I’ll ride this train to Mars and back if you’ll stay right there. “I go to school at Ole Miss. Law school.” One reason to stay in law school was that young ladies liked to chat with young men who were about to become lawyers. During his first year at Ole Miss, he had quickly learned this clever trick and used it whenever appropriate.

“How long have you been at Ole Miss?” she asked.

“This will be my second year.”

“I haven’t seen you around.”

“Around? Around where?”

“Around campus. I’ll be a sophomore at Ole Miss this fall.”

The school had four thousand students and only 15 percent were female. How had he missed her? He smiled and said, “Small world, I guess. The law students tend to stay in one place.” He marveled at his good fortune. Not only did he have her to himself for the next ten hours, but they would be on the same campus in a couple of months. For a rare moment, he had reason to smile.

“What brought you to D.C.?” she asked.

“I was helping my sister get moved in, a summer job. We’re from a small town not far from Oxford. And you?”

“Visiting my fiancé. He works for a Senate committee.”

And just like that, the party ended. He hoped he didn’t frown or grimace or look as though he might weep. He hoped he managed to keep the same pleasant look and seem somewhat understanding, which he doubted in the face of such a calamity.

“That’s nice,” he managed to say. “When is the big day?”

“We’re not sure. After I graduate. We’re in no hurry.”

With romance and a future together no longer a possibility, they talked about their plans for the rest of the summer, and college and law school and what they hoped to do after graduation. As gorgeous as she was, Joel eventually lost interest and fell asleep.

Chapter 43

After Rumbold had sat on the case for three months without a word, Burch Dunlap took action, though his maneuver was ineffective and designed only to embarrass the chancellor. In early September, he petitioned the state supreme court for an order demanding a ruling from Rumbold within thirty days. Nowhere in the rule book was such a petition allowed, or even mentioned, and Dunlap knew it. In his petition he claimed bias on the part of Rumbold and made much of the fact that the chancellor should have recused himself. He summarized the testimony and proof during the trial that lasted only hours. He covered the law nicely, said it was straightforward and uncomplicated, and summed up everything by saying, “The docket for the Twenty-Second Chancery District is rather light. Even a cursory review of it reveals the chancellor’s workload is not demanding. It is inconceivable that such a wise, respected, and experienced jurist as the Honorable Abbott Rumbold could not have decided this case and issued a ruling within a matter of days. A delay of three months, and counting, is unfair to the parties. Justice delayed is justice denied.”

John Wilbanks admired the gall of Dunlap and thought his ploy was brilliant. The supreme court would dismiss it without comment, but the court was also being forewarned in an unconventional manner that an important case was coming its way and perhaps it involved some home cooking up in Ford County. Wilbanks filed a one-page response in which he reminded the court that the rules of procedure did not allow such petitions, nor did they allow lawyers to attempt to create new rules of their own volition.

The supreme court ignored the petition and refused to dignify it with a response.

One month later, and without a peep from old Rumbold, Dunlap filed another, identical petition. John Wilbanks’s response included a reminder that Dunlap’s frivolous petitions were causing the litigants to incur unnecessary legal fees. Dunlap fired back. Wilbanks responded. The supreme court was not amused. Rumbold continued napping.

Joel’s last class each Wednesday ended at noon, and he fell into the habit of driving home for lunch. Marietta cooked something delicious each Wednesday, and he and Aunt Florry ate on her back porch with the birds cawing in the distance. Beyond her aviary the acres were laden with cotton and the picking would start as soon as the weather cooled. They had the same conversations about Stella and Liza and law school, but they did not dwell on the lawsuits and legal troubles. Losing the land was never discussed.

After a long lunch, Joel stopped by his home to check on Nineva and Amos and make sure nothing had changed. It had not. He usually met with Buford to discuss the cotton. And he eventually made it to town, where he parked on the square and walked into the Wilbanks firm for a few hours of work. John and Russell assigned him briefs to research and write in his spare time at Ole Miss. Late in the day they would have a quick bourbon on the terrace; then Joel would load up his files and head back to Oxford.

After a couple of attempts, he realized he could not spend the night in his home. The place was too quiet, lonely, and depressing. There were too many photographs of the family in happier times, too many reminders. In his father’s study, on the wall next to his desk, there was a large photo of Pete taken the day he graduated from West Point. Joel had admired it his entire life. Now it was so heartbreaking he couldn’t make himself look at it.

He and Stella had discussed removing all of the photos and books and medals, and boxing them all up for storage, but couldn’t muster the energy. Besides, Liza might return one day and attempt to renew her life, and such memories would be important to her.

So their fine home sat gloomy, dark, and deserted, with only Nineva easing through it each day, dusting here and there and doing as little as possible.

With each visit to the farm, Joel found himself eager to leave it. His life there would never be the same. His father was dead. His mother’s future was uncertain. Stella was headed for the bright lights up north and a life far removed from Ford County. The Wilbanks brothers were dropping serious hints about Joel joining their firm after graduation, but that would not happen. In Clanton, he would always be “Pete Banning’s boy,” the son of the guy they fried in the electric chair right up there in the main courtroom.

Seriously? Did they really expect Joel to practice law in a courtroom where they killed his father? Did they really expect him to live a normal, successful life in a town where half the people viewed his father as a murderer and the other half suspected his mother was fooling around with the preacher?

Clanton was the last place he would live.

Biloxi, on the other hand, looked promising. He wasn’t stalking Mary Ann Malouf, but he knew her dormitory and her class schedule. Armed with this intelligence, he managed to bump into her a couple of times on campus. She seemed to enjoy the encounters. Occasionally, he watched her from a distance, and was irritated at the number of other boys doing the same. When Kentucky rolled into town for a football game on October 1, Joel asked her for a date. She declined and reminded him that she was engaged. Her fiancé had also attended Ole Miss and still had friends on campus. She couldn’t be seen with someone else.

She did not say that she didn’t want to date someone else, only that she couldn’t be seen dating someone else. Joel noted the important distinction. He replied that, at least in his opinion, it wasn’t fair for such a beautiful coed to have her social life so restricted while her fiancé was off no doubt having a grand time in D.C. He asked her why she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. She didn’t have one.

He persisted and she finally agreed to a late dinner. Not a date, just a meal. He met her outside the Lyceum after dark, and they drove downtown to the square, parked in front of Neilson’s department store, and walked a block along South Lamar to the Mansion, the only restaurant open late. As they entered, Joel saw William Faulkner at his customary table, alone, eating, and reading a magazine.

He had just published Intruder in the Dust, his fourteenth novel. A critic writing for the Memphis Press-Scimitar gave it a mixed review, but more important, another story in the same newspaper revealed that Faulkner had sold the film rights to MGM. Joel bought the book at a small store in Jackson when he was visiting his mother. At that time, there was no bookstore in Oxford and the locals cared little about what their most famous son happened to be writing and publishing. As a general rule, he ignored them and they ignored him.

In a paper sack, Joel had two hardbacks: Intruder in the Dust, which was brand-new and yet to be read, and his father’s well-worn edition of As I Lay Dying.

The restaurant was empty at that hour, and Joel and Mary Ann sat as close to Mr. Faulkner as was reasonable without violating his privacy. Joel was hopeful that Faulkner would notice the stunning coed and wish to flirt, something he was prone to do, but he was too absorbed with his reading. He was oblivious to everything around him.

They ordered iced tea and vegetable plates and spoke quietly while waiting for an opening. Joel was at once thrilled to be staring into the lovely face of the girl he was dreaming of and to be so close to Faulkner, with the determination to say hello.

When Faulkner was half-finished with his barbecued chicken, he shoved it aside, took one bite of peach cobbler, then pulled out his pipe. He glanced around, finally, and noticed Mary Ann. Joel was amused at his double take and obvious interest. Faulkner stared her up and down as he fiddled with his pipe. Joel was on his feet. He stepped over, apologized for the intrusion, and asked the great man if he would be so kind as to autograph his father’s copy of As I Lay Dying, a book that Joel loved, and also his own edition of Intruder in the Dust.

“Of course,” Mr. Faulkner said politely in a high-pitched voice. He removed a pen from his coat pocket and took both books.

“I’m Joel Banning, a law student here.”

“A pleasure to meet you, son. And your friend?” Faulkner asked, smiling at her.

“Mary Ann Malouf, also a student.”

“They look younger every year.” He opened the first book, wrote nothing but his name in small print, closed it, smiled, handed it back, then signed the second one.

Joel said, “Thanks, Mr. Faulkner.” And when he could think of nothing else, and it was obvious Faulkner was finished with his end of the conversation, Joel backed away and returned to his seat. He had not managed to shake hands, and he was certain Faulkner would never remember his name.

Nevertheless, Joel had had his encounter, one that he would talk about for the rest of his life.

In November, Burch filed his third petition, and in December his fourth. After sitting on the case for six months, Chancellor Rumbold decided it was time to rule. In a two-page decision, he found that the conveyance by Pete Banning of his land to his two children was proper and in no way fraudulent. He denied any relief to Jackie Bell.

Expecting as much, Burch Dunlap perfected his appeal almost overnight, filed his brief, and hurried the case to Jackson, to a supreme court that was already quite familiar with the facts.

Over the Christmas holidays, Joel stayed with Florry and spent his days at the Wilbanks firm writing the reply brief in opposition to Dunlap’s appeal. His research, much of which had already been done, was exhaustive and thorough and troubling. As a general rule, when looking at all jurisdictions, the case law tended to favor the orderly transfer of land among generations of family members. However, the law also took a dim view of those involved in criminal activity transferring assets to avoid the claims of their victims. There was little doubt Pete tried to get rid of his land before he killed Dexter Bell.

As Joel labored for hours over his research and writing, he often felt as though generations of his ancestors were present in the room with him. They had cleared the land, clawed it from the wilderness, tilled the soil with oxen and mules, lost crops to floods and pests, added acreage when they could afford to, borrowed money, endured lean years, and paid off their loans after bumper harvests. They had been born on the land and buried there, and now, after more than a century, it all came down to young Joel and his legal skills.

In Old Sycamore, they were resting under neat rows of tombstones. Were their ghosts watching Joel and praying for a win?

Such questions were heavy burdens, and Joel went about his day with a thick knot in his stomach. The family was humiliated enough. Losing the land would haunt them forever.

He was also burdened by the obvious reality that he and Stella were counting on the income for many years. They would pursue careers and find success, but they had been raised to believe that the family farm would always provide some level of support. Raised on the soil, they knew that there were good years and bad, bumper crops and floods, ups and downs in the market, and that nothing was guaranteed. But their land was free and clear, and thus able to withstand the lean harvests. Losing it would be hard to accept.

Then there was Liza. She talked more and more of coming home, of getting back into her life on the farm. She claimed to miss Nineva, which Joel doubted. But she missed her rituals, her gardening, her horses, her friends. If it all vanished, the damage could be catastrophic. At every visit, Dr. Hilsabeck inquired about the lawsuits and appeals and all that legal mess that to him was indecipherable.

So Joel researched and wrote. John Wilbanks reviewed his drafts, edited, and offered comments. He filed his brief on January 18, and the waiting game began. The supreme court could hear the case in three months, or twelve.

That afternoon Joel packed his papers, cleaned his desk, and tidied the little office where he had spent so many hours. He had already said good-bye to Florry and planned to drive to Oxford that night to begin his fourth semester of law school. He joined John Wilbanks on the terrace for a drink. The weather was unseasonably warm and springlike.

John lit a cigar and offered one to Joel, who declined. They sipped Jack Daniel’s sour mash and commented on the weather. Wilbanks said, “We hate to see you go, Joel. It’s nice having you around the office.”

“I enjoy it,” Joel said, though it was a stretch.

“We’d like to have you back this summer for another clerkship.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” He had no plans to return for the summer, or next year or the one after that, but it was too soon to inform John Wilbanks. “I may stay in school this summer,” he said. “Finish next December.”

“What’s the rush? You’d better enjoy the college days, son.”

“I’m tired of those days. I want to get out and start a career.”

“Well, I hope you’ll consider our offer of an associate’s position.”

Why beat around the bush? His father never minced words and was admired for his bluntness. Joel took a long pull on the whiskey and said, “Mr. Wilbanks, I’m not sure I can practice law in this town. When I see that courthouse, and it’s rather hard to miss, I think of my father’s last moments. I think of him walking bravely down the street, crowds on both sides, all the veterans here to honor him, to support him, and I can just see him walking into the building and up the stairs to his death. His long walk to the grave. And when I enter that courtroom, I can think of only one image. My father getting strapped in.”

“I understand, Joel.”

“I’m convinced I’ll never be able to erase that image. How can I represent clients in that courtroom?”

“I understand.”

Chapter 44

On March 28, thirteen months after the trial in Oxford, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals in New Orleans affirmed the $100,000 wrongful death verdict. The opinion was short and unanimous. While the justices were alarmed at the size of the verdict, they were thoroughly unsympathetic to the interests of a man of means who so brazenly murdered his own pastor. The crime was calculated. The victim’s family suffered greatly. The jurors heard the case, listened to the witnesses, reviewed the documents, and deliberated thoughtfully. The justices would not substitute their opinions for those of the jurors. Affirmed on all counts.

For the Bannings, the decision was devastating. The Wilbanks brothers and Joel had convinced themselves that the verdict would indeed stand on appeal, but would certainly be reduced. Fifty thousand dollars in punitive damages was unheard of. Given the value of Pete’s land and his other assets, it was conceivable that his estate could withstand a lesser award, perhaps something in the neighborhood of $50,000. The eventual owners of the land, whether Joel and Stella, or Pete’s estate, could borrow that much with a mortgage and satisfy the judgment. But, an enforceable lien of $100,000 looked insurmountable.

The future of the land now rested solely with the Mississippi Supreme Court. If it upheld Rumbold’s ruling that the conveyance was proper, then Joel and Stella would keep the land. Burch Dunlap and his now permanent sidekick, Errol McLeish, would be forced to attack Pete’s other assets — bank accounts, farm equipment, livestock, automobiles — in order to squeeze whatever money they could find. But, if the court reversed Rumbold, the land reverted to Pete’s estate and would become subject to the jury’s verdict. Everything, including the home and furnishings, would be lost.

With Joel’s assistance, John Wilbanks appealed the Fifth Circuit’s decision to the U.S. Supreme Court, a complete waste of time. However, the appeal would keep Dunlap busy and buy a few months. Dunlap enrolled the $100,000 judgment, now with interest clicking away, with the circuit clerk in Ford County. Wilbanks ran to chancery court, woke up old Rumbold, and petitioned for an injunction to prevent Dunlap from trying to grab assets pending the appeal. After a brief and contentious hearing, Rumbold once again ruled in favor of the Bannings. Dunlap petitioned the Mississippi Supreme Court for an expedited hearing. Wilbanks opposed it.

Joel monitored the assaults and counterattacks from the safety of his garage apartment in Oxford. For $10 a month, he leased the ground floor of the garage and, using his father’s Ford truck, began quietly moving furniture and furnishings from their home to the safety of the garage. Nineva didn’t like it, but she had no say in the matter.

In mid-May, Joel and Florry loaded into her 1939 Lincoln and commenced a long road trip to Virginia. They checked into the Hotel Roanoke, where they hosted a cocktail party for Stella and her friends at Hollins. On a glorious spring day, they sat with a crowd of other proud parents and family members and watched Stella accept her degree in English literature. The following day, while the ladies sipped tea in the shade, Joel hauled boxes and bags from her dorm room to the car. When it was stuffed and he was exhausted, Stella said good-bye to college, to a school she loved, and to her friends. Joel had never seen so many tears, not even at a good funeral.

With the women in the rear seat barking instructions, and with the view in every mirror blocked by luggage and boxes, they roared away from Hollins and headed north. Three hours later, they were lost in Richmond, but stopped anyway at a barbecue place in a lesser part of the city. A local pointed this way and that, and after a quick lunch they were off again, headed for D.C.

Stella’s grand plan was still to live in New York, work for a magazine, and write serious fiction on the side. Getting there, though, would take more time than she realized. Jobs in publishing were scarce, but every school needed young teachers. St. Agnes in Alexandria was an Episcopal girls’ day and boarding school, and it offered her a contract to teach English to ninth graders and serve as a dorm parent. While she and Florry enjoyed even more tea with the headmistress, Joel schlepped her bags and boxes into a suffocating dorm room even smaller than the last.

The school allowed him to park the car in a safe place. For $10, a janitor agreed to keep air in the tires and crank the engine once a day. They called a cab and crossed the Potomac into D.C. At Union Station, they caught their train to New York.

Before Burch Dunlap and his greedy clients could seize their money, they had decided to spend some of what was left of it. Stella’s tuitions were now in the past and she had a job. Joel had only one more year of law school and he would start working. Florry’s land was safe from the vultures, and she had some money buried. Nineteen forty-nine could be their last summer together, so why not do it in style?

At the port in lower Manhattan, they boarded an ocean liner bound for London, and for two weeks had a delightful time resting and reading and trying to forget all the troubles back home. On deck, Joel and Stella noticed for the first time how slow Florry was getting about. She was carrying too much weight, as usual, but she had always been vigorous and busy. Now, though, she was missing a step and seemed winded after even a short walk. She was only fifty, but aging and looking tired.

In London, they spent a week at the St. Regis Hotel and saw the sights, then traveled to Edinburgh, where they boarded the Royal Scotsman for a week in the Highlands. When they were tired of visiting castles, manor homes, historic sites, and distilleries, they returned to London for a two-day rest before pushing on to Paris.

Stella and Joel were having coffee in the lobby of the Hôtel Lutetia when they got the news. Florry was not feeling well and had decided to rest through the morning and not walk the city at full throttle. A porter approached and handed Joel a cablegram. It was from John Wilbanks. The Mississippi Supreme Court had voted 7–2 to reverse Rumbold. The conveyance of the land to Joel and Stella was null and void. The property would remain in their father’s estate; thus, subject to all claims and liens.

“Reversed and rendered,” Joel said in disbelief.

“What does that mean?” Stella asked.

“It means the case is over. It means the supreme court felt strongly that Rumbold was wrong and decided to end the matter without further hearings.”

“What about an appeal?”

“Yes, we’ll file another appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court and try to buy some time. Wilbanks and I will discuss bankruptcy.”

They sipped coffee and watched the foot traffic pass through the luxurious lobby. Stella said, “I have a question, and I want an honest answer. Does this mean that Jackie Bell and her children could one day be living in our home?”

“It’s possible but I still don’t believe it. At some point, Wilbanks will sit down with her lawyer and push hard to settle everything.”

“And how does that work?”

“We offer them cash.”

“I thought we tried that once.”

“We did, and they turned down $25,000. It’ll cost more now.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be a question of how much money is left in the bank accounts and how much money we can borrow against the land.”

“Do you really want to mortgage the land, Joel? You know how much Dad hated banks.”

“We may not have a choice.”

In its ruling, the state supreme court found that Pete’s conduct amounted to fraud in several ways. First, he retained an interest in his land by living on it and farming it and profiting from it. Second, he received nothing in return for the deed to his children. Third, the transfer of ownership was to family members, which is always suspicious. And, fourth, at the time he signed the deed he had reason to believe that he would one day be pursued by creditors because of his actions.

John Wilbanks read the opinion a dozen times and found the court’s logic sound. He went through the useless routine of appealing the decision to the only court left, the U.S. Supreme Court, but knew there was no chance the case would be accepted for argument. He consulted with a close friend in Memphis who was a bankruptcy specialist, and was not encouraged by the conversation. Putting Pete’s estate into bankruptcy would be a smart delaying tactic, but a successful outcome would be difficult.

Wilbanks went back to chancery court for another injunction to prevent a foreclosure pending appeals, and, of course, Rumbold gave it to him. Dunlap took another lump and appealed. Soon enough, though, not even a highly biased judge like Rumbold could forestall the inevitable.

After the hearing, a composed and quite confident Dunlap chatted with Wilbanks and offered a proposal. It was time to stop running up legal bills and face the obvious. The appeals would not work, nor would a bankruptcy. Why not simply deed the land, all 640 acres, plus the house and furnishings, over to Jackie Bell? If the Bannings would agree to it, then Jackie would forgo all claims to the bank accounts.

Wilbanks bristled at the proposal and said, as he walked away, “The Bannings will burn the house and the crops before they sign over a deed.”

Dunlap shot back, “Great, but please remind your clients that arson is still a crime, punishable by a long prison sentence.”

When Joel and Florry crossed the state line into Mississippi in late July, they began to notice, as always, the cotton, and it was not encouraging. Heavy rains in the spring had delayed the planting, and in the two months they had been living it up in England and Europe the weather had obviously not cooperated. In a good year the cotton bloomed by July 4, and by Labor Day it was chest high.

This was the worst-looking crop in recent memory, and as they crossed through the farmlands of north Mississippi the cotton looked worse. There were no blooms. The stalks were hardly knee high. In low spots entire acres had been washed out.

Nineva made a pot of coffee and asked about their trip. They asked about the weather and got an earful. While they were gone it rained every day, it seemed, and even when it wasn’t raining the skies were cloudy. Cotton needed days and days of dry weather and hot sun, and, well, it was obvious the weather was killing the crops. Amos was fighting it in the garden but the yield was far below normal.

As if life on the Banning farm wasn’t depressing enough.

Joel drove his aunt to the pink cottage and unloaded her luggage. They had a drink on the porch, stared at the pathetic crops, and wished they were back in Scotland.

John Wilbanks wanted to see him, and as badly as Joel wanted to avoid the law office and the courthouse and everything else about downtown Clanton, he had no choice. They met in the large conference room on the ground floor, a sign that the meeting was of extra importance. Russell also joined them, another sure signal.

The brothers promptly fired up their smokes, the standard short black cigar for John and a cigarette for Russell. Joel declined and said he would join them just by breathing the air.

John recapped the litigation. They had two frivolous appeals filed with the U.S. Supreme Court and they could expect both to be rejected within a couple of months, as soon as a clerk there got around to the paperwork. There was no reason whatsoever for the Court to show any interest in either case. Burch Dunlap had enrolled the $100,000 judgment across the street, and would wait patiently for the Bannings and their lawyers to tire themselves with useless legal maneuverings and throw in the towel.

“What about bankruptcy?” Joel asked.

“It won’t work, because the estate is not bankrupt. We could do it and stall, but Dunlap would waste no time getting a hearing before the bankruptcy judge. And remember, if we put the estate into bankruptcy, the trustee then assumes control of the estate. We don’t name the trustee. The court does.”

Russell let loose a cloud of smoke and said, “There’s an excellent chance the trustee could order the executrix, Florry, to hand over all assets to the judgment creditor, Jackie Bell.”

“None of this is surprising,” Joel said.

“And there’s something else,” Russell said. “We need to get paid. Our bill is now over $7,000 and I’m not sure there’s enough in the estate to pay us. We’ve been shotgunning petitions and motions right and left, hoping for a miracle, and it’s taken a lot of time. Using a bankruptcy as a stall tactic just eats more clock.”

“I understand.”

John said, “We’re at the end of the road, Joel. There’s nothing left except a good-faith effort to settle with these people. We have one idea left, and it’s the only one that might save the land. It requires a mortgage on both pieces of property — Pete’s and Florry’s. All twelve hundred acres. You borrow as much as you can, and offer it to Dunlap to settle everything.”

Cautiously, Joel asked, “How much?”

“The house is valued at thirty thousand. The land is worth about a hundred bucks an acre, on the high side, but you’d have a hard time getting that much in this market. As you know, only about a thousand acres are planted. No bank is going to lend the full value because of the risk. Think about it. Pete managed to either break even or show a profit most years because he owned the land free and clear, plus he worked himself to the bone, pushed his workers, and watched every dime. Burden the land with a mortgage and suddenly you’re in business with a bank. A couple of bad crops, like this one, and you fall behind. Before you know it, the bank starts talking about foreclosure. Happens every year around here, even in good years.”

Russell took the handoff and said, “We’ve talked to our brother over at the bank and he’s not too keen on the deal. If Pete were alive and cracking the whip, the farm would be more attractive. But he’s gone, you’re not a farmer, Florry’s crazy as hell. I can see the banks running from this one.”

Joel asked, “How much would your brother lend?”

“Seventy-five thousand at the most,” John said.

Russell added, “And I’m not sure about that. There’s another problem that’s rather obvious. We represent your family, and we represent the bank. What if there’s a default? The law firm suddenly has a huge conflict of interest, one that could land us in serious trouble.”

John said, “And we haven’t discussed this with the other bank in town. As you know, there’s a good bit of rivalry involved between the families. I doubt they would touch it, but we could possibly take it to a larger bank in Tupelo.”

Joel stood and walked around the room. “I can’t ask Florry to mortgage her land. That’s simply too much. It’s all she’s got and if she lost it I don’t know where she’d go. I can’t do it. I’m not going to ask her.”

John flicked ashes into a dish and said, “Here’s a plan. Tell me what you think. I’ll sit down with Dunlap and negotiate. He probably took this case on a contingency and hasn’t been paid a dime yet, so he might have an interest in a cash settlement. I’ll start at fifty thousand and we’ll see what he’s thinking. You can handle fifty, right?”

“I suppose,” Joel said. “But the thought of owing that much makes me sick.”

“It should, but you and Stella can keep your land and your home.”

“What if they want too much?”

“We’ll see. Let’s have the first round of negotiations. I’ll act as poor as possible.”

Chapter 45

In the stifling heat of August, Liza’s little room was unbearable. There was no window to catch a breeze, nothing to break the suffocating humidity but a flimsy box fan Joel had brought her the summer before. After a few minutes, they were both sweating and decided to go hunt for shade. She was walking well these days; her condition had improved, at least physically. She had gained a few pounds, though still ate little. At times the Thorazine gave her an appetite. It certainly calmed her and she didn’t fidget nonstop and pull at her hair as before. She cut her hair short and washed it more often, and she had ditched the pale and permanently stained hospital gowns for the simple cotton dresses Stella sent. A milestone had been reached a month earlier when Stella brought in three tubes of lipstick, and Liza was thrilled. Now each visitor was greeted with a bright red smile.

Dr. Hilsabeck continued to say that he was pleased with her progress, but Joel had lost hope that his mother would ever recover enough to leave. After three years in the institution, it had become her home. Yes, she had improved, but then she’d had so far to climb.

They left the building and walked to the pond, where they sat on a picnic table under the shade of an oak. The heat was brutal and the air was too thick to stir, so it hung in one place with no hint of a breeze. Unlike most visits, Joel looked forward to this one because he had so much to talk about. In vivid detail, he recounted their travels to New York, London, Scotland, and Paris.

Liza listened with a pretty smile, one that broke his heart because it was the best she could ever hope for. His mother was not coming home, and home was a subject he could not discuss.

He found a dirty room in a cheap tourist motel near the beach in Biloxi and went looking for Mary Ann Malouf, who was no longer engaged to the guy in Washington. In the past year she had seen a lot of Joel, primarily because he simply would not go away. At Ole Miss, they had sneaked around for late dinners. They had taken two road trips to Memphis, where they would not be seen. He had pressed her to ditch the guy in D.C. and hook up with a real man.

During the summer she was working a few hours a week in a dress store on Main Street, and when he walked through the door she was pleasantly surprised. He hung around long enough to get harsh looks from her boss, then left. They met for a soda after hours and discussed meeting her family. He insisted on it. She was hesitant. Her parents approved of her fiancé and would not understand a new suitor hanging around.

Feeling a bit stiff-armed, Joel bummed around the coast for a few days, trying to avoid both the return home and anything resembling meaningful employment. He knocked on the doors of several law firms, landed two quick interviews but no job offer. The longer he stayed the more he liked Biloxi, with its ethnic blend, cafés offering all manner of fresh seafood, lounges that somehow served alcohol without getting busted, boats rocking in the harbors, and the laid-back atmosphere usually found along the ocean. And the longer he chased Mary Ann Malouf, the more determined he was to catch her.

Burch Dunlap spent the month of August in Montana away from the heat. Evidently, the vacation served him well. He returned to the office after Labor Day filled with energy and determined to make more money. His nearest target was the Banning case.

In chancery court, still and always the unquestioned domain of Chancellor Abbott Rumbold, he filed a lawsuit seeking a judicial foreclosure of the Banning land. He had no choice but to file in Ford County. The law was clear. Indeed, the law was so clear Burch was curious to see how the old judge could manipulate it to favor the Bannings.

A week later he sat down in his conference room to welcome his friend John Wilbanks, who was coming to Tupelo to open settlement negotiations. Or, as Dunlap had confided to his ever-present confidant, Errol McLeish, to beg for mercy.

And there would be none.

John was served coffee and offered a seat on one side of the handsome table. Across from him sat Dunlap, and to his right was McLeish, a man John had quickly learned to despise.

Dunlap lit a cigar and after some small talk said, “You have the money, John. Why don’t you tell us what you have in mind?”

“Of course. Obviously, my clients would like to keep the family land. They are also tired of payin’ me.”

“You’ve done a lot of work that wasn’t necessary,” Dunlap said almost rudely. “We’ve been worried about your fees, frankly. That money comes out of the estate.”

“Look, Burch, why don’t you worry about your fees and I’ll worry about mine. Fair enough?”

Reprimanded, Burch laughed loudly as if his pal had really nailed a great punch line. “Fair enough. Go on.”

“There’s not a lot of cash in the estate, so whatever we offer you to settle has to come from money that will be borrowed against the house and land.”

“How much, John?”

“It’s a question of how much income the farm can produce each year in order to service the mortgage. This year is a disaster. As you know, it’s a risky business. My family has been farming cotton for decades, and I often wonder if it’s really worth it.”

“Your family’s done well, John.”

“In some endeavors, yes. The Bannings think they can borrow fifty thousand against their property and survive the mortgage. That’s the best they can do.”

Dunlap offered a sappy smile as if he’d really enjoyed round one, and said, “Come on, John, they own twelve hundred acres free and clear and a thousand of it is rich farmland. Their home is one of the finest in the county. They have half a dozen outbuildings, fine structures all, plus the farm equipment, and livestock, and how many Negroes?”

“Please, Burch, they don’t own those people.”

“For all practical purposes they do. Fifty is really lowball, John. I thought we agreed to meet for a serious discussion.”

“Well, you can’t be serious if you include the land owned by Florry Banning. That’s half of it, and she’s not involved in the litigation. She’s completely unaffected by all of this.”

“Not so fast, John. Pete Banning farmed his sister’s property just like he farmed his and gave her half the profits. Both sections came from the same source — their parents, and their grandparents, and so on.”

“This is absurd, Burch. Florry had nothing to do with the killing of Dexter Bell and you know it. To imply that her land is in play is ridiculous. If you think otherwise, then try and foreclose on it.”

“We can’t foreclose on anything as long as you keep old Rumbold in your hip pocket.”

John smiled and said, “He’s a brilliant jurist. One of the best.”

“Maybe, but down in Jackson the Supremes are not so impressed. Fifty thousand ain’t flyin’, John.”

“I’ve put a figure on the table. Now it’s your turn.”

McLeish said coldly, “At least a hundred thousand. Frankly, Jackie deserves more because we need to pay Mr. Dunlap.”

Mr. Dunlap said, “One twenty, John. I have this case on a contingency, and I’ve won it fair and square. I’ve done a heck of a job for my client, and I don’t want my fees to come out of her settlement.”

“You’ve done a superb job, Burch, no question about it. But your numbers are far above anything we can afford. No bank will lend more than $75,000 for Pete’s land and the house. Florry’s land is off-limits.”

“Are you offering $75,000?” Dunlap asked.

“Not yet, but would you take $75,000 if it were on the table?”

McLeish shook his head and said, “No.”

Both lawyers were good negotiators, and it was obvious who held the upper hand. When swimming against the tide, John knew it was often beneficial to muddy the waters. He said, “Look, Burch, the kids would really like to save the house, the only home they’ve ever known. You know about their mother and her troubles. There’s the chance that Liza may come home one day, and it’s crucial that she has her place. Can we discuss separating it and the buildings from the farmland? I’m working on a plat that would carve out only four acres that includes the house, the gardens and barns and such, and your client would take the rest.”

“The deed for the farm, minus the four acres?” Dunlap asked.

“Something like that. I’m just exploring alternatives here.”

“How much are they willing to pay for the four acres?”

“The house is appraised at thirty thousand, which is definitely on the high side. These are two fine kids who are trying to hang on to something.”

“How are they going to service a mortgage on the home?”

“Good question. We’ll figure it out. Florry might help them.”

The biggest obstacle to this proposal was one that would not be mentioned. Jackie Bell wanted the house. In fact, she wanted the house far more than she wanted the land. Her boyfriend fancied himself a gentleman farmer and was already counting his money, but Jackie just wanted a beautiful home.

McLeish shook his head and said, “No way. Those four acres are worth almost as much as the farmland. We can’t do it.” He spoke with the air of a man who was entitled to his rewards, in this case the treasured soil of some of the finest people John Wilbanks had ever known. He despised McLeish for his arrogance and his sense of entitlement.

John said, “Well, it looks as though we have nothing left to discuss.”

In late September, on back-to-back days, the U.S. Supreme Court laid waste to a batch of frivolous requests for hearings. On one day it hammered home the final nail in the coffin in the Banning appeal of the verdict in federal court, and on the very next day it brushed aside the Banning appeal from the Mississippi reversal of Rumbold’s ruling.

The path was now clear for a hearing on the petition by Dunlap for a judicial foreclosure; rather, the path should have been unobstructed. Standing in the way was His Honor himself, and old Rumbold was getting creakier by the month. Dunlap bellowed and screamed and demanded a timely day in court. Rumbold, almost deaf, heard nothing.

And then he died. On October 9, 1949, Abbott Rumbold succumbed to old age and passed at eighty-one. He died peacefully in his sleep, or as the colored folks preferred to say, he “woke up dead.” With thirty-seven years of service, he was the ranking chancellor in the state. Joel drove from Ole Miss and attended his funeral at First Baptist with John and Russell Wilbanks.

The service was a tribute to a man who lived a long, happy, and productive life. There were few tears, a lot of humor, and the warm feeling that one of God’s saints had simply gone home.

Joel’s next burial would be far different.

Chapter 46

To escape the monotony, and to ease some of the healthier patients into normalcy, the doctors and administrators at Whitfield arranged weekly visits to the Paramount Theatre on East Capitol Street in downtown Jackson. For each matinee, an unmarked bus stopped on a side street a block from the theater and twenty or so patients got off. They were accompanied by orderlies and nurses, and once off the bus they worked hard to appear as if they had simply arrived like everyone else. They wore street clothes and blended in with the crowd. An untrained eye would never suspect that they were being treated for all manner of serious mental illnesses.

Liza loved the movies and volunteered at every opportunity. She worked on her hair, put on makeup, layered on the lipstick, and wore one of the dresses Stella had sent.

The Paramount was showing Adam’s Rib, a comedy with Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, and the lobby was busy by 1:00 p.m. The head nurse bought their tickets and guided them to two rows of seats. On Liza’s left was an older lady named Beverly, an acquaintance who’d been institutionalized for years, and to her right was Karen, a sad young woman who usually slept during the shows.

Fifteen minutes into the movie, Liza whispered to Beverly that she needed to visit the ladies’ room. She eased to the aisle, whispered the same thing to a nurse, and left the auditorium. Then she left the theater.

She walked two blocks along East Capitol to Mill Street and entered the Illinois Central Station, where she purchased a second-class ticket for the 1:50 train to Memphis. Her hand was shaking as she took the ticket, and she needed to sit down. The station was practically empty and she found an empty seat far away from anyone else. She breathed deeply, composed herself, and from a small pocket pulled out a folded sheet of paper. It was a list of “What To Do Next,” one she had been putting together for weeks. She feared she would easily become overwhelmed and need guidance. She read it, refolded it, and returned it to her pocket. She left the station, walked one block along Mill Street to a department store, and purchased a cheap handbag, an even cheaper straw hat, and a magazine. She stuffed her remaining cash, a small bottle of pills, and one tube of lipstick into the purse, and hurried back to the station. As she waited there she reviewed her list again, smiled at herself for the success so far, and watched the entrance in case anyone from the hospital appeared. They did not.

The nurse enjoyed the comedy so much she forgot about Liza and her trip to the ladies’ room. When she finally remembered, she immediately left to go look. Finding nothing, she corralled two orderlies and they began searching the theater, which was almost full. In the lobby, no one remembered seeing a slim lady in a yellow dress leave after the movie started. They continued searching but soon ran out of places to look. The two orderlies began roaming the streets of downtown Jackson, and one finally strolled through the train station. By then, Liza was an hour north of town, sitting alone by a window, clutching her list, staring blankly at the passing countryside, and struggling with the rush of sights and sounds from the real world. She had been locked up for three and a half years.

The police were called and Dr. Hilsabeck was notified. Everyone was alarmed, but not panicked. Liza was not deemed a threat to anyone else, and she was stable enough to take care of herself, for a few hours anyway. Dr. Hilsabeck did not want to alarm the family, nor did he want his staff to appear incompetent, so he delayed calling either Joel, Florry, or Sheriff Nix Gridley.

Liza had purchased her ticket with cash and there was no record of who the passengers were. However, a ticket clerk remembered a lady who fit Liza’s description and said she was headed north, to Memphis. This was around 3:00 p.m. The movie was over and the bus had to return to Whitfield.

When the train arrived in Batesville, its sixth stop, at 4:15, Liza decided to get off. She assumed someone was looking for her, and she suspected they might be watching the trains and buses. Outside the station were two taxis, both old prewar sedans that appeared even more unreliable than the two drivers who were leaning on a bumper. She asked the first one if he would take her to Clanton, an hour and a half away. She offered $10, but he was worried about his tires. The second one said he would do it for $15. His tires looked even worse, but she didn’t have many options.

As she got into the rear seat, her driver said, “No luggage?”

“No. I’m traveling light.”

He got behind the wheel and they drove away from the station. He glanced into the mirror and said, “Mighty pretty dress you got on.”

Liza lifted her purse and said, “I carry a Colt pistol whenever I travel, and I know how to use it. Anything funny, and you’ll be sorry.”

“Sorry, ma’am.” Outside town, he found the nerve to speak again. “Anything on the radio, ma’am?”

“Sure, whatever you like.”

He turned on the radio, fiddled with the dial, and found a country station out of Memphis.

It was after dark when Hilsabeck finally made contact with Joel. He explained what had happened and admitted they were searching in vain. Joel was stunned to think that his mother was loose and doing something that she had obviously planned. He was petrified by fear and uncertain where to go. Should he drive to Jackson and help with the search? Or Memphis, where she was believed to be going? Or Clanton? Or just sit and wait? He called Stella and assured her things would be fine. He needed to call Florry, but decided to wait. Her phone was still on a rural party line with a dozen others, and the eavesdroppers would go berserk with the news that Liza Banning had escaped from Whitfield.

For an hour, Joel paced around his apartment, uncertain, waiting for the call that his mother had been found and was fine. He called the sheriff’s department in Clanton but no one answered. He figured old Tick Poley was in a deep sleep. A total jailbreak could be under way and Tick wouldn’t know it.

He finally reached Nix Gridley at home, on his private line, and told him about Liza’s latest. Nix offered his sympathies and said he would drive out and tell Florry.

When the taxi left the highway and pulled onto the long drive to the Banning estate, Liza told the driver to stop. She paid him $15, thanked him, and got out. When he disappeared down the dark and deserted road, she began walking slowly in the pitch blackness, barely able to see the gravel drive in front of her. There was not a single light on in the house, the barns, any of the outbuildings. In the distance, a dim glow emanated from a window in the small house where Nineva and Amos had lived forever. As she felt her way along the gravel, the outline of the house settled into view. She crossed the front lawn, then the porch, and rattled the doorknob. It was locked, which was unusual in the country. No one locked their doors.

She wanted to inspect the flower beds and shrubs, to see how much had changed in three and a half years, but there was no light, no moon on a cloudy night. She walked to the side and saw Pete’s truck parked exactly where he’d left it. She knew that Joel had assumed ownership of the Pontiac. In the backyard, she inched her way through the dead grass. A breeze kicked in from the west and she shivered and rubbed her arms. The rear door to the kitchen was unlocked. She entered her home and stood in the kitchen, stopped cold by an aroma that was so thick and familiar it overwhelmed her: a mix of cigarette smoke and coffee, bacon grease, fruity pies and cakes, thick beef and venison stews that Nineva simmered on the stove for days, steam from the canning of stewed tomatoes and a dozen vegetables, wet leather from Pete’s boots in a corner, the sweet soapy smell of Nineva herself. Liza was staggered by the dense fragrances and leaned on a counter.

In the darkness, she could hear the voices of her children as they giggled over breakfast and got themselves shooed away from the stove by Nineva. She could see Pete sitting there at the kitchen table with his coffee and cigarettes reading the Tupelo daily. A cloud moved somewhere and a ray of moonlight entered through a window. She focused and her kitchen came into view. She breathed as slowly as possible, sucking in the sweet smells of her former life.

Liza wiped some tears and decided to keep things dark. No one knew she was there and lights would only attract attention. At the same time she wanted to give the house the full, white-gloved inspection to see what Nineva had been up to. Were the dishes all washed and stacked neatly where they belonged? Was there a layer of dust on the coffee tables? What had been done to Pete’s things — the clothes in his closet, the books and papers in his study? She could vaguely recall a conversation with Joel about this but the details were gone.

She eased into the den and fell into the soft leather sofa, which felt and smelled just the way she remembered. Her first memory of the sofa was perhaps the worst. Joel to her right, Stella to her left, all three staring in utter fear at the army captain as he delivered the news that Pete was missing and presumed dead. May 19, 1942. Another lifetime.

Headlights swept through the windows and startled her. She peeked through the curtains and watched as a Ford County patrol car crept along her drive, then turned onto the side road that led to Florry’s. It disappeared, and she knew they were looking for her. She waited, and twenty minutes later the car came into view, passed the house again, and headed to the highway.

She reminded herself that she was sitting in her own home and she had committed no crime. If they found her, the worst they could do was send her back to Whitfield. They would not get the chance.

She began rocking, her shoulders jerking back and forth, a tedious habit that often afflicted her and she couldn’t control. When she worried or was afraid she began rocking, and humming, and twitching her hair. A lot of the crazy people at Whitfield engaged in all manner of rocking and twitching and groaning as they sat alone in the cafeteria or by the pond, but she always knew she would not be like them. She would get fixed, and soon, and pull her life back together.

After an hour or so — she had lost all concept of time — she realized that she was no longer rocking, and the crying had stopped too. There were so many burdens to unload.

She walked to the kitchen, to the only phone, and called Florry. To confound the eavesdroppers, she said, “Florry, I’m here.”

“Who? What?” Florry was startled, and rightfully so.

“I’m at the house,” Liza said and hung up. She walked to the back porch and waited. Only a few minutes passed before she saw headlights bouncing across the landscape. Florry parked beside the house.

“Over here, Florry,” Liza said. “On the porch.”

Florry walked to the rear, almost stumbling in the dark, and said, “Why don’t you turn on some damn lights around here?” She stopped at the steps, looked up at Liza, and asked, “What the hell are you doin’, Liza?”

“Come give me a hug, Florry.”

Well, she must be crazy if she wants a hug from me, Florry thought but certainly didn’t say. She climbed the steps and they embraced. Florry said, “Again, I’ll ask what are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to come home. The doctor said it was fine.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. The doctors are worried. The kids are beside themselves. The police are looking for you. Why’d you pull a stunt like this?”

“Got tired of Whitfield. Let’s go inside.”

They entered the kitchen and Florry said, “Hit the lights. I can’t see a damned thing.”

“I like it dark, Florry. Besides, I don’t want Nineva to know I’m here.”

Florry found a switch and turned on the kitchen lights. She had visited Liza at Whitfield and, like Stella and Joel, had always been troubled by her appearance. She had improved a little, but she was still painfully thin, gaunt, hollow. “You look good, Liza. It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to be home.”

“Now we need to call Joel and let him know you’re safe, okay?”

“I just talked to him. He’ll be here in an hour.”

Florry relaxed and said, “Good. Have you eaten? You look hungry.”

“I don’t eat much, Florry. Let’s go sit in the den and talk.”

Whatever you want, dear. She would pacify her until Joel arrived, and then they would decide what to do.

“Shouldn’t we call your doctors?” Florry asked. “They need to know you’re okay.”

“I told Joel to call them. He’ll take care of it. Everything is fine, Florry.”

They walked into the den and Liza turned the switch on a small lamp. A faint light gave the room an eerie, shadowy feel. Florry wanted more light but said nothing. She took one end of the sofa. Liza propped pillows on the other and reclined on them. They faced each other in the semidarkness.

“Would you like some coffee?” Liza asked.

“Not really.”

“Me neither. I’ve almost stopped drinking it. The caffeine doesn’t sit well with all the pills I take and it gives me headaches. You wouldn’t believe the drugs they try to stuff into me. Sometimes I take them; sometimes I don’t swallow and spit them out. Why haven’t you been to see me more often, Florry?”

“I don’t know. It’s a long trip down there and it’s not exactly an uplifting place to visit.”

“Uplifting? You expect to be uplifted when you visit the nuthouse? It’s not about you, Florry, it’s about me, the patient. The crazy woman. I’m the sick one and you’re supposed to visit me and show some support.”

The two had never been close, and Florry remembered why. However, at the moment she was willing to take some shots if that would help. Hopefully, they’d come get her tomorrow and take her back.

“Are we going to bicker, Liza?”

“Haven’t we always?”

“No. We did at first, and then we realized that the best way to get along was to give each other plenty of room. That’s what I remember, Liza. We’ve always been cautiously friendly, for the sake of the family.”

“If you say so. I want you to tell me a story, Florry, one that I’ve never heard.”

“Maybe.”

“I want to hear your version of what happened the day Pete killed Dexter Bell. I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but everyone knows it all, everyone but me. For a long time they wouldn’t tell me anything down there. I guess they figured it would just make bad matters worse, and they were right because when they finally told me I went into a coma for a week and almost died. But, anyway, I’d like to hear your version.”

“Why, Liza? It’s not a good story.”

“Why? Because it’s a pretty damned important part of my life, don’t you think, Florry? My husband kills our preacher and gets executed for it, and I don’t know the details. Come on, Florry, I have a right to know. Tell me the story.”

Florry shrugged, and the story flowed.

One led to the next. Life at the jail; the hearings in court; the reactions around town; the reports in the newspapers; the trial; the execution; the burial; the veterans who still stopped by the grave.

At times Liza cried and wiped her face with the back of her hands. At times she listened with her eyes closed, as if absorbing the horrors. She moaned occasionally and rocked a little. She asked a few questions, made only a couple of comments.

“You know he came to see me the day before they killed him?”

“Yes, I remember that.”

“He said he still loved me but that he could never forgive me. How about that, Florry? A lot of love but not enough for forgiveness. Facing a certain death, he still could not forgive me.”

“Forgive what?” And with that, Florry managed to ask the great question.

Liza closed her eyes and leaned her head on a pillow. Her lips were moving as if she were mumbling something only she could understand. Then she was completely still and silent.

Softly, Florry repeated, “Forgive what, Liza?”

“We have so much to talk about, Florry, and I want to do it now because I’m not going to live much longer. Something is wrong with me, Florry, and not just the crazy stuff. There’s a disease deep in my body and it’s getting worse. Might be cancer, might be something else, but I know it’s there and it’s growing. The doctors can’t find it but I know it’s there. They can give me drugs that soothe the nervous breakdown, but they have nothing for my disease.”

“I don’t know what to say, Liza.”

“Say nothing. Just listen.”

Hours had passed, hours with no sign of Joel. Liza seemed to forget about him, but Florry was well aware that he should have been there.

Liza stood and said, “I think I’ll change clothes, Florry. I’ve been thinking about a certain pair of linen pajamas and a silk bathrobe that Pete always loved.” She walked to their bedroom door as Florry stood and stretched her legs.

Florry went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. A wall clock gave the time as 11:40. She took the phone to call Joel, and then she saw the problem. The wire running from the baseboard to the phone had been cut, snipped cleanly in two as if by scissors. The phone was useless, and it had probably not been used that night to call Joel.

She returned to the den and waited. Liza was in her bedroom with the door open, and she was crying, louder and louder. She was lying on the bed she had shared with Pete, wearing the white linen pajamas under a cream silk bathrobe. Her feet were bare.

Florry leaned over her and said, “It’s okay, Liza. I’m here with you. What’s wrong, honey?”

Liza pointed to a chair and said, “Please.” She wiped her face with a tissue and struggled to get control. Florry took a seat and waited. Liza had not called Joel. Joel had not called the doctors, nor Stella. They were all waiting frantically for news from somewhere, and here was Liza on her bed, in her home.

Florry wanted to ask why she had cut the phone line, but that conversation would go nowhere. Liza was on the verge of talking and perhaps revealing secrets that they thought would never be revealed. Best not to distract her. She didn’t want Joel around at this moment.

Liza finally asked, “Did Pete talk to you before he died?”

“Of course. We discussed a lot of things — the kids, the farm, the usual things you might expect a dying person to cover.”

“Did he talk about us and our troubles?”

Indeed he did, but Florry wasn’t taking the bait. She wanted to hear it all from the closest source. “Of course not. You know how private he was. What kinds of troubles?”

“Oh, Florry, there are so many secrets, so many sins. I really can’t blame Pete for not forgiving me.” She began crying again, then sobbing. The outbursts became something of a wail, a loud, aching, agonized groan that startled Florry. She had never heard such painful mourning. Liza’s body retched as if she might vomit violently, then she heaved and convulsed as she sobbed uncontrollably. It went on and on, and finally Florry could watch no longer. She went to the bed, lay down beside her, and clutched her tightly.

“It’s okay, Liza. It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.”

Florry hugged and whispered and cooed and promised and patted her softly, and she rocked her and whispered some more and Liza began to relax. She breathed easier, seemed to withdraw into her own little emaciated body, and cried gently. In a whisper, she said, “There are some things you should know.”

“I’m listening, Liza. I’m here.”

She awoke in a dark room, under the covers, the door open. The house was dark, the only light from the small lamp in the den. Liza quietly shoved back the covers, got to her feet, and walked out of her bedroom. Florry was on the sofa, under a quilt, dead to the world. Without a sound, Liza walked by her and into the kitchen, through the door, across the porch, down the steps. The air was cold; her feet were bare and soon wet. She glided through the grass and onto the footpath that led to the barns, her silk bathrobe flowing behind her.

The moon came and went between the clouds, with its bluish light washing over the outbuildings and the fields before disappearing again. She knew where she was going and didn’t need the light. When she passed the last barn she saw the silhouettes of her horses in a paddock. She had never passed by without speaking to them, but she had nothing to say.

Her feet were wet, muddy, and frozen, but she did not care. Pain was of little consequence now. She shivered in the cold and walked with a purpose. Up the slight rise to Old Sycamore, and she was soon among the dead — all those dead Bannings she had heard so much about. The moon was hidden and she could not read the names on the tombstones, but she knew where he was buried because she knew where the other ones were. She pressed her fingers to the limestone and traced his name.

She had found her husband.

Though overwhelmed with grief, guilt, and shame, she was tired of crying. She was frozen and praying for the end.

They say people are at peace when they reach this point. They lie. She felt no peace, no sense of comfort, no belief that what she was doing would ever be considered anything other than the desperate act of a crazy woman.

She eased down and sat with her back against his headstone, as close as she could possibly get. His body was just a few feet below hers. She told him she loved him and would see him soon, and prayed that when they were together again, he could finally forgive her.

From a pocket in her bathrobe, she removed a small bottle of pills.

Chapter 47

Amos found her at daybreak, and when he got close enough to the tombstones to make sure he saw what he thought he saw, he broke and ran back to the house, yelling and running faster than he had in decades. When Florry heard that she was dead, she fainted on the back porch. When she came to, Nineva helped her to the sofa and tried to console her.

Nix Gridley and Roy Lester arrived to help with the search, and when Amos described what he’d found in the cemetery, they left him behind and drove to it. The empty pill bottle was sufficient evidence. There was no crime scene to bother with. A misty rain was falling and Nix decided that she should not get wet. He and Lester loaded Liza into the rear seat and returned to the house. Nix went inside to deal with the family while Lester drove her to the funeral home.

Around 5:00 a.m., Florry had awakened and realized Liza was gone. She panicked and ran to Nineva’s house, where Amos had just started breakfast. He and Nineva searched frantically around the house and barns while Florry drove to the pink cottage to use the phone. She called Joel and Dr. Hilsabeck and briefly described the situation.

Joel was en route from Oxford when he passed the sheriff’s car leaving his home. Once inside, he heard the rest of the story. Florry was a mess, blaming herself relentlessly and gasping for breath. After Joel finally talked to Stella by phone, he insisted his aunt ride with him to the hospital. She was admitted with chest pains and subdued with tranquilizers. He left her there and went to the sheriff’s office to use Nix’s phone on a private line. He talked to Dr. Hilsabeck, who was distraught. He forced himself to call Gran and Papa Sweeney in Kansas City with the news that their daughter was dead. He called Stella again and they tried to think through the next few days.

He left the sheriff’s office and drove to Magargel’s Funeral Home. In a cold, dark room somewhere in the rear of the building, he looked at his mother’s beautiful face for the last time. And selected a casket.

He made it back to his car before he broke down. Sitting in the parking lot, staring at nothing as the wipers clicked back and forth, Joel was thoroughly overwhelmed by grief and cried for a long time.

The service was at the Methodist church, the one built by Pete’s grandfather, the one in which Joel and Stella were baptized as children. The minister was new and freshly rotated into town by the Methodist hierarchy. He knew the history but had not lived through it, and he was determined to reunite the factions and heal his congregation.

At first, Joel and Stella planned a private burial, one similar to the quick send-off Pete had planned for himself at Old Sycamore, but friends convinced them that their mother deserved a proper funeral. They relented and met with the minister.

The crowd was huge, twice the size of all available seating, and people sat in their cars in the parking lot and waited for a glimpse of the casket. The friends and acquaintances who had been denied the chance to say good-bye to Pete made sure they arrived early for Liza’s farewell.

Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney sat between Joel and Stella and stared at the closed casket five feet away. Mrs. Sweeney was inconsolable and never stopped wiping her face. Mr. Sweeney was stoic, almost angry, as if he blamed the entire backward state for his daughter’s demise. Joel and Stella were tired of crying and sat stunned, disbelieving, desperately waiting for the hour to pass. The occasion was too somber for any effort at levity. There were no warm eulogies of good and funny times with the deceased. No mention of Pete, not in that church. The Bannings’ nightmare was continuing, and those watching it were helpless to intervene.

A few hymns, a brief sermon, some scripture, and it was over in less than an hour, as promised by the minister. As Miss Emma Faye Riddle began her last mournful number, the congregation rose, and the closed casket was pushed down the center aisle, followed by Joel and Stella, arm in arm. Behind them Mr. and Mrs. Sweeney held each other and tried to keep themselves together. Behind them were other members of the Sweeney family, but no Bannings. Florry was at home in bed. The rest of the small family was rapidly dying off. Of course, none of the coloreds were allowed inside the church.

As Joel trailed the casket, and the organ played, and the ladies cried, he was aware of the many stares. Near the rear, he glanced to his right, and in the back row was the prettiest face he had ever seen. Mary Ann Malouf had made the trip from Oxford with a sorority sister to pay her respects. Seeing her was the only pleasant moment of the day. Stepping into the vestibule, he told himself that one day he would marry that girl.

An hour later, a small crowd gathered at Old Sycamore for the interment. Just the family, a few friends, Amos and Nineva, Marietta, and a dozen other Negroes who lived on the land. Florry insisted on being there, but Joel insisted that she remain in the pink cottage. Joel was very much in charge now, making decisions that he had no desire to make. After a prayer, some scripture, and the same haunting rendition of “Amazing Grace” by Marietta, four men lowered Liza’s casket into the ground, less than a foot from the one holding the remains of her husband. Side by side, they could now rest together for eternity.

She was as responsible for his death as he was for hers. Above them, they left behind two fine children who didn’t deserve to be punished for the sins of their parents.

The week after the funeral was Thanksgiving. Joel sorely needed to return to law school and start cramming for finals, though as a third-year student he was coasting with a much easier schedule. On Monday, he and Stella drove to Oxford. He met with the dean and laid it all on the table. Some rather complicated family matters had to be dealt with, and he needed to be excused for a few more days. The dean knew what was happening, was sympathetic, and promised arrangements could be made. Joel was in the top 10 percent of his class and would graduate the following May.

While in Oxford, Joel invited Mary Ann to lunch at the Mansion to meet his sister. Driving over, he had admitted to Stella his feelings for the girl, and Stella was delighted her brother was finally involved in a serious romance. Since their mother’s breakdown and the death of their father, the two had talked more, and more openly. They leaned on each other and held back little. As Bannings, they had been raised to say almost nothing, but those days were gone. There had always been too many secrets in the family.

The two young ladies were immediate friends. In fact, they bonded so quickly and talked and laughed so much that Joel was astonished. He said little during lunch because he hardly got the chance. Driving home, Stella told him he’d better get a ring on her finger before someone else did. Joel said he wasn’t worried. The lunch lifted their somber spirits, but by the time they crossed into Ford County they were thinking about their mother again, and the conversation died. When Joel turned in to the drive, he inched along the gravel and stopped halfway to the house. He turned off the motor and they looked at their home.

Stella finally spoke. “I never thought I would say this, but I really don’t like this place now. The happy memories are all gone, shattered by what’s happened. I never want to set foot in that house again.”

“I think we should burn it,” Joel said.

“Don’t be stupid. Are you serious?”

“Sort of. I can’t stomach the idea of Jackie Bell and her kids and that creep McLeish living here. He’ll become the gentleman farmer, a real big shot. That’s hard to swallow.”

“But you’re never going to live here again, right, Joel?”

“Right.”

“Nor am I. So what difference does it make? We’ll come back when we have to and visit Florry, but after she’s gone I’ll never come back.”

“What about the cemetery?”

“What about it? How are we supposed to benefit from staring at old tombstones and wiping tears? They’re dead, and it’s painful because they shouldn’t be dead, but they’re gone, Joel. I’m trying to forget how they died and remember how they lived. Let’s remember the good times, if that’s possible.”

“It seems impossible now.”

“Yes, it does.”

“It’s all moot, Stella. We’re losing the place anyway.”

“I know. Just sign the deed and get it over with. I’m going back to the big city.”

The headmistress at St. Agnes was sympathetic too, and told Stella she would be excused for the week. She was expected back the Sunday after Thanksgiving.

They stayed in the pink cottage and away from their house. Marietta roasted a turkey and prepared all the side dishes and pies, and they worked hard to get through the day in a grateful spirit. Florry was rallying and trying to enjoy the time with them.

Early Friday morning, Joel loaded Stella’s bags into the Pontiac, and they hugged their aunt good-bye. They stopped at Old Sycamore and had a tear. At their house, Stella hurried inside for a hug with Nineva; then they were off.

She had insisted on taking the train to D.C., but Joel would have none of it. She was quite fragile — weren’t they all? — and he did not want her sitting alone on a train for hour after hour. They needed the time together, so a road trip was in order. As they left the farm and turned onto the highway, Stella looked at her home and the fields around them. She hoped to never return.

And she never would.

Dead judges were replaced by the governor, who appointed interims until the next round of elections. Governor Fielding Wright, who had witnessed Pete’s execution two and a half years earlier, was flooded with the usual requests for patronage after the death of Chancellor Rumbold. One of Wright’s biggest supporters in north Mississippi was none other than Burch Dunlap, who was lobbying hard for a Tupelo sidekick named Jack Shenault. Dunlap had a plan to collect a quick, lucrative fee from the Banning case, and he needed Shenault on the bench.

In early December, while Joel was sweating through final exams at Ole Miss, Governor Wright appointed Shenault the interim chancellor to succeed Rumbold. John Wilbanks and most of the other lawyers disliked the choice, primarily because Shenault did not live in the district. He said he planned to move.

Wilbanks was pushing another candidate, but Wilbanks and Governor Wright had never been on the same team.

Out of respect for the family, Dunlap waited a month after Liza’s burial before swinging into action. He convinced Shenault to convene a meeting in Clanton with John Wilbanks and Joel Banning, who was home for the holiday break and had been appointed substitute trustee for his father’s estate. They met in the judge’s chamber behind the courtroom, a place Joel would always detest.

On the docket was Dunlap’s lawsuit seeking a judicial foreclosure of the land now held by Pete Banning’s estate, the last remaining salvo in the lengthy war over the property, and it was readily apparent that the new chancellor planned to move with haste.

By reputation, Shenault was an office practitioner and not a trial lawyer, and was generally well thought of. He was certainly prepared for the meeting, and John Wilbanks suspected he had been well rehearsed by Burch Dunlap.

According to His Honor, and Shenault even wore a black robe for the occasion, the scenario was straightforward. The hearing on the foreclosure would last only an hour or so, with both sides submitting documents and court orders, and perhaps a witness or two, but there was almost nothing disputed. He, Shenault, would most likely order a judicial sale of the property, which entailed an auction on the front steps of the courthouse. The highest bidder would take title, with the winning bid going straight to Jackie Bell, who held the judgment of $100,000. No one expected a bid that high, and any deficit would remain on the books as a lien against the property.

However, according to Mr. Dunlap, the plaintiff, Jackie Bell, was willing to accept a deed from the estate for the acreage, the house, and other assets in lieu of her claim.

Also, if Shenault ruled in favor of Jackie Bell, as he obviously planned to do, the Banning estate could appeal to the Mississippi Supreme Court, a delaying tactic that had been used before. Such an appeal would be fruitless, in his opinion.

Joel knew it too, as did John Wilbanks. They were at the end of the road. Additional delaying strategies would only postpone the inevitable, and drive up the attorneys’ fees.

With everyone in general agreement, Shenault allowed the lawyers thirty days to work out the details, and scheduled the next meeting on January 26, 1950.

In the spirit of the season, and with the promise of a brighter future, Jackie Bell and Errol McLeish were married in a small ceremony two days before Christmas. Her three children were dressed up and proud, and a few friends joined them in the small chapel behind an Episcopal church.

Her parents were not invited. They did not approve of the marriage, because they did not trust Errol McLeish and his motives. Her father had insisted that she consult with a lawyer before the marriage, but she refused. McLeish was far too involved with her lawsuits and her money and she was certainly being set up for financial disaster, according to her father.

And she was not attending church, which greatly disturbed her parents. She had tried to explain her crisis of faith, but they would not listen. One was either in church or not, and those on the outside faced damnation.

Jackie was thrilled with the plan to leave Rome and return to Clanton. She needed space from her parents, and more important, she was eager to assume ownership of the Banning home. She had been there many times and never dreamed it would one day belong to her. After a life in cramped parsonages and rentals, a life where every house was too small and too temporary, she, Jackie Bell, was about to own one of the finest homes in Ford County.

Chapter 48

On a freezing morning two days after Christmas, Joel was walking through the fields after a visit to Old Sycamore. Pellets began landing around him. It was sleeting and there was a good chance of snow by late afternoon. He hustled to the house and was about to suggest a road trip somewhere to the south when Aunt Florry announced that she had decided to spend a couple of months in New Orleans as the houseguest of Miss Twyla. She’d been hinting about leaving. She was depressed about everything — Liza’s death and her involvement in it, the cold weather, the dreary fields and landscapes, and, of course, the handing over of Pete’s land, which she had to cross to get to hers. There were dark clouds everywhere, and she just wanted to get away.

They left within an hour, as road conditions deteriorated, and barely made it south through Polk County before the sleet slacked off. By Jackson, the weather and roads were better.

Along the way, they covered many important topics. Joel planned to propose to Mary Ann later in the spring. He had bought an engagement ring in Memphis and was excited about giving it to her. He was determined to live in Biloxi and thought he had a job with a small law firm there. Nothing definite, but he was optimistic. They worried about Stella and her nagging depression. She was spending the holidays with friends in D.C. and could not force herself to come home. Wasn’t the whole family depressed? The most urgent matter was what to do with Florry’s land in the upcoming spring. Neither had the stomach to approach McLeish about a deal. Indeed, Florry wanted to be absent for the next few months to avoid the man. They finally decided that Joel would negotiate a lease with Doug Wilbanks, John’s cousin. He farmed thousands of acres in several counties and would not be intimidated by McLeish. They were not sure what would happen to the Negroes on the property, but those poor folks had always managed to survive. McLeish would need them as field hands. No one would starve.

And they couldn’t worry about everybody, could they? Their lives had changed dramatically since the killing, and there was no way to recapture the past. They had to take care of themselves. Florry admitted that for the past two years she had been talking about living for a spell in New Orleans with Miss Twyla, a dear old friend from the Memphis years. Twyla was older and getting lonelier, and her rambling town house in the Quarter had plenty of room.

They talked for hours, always about the present or the future, and not about the past. But south of Jackson, some four hours into the journey, Joel said, “Stella and I believe you know a lot more than you’ve ever told us.”

“About what?”

“About Pete and Dexter, about Mom. About what happened. You know something, don’t you, Aunt Florry?”

“Why is this important now? Everybody’s dead.”

“The night Dad died, you went to see him at the jail. What did you talk about?”

“Must we rehash this? That was one of the worst nights of my life.”

“Typical Banning response, Aunt Florry. Take the question, duck it, and try to wiggle away without a response. Where did you and Pete learn to be so evasive?”

“Don’t be insulting, Joel.”

“I’m not. Just answer the question.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Why did Dad kill Dexter?”

“He never gave me a reason, and, believe me, I pressed him hard. He was a very stubborn man.”

“No kidding. I figure Mom had an affair with Dexter Bell and somehow Dad found out about it when he got home from the war. He confronted her and she was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. She cracked up or whatever, and he wanted her out of the house. Wilbanks convinced Judge Rumbold she needed some time away, and Dad drove her to Whitfield. After that, Dad could never accept the fact that his wife had been unfaithful, especially given the nightmare he survived in the war. Think about it, Aunt Florry, he was over there starved nearly to death, wiped out with malaria and dysentery, getting tortured and abused, then fighting in the jungles, and she’s home sleeping with the preacher. It drove him crazy, and that’s why he killed Dexter Bell. Something snapped in Pete’s mind. Your response, Aunt Florry?”

“You think your father cracked up?”

“Yes, and you don’t?”

“No, I think Pete knew exactly what he was doing. He was not crazy. I’ll buy the rest of your story, but Pete was thinking clearly.”

“And he never told you this story?”

She took a deep breath and glanced out her window. The pause gave the real answer, but she did not. “No, not a word.”

Joel knew she was lying.

There was no chance of snow in New Orleans. The temperature was in the fifties, the air clear and crisp. Miss Twyla greeted them with a flurry of fierce hugs and loud hellos, and served them drinks as her maid unloaded the car. Florry brought enough luggage, all hastily packed, to stay for a year. Joel mentioned possibly getting a room at the Hotel Monteleone on Royal Street, but Twyla would have none of it. Her elegant town house had plenty of bedrooms and she needed some company. They sat in the courtyard next to an old fountain with water dripping from a cement tiger, and talked about this and that. As soon as Florry excused herself for a moment, Twyla whispered to Joel, “She looks awful.”

“It’s been a rough time. She’s blaming herself for my mom’s death.”

“I’m so sorry about that, Joel. Florry was hospitalized, right?”

“Yes, for a few days. Chest pains. I worry about her.”

“She looks pale and thinner.”

“Well, I guess she needs some gumbo and jambalaya and fried oysters. I’ve hauled her down here; now you feed her.”

“I can do that. And we have better doctors down here. I’ll get one to look at her. The family genes are, how shall I say it, not too promising.”

“Thank you. Yes, we tend to die young.”

“And how is the lovely Stella?”

“Okay. She didn’t want to come back so soon, so she stayed in D.C. It’s been a rough time.”

“I’ll say. What you folks need is some good luck.”

Florry was back, shuffling along as her large tent of a dress flowed behind her. She was already happier being with Twyla in the big city. On an old wooden table that supposedly came from a farmhouse somewhere in France, a maid arranged a platter of raw oysters and poured cold wine.

They ate and drank and laughed deep into the night. Once again, Ford County was in another world.

Late the following morning, Joel stumbled from his bedroom with an aching head and dry mouth. He found water, quenched his thirst, and badly needed coffee. A maid quietly showed him the front door, and he stepped into the bright sunshine of another perfect day in the Vieux Carré. He steadied himself, found his footing, and ambled down Chartres to Jackson Square and his favorite little café, where the coffee was strong and half chicory. He drank one cup, paid for another to go, and walked across Decatur, through the French Market, and up the steps to the levee walk, where he sat on a bench. It was his favorite spot in the city, and he loved to loaf there for hours and watch the river traffic.

At home in his late father’s library, there was a picture book of New Orleans. In one photo from the 1870s, dozens of steamboats were docked side by side at the port, all laden with bales of cotton from the farms and plantations in Arkansas, Mississippi, and Louisiana. As a kid who daydreamed a lot, Joel had convinced himself that the cotton from the Banning farm was on one of those boats and had been shipped to New Orleans for export. Their cotton was important and needed by the world. The people who worked on the boats and docks made their livelihoods because of their cotton.

Back then the docks were rowdy and chaotic, as steamboats swarmed in from upriver and hundreds of stevedores scurried to unload them. That was all gone now. The great river was still busy, but the steamboats had been replaced by low, flat barges carrying grain and coal. In the distance were battleships resting from the war.

Joel was captivated by the river and wondered where each vessel was headed. Some were going farther south, to the Gulf; others were returning. He had no desire to go home. Home meant the last boring semester of law school. Home meant meetings with lawyers and judges and the winding-up of his father’s wretched affairs. Home meant saying farewell to the land, the house, to Nineva and Amos, and the others he had known his entire life.

He puttered around New Orleans for three days, and when he was finally bored he hugged Florry good-bye and left town. She had settled in nicely and seemed to be quite at home.

He drove to Biloxi and managed to surprise Mary Ann’s father at his office. Joel apologized for the intrusion, but did not want her to know he was in town, and there was no other way to do it. He asked Mr. Malouf for his daughter’s hand. Ambushed, the gentleman really had no choice but to say yes.

That night, Joel had dinner with his soon-to-be fiancée, and slept on the family’s sofa.

Chapter 49

The year 1950 began with as much dreariness as was expected. On January 26, in John Wilbanks’s splendid conference room, he and Joel assumed one side of the table while Burch Dunlap and Errol McLeish took the other. Chancellor Shenault, without a robe, sat at the end and refereed the negotiations.

Joel, as substitute executor, signed a deed that conveyed title to the 640 acres, with home, to Jackie Bell, now officially Jackie Bell McLeish. To avoid any misunderstandings with Florry, the land had been surveyed and platted so that the parties involved knew precisely where the property lines ran. All buildings had been identified, and a separate deed listed them: stables, chicken sheds, tractor barns, cow barns, pigpens, the shotgun home of Nineva and Amos, the foreman’s house used by Buford Provine, and fourteen shacks in the woods that were currently inhabited by the field hands. A bill of sale listed the personal property: Pete’s 1946 Ford truck, the John Deere tractors, trailers, plows, planters, every piece of farm equipment down to rakes and shovels, along with the horses and livestock. McLeish would get it all. He had allowed Joel to purchase the 1939 Pontiac for $300.

Another document listed the furnishings in the house, what was left of them anyway. Joel had managed to take the books, keepsakes, guns, clothing, jewelry, memorabilia, bed linens, and better pieces of furniture.

As far as cash, McLeish didn’t push too hard. He figured, rightfully so, that most of it had been either spent or hidden. Using the inventory Wilbanks had filed after probate in the fall of 1947, he agreed to accept the sum of $2,500, on behalf of his wife, of course.

Joel had loathed the man for so long and so hard it was difficult to conjure up another round of proper loathing. McLeish was at once pompous and pathetic as he considered sums of money and lists of assets earned and built by the sweat of others. He acted as though he truly believed that he and his new wife deserved the Bannings’ land.

The meeting was a nightmare, and at times Joel felt nauseated. As soon as possible, he left without a word, slammed the door behind him, and fled from the office. He drove to the farm, and had tears in his eyes as he parked his car.

Nineva and Amos were sitting on the back porch, never the front, and they had the bewildered looks of people who might lose everything. They had been born on the Banning land and never left. When they saw the tears in Joel’s eyes they began crying too. Somehow the three managed to wade through the emotions and farewells and separate themselves. When Joel left them on the porch, Nineva had collapsed into tears and Amos was holding her. Joel walked to the barn, where Buford was waiting in the cold. Joel passed along the message from the new owner that he, McLeish, would like to speak with Buford that afternoon. He would probably keep his job. Joel had said many fine things about their foreman and it would be a mistake to replace him. Buford thanked him, shook his hand, wiped a tear of his own.

Facing a raw wind, Joel walked half a mile over frozen soil to Old Sycamore and said good-bye to his parents. By a stroke of luck, the family cemetery was on Florry’s section and thus accessible forever, or at least the near future. What did forever mean anymore? He was born to own his land forever.

For a long time he stared at both tombstones and asked himself for the thousandth time how their lives had become so complicated and so tragic. They were far too young to die and leave behind mysteries and burdens that would haunt those they loved. He looked at the other tombstones and wondered how many dark secrets the Bannings had taken all the way to their graves.

He walked the field roads and pig trails and footpaths of the land for the last time, and when he returned to his car his fingers were numb. He was chilled deep to the bone, and he ached to his core. Driving away, he refused to look at the house, and he wished he’d burned it.

Later in the afternoon, Errol McLeish appeared at his new home and introduced himself to Nineva. Neither tried to be polite. He didn’t trust her, because she had worked forever for the Bannings, and she thought of him as nothing more than a thieving trespasser.

“Would you like to keep your job?” he asked.

“Not really. I’m too old, sir. Too old for housework anymore. Ain’t you got a buncha kids?”

“There are three.”

“See there. I’m too old to do all the washin’ and cleanin’ and cookin’ and ironin’ for three kids, plus a wife. Me and Amos just need to retire. We’re too old.”

“Retire where?”

“Can’t we stay here? It’s just a little house, but it’s all we got. Been here for over fifty years. Ain’t worth nothin’ to nobody else.”

“We’ll see. I’m told Amos milks the cows and tends the vegetable garden.”

“That’s right, but he gettin’ old too.”

“How old is he?”

“’Bout sixty, I guess.”

“And you?”

“’Bout the same.”

“You got kids?”

“Bunch of ’em but they all gone, up north. Just me and Amos in our little house.”

“Where’s Mr. Provine?”

“Buford? He down by the tractor barn, waitin’.”

McLeish walked through the kitchen and across the porch. He tightened the scarf around his neck, lit a cigar, and strutted across the backyard, passing the barns and sheds, counting the livestock, savoring his good fortune. Jackie and the kids would arrive next week, and they would begin the wonderful challenge of establishing themselves as people to reckon with in Ford County.

With his aunt tucked away safely in the warmth of New Orleans, and with his father’s estate closed and his ancestral home now occupied by others, Joel had no reason to return to Ford County. Indeed, he wanted to stay away. Most of the cash left in the estate went to the Wilbanks firm, for its faithful and loyal representation. His weekly telephone chats with John Wilbanks came to a halt, but not before the lawyer passed along the news that McLeish had fired Nineva and Amos and evicted them from their home. They had been given forty-eight hours to move, and were currently living with relatives in Clanton. According to Buford Provine, who was gossiping with the Wilbankses’ foreman on Florry’s land, McLeish was planning to charge the field hands rent on their shacks while at the same time cutting their wages.

Joel was shocked and furious over the eviction. He could not imagine Nineva and Amos living anywhere else, or being forced to find a new home at their ages. He vowed to drive to Clanton, find them, and give them some money. And the other field hands were being abused for doing nothing wrong. They were accustomed to being treated fairly by his father and grandfather, but now an idiot was taking charge. Meanness does not inspire loyalty. The thought of it made him sick, and it was another reason to forget about the farm.

If not for the magic of Mary Ann, he would have been a brooding, depressed twenty-four-year-old law student facing a bleak future. She had said yes to his marriage proposal, and they were planning a small wedding in New Orleans after graduation in May. When spring arrived with all its promise and splendor, Joel shook off the doldrums and tried to savor his final days as a student. He and Mary Ann were inseparable. For spring break, they took the train to D.C. and spent a week with Stella.

Along the way to D.C. and back, they spent hours talking of finding a better life far away from Mississippi. Joel wanted to run, like his sister, and bolt for the big cities up north where the opportunities seemed boundless, and the memories more distant. Mary Ann was not quite as desperate to get away, but as the grandchild of immigrants she was not opposed to the idea of starting over. They were just kids, madly in love, about to be married, so why not explore the world?

On April 19, Florry awoke in the early morning with aching chest pains. She was faint, could barely breathe, and managed to wake Twyla before collapsing in a chair. An ambulance took her to Mercy Hospital, where she was stabilized. Her doctors diagnosed it as a mild heart attack and were concerned about her overall condition. The next day, Twyla called Joel at Ole Miss, and the following day, a Friday, he skipped his last class of the day and drove nonstop to New Orleans. Mary Ann was worried about exams and could not make the drive.

At Mercy, Florry was delighted to see him — it had been three and a half months — and worked hard to appear aggravated by all the attention. She claimed to be fine, bored with the routine, and ready to go home to start writing a new short story. Joel was surprised at her appearance. She had aged dramatically and looked at least ten years older with gray hair and pasty skin. Always heavy, she had thinned considerably. Her breathing was labored and she often seemed to gasp for breath.

In the hallway, Joel expressed his concerns to Miss Twyla. “She looks awful,” he whispered.

“She has degenerative heart disease, Joel, and she is not going to get better.”

The thought of Florry dying had never crossed his mind. After losing so many, Joel had blinded himself to the possibility of losing her. “They can’t treat it?”

“They’re trying, lots of meds and such, but it cannot be reversed, nor can it be stopped.”

“But she’s only fifty-two years old.”

“That’s old for a Banning.”

Thanks for nothing. “I’m stunned by how much she aged.”

“She’s very weak, very frail, eats little, though she would like to eat more. I think her heart gets weaker every day. She can go home tomorrow and it would be nice if you stayed the weekend.”

“Sure, no problem. I was planning on it.”

“And you need to have an honest conversation with Stella.”

“Believe me, Miss Twyla, Stella and I are the only ones in our family who have honest conversations.”

An ambulance took Florry home Saturday morning, and she rallied considerably. A fine lunch was prepared in the courtyard. It was a perfect spring day with the temperature inching toward eighty, and Florry was delighted to be alive again. Against her doctors’ orders, she chugged wine and had a full plate of red beans and rice. The more she talked and ate and drank the stronger she became. Her mind sharpened, as did her tongue, and her voice returned to full volume. It was an amazing comeback, and Joel stopped thinking about another funeral.

After a long Saturday afternoon nap, he hit the streets and roamed the French Quarter, which he always enjoyed, though he felt lost without Mary Ann. Jackson Square was swarming with tourists, and the street musicians had every corner. He had a drink at his favorite sidewalk café, posed for a bad caricature that cost him a dollar, bought a cheap bracelet for Mary Ann, listened to a jazz band outside the market, and eventually drifted to the levee, where he found a seat on a cast-iron bench and watched the boats come and go.

In their weekly letters, Joel and Florry had been arguing about whether she would attend his law school graduation in late May. Three years earlier, when his father was about to be executed and the entire family was in disarray, Joel had skipped his commencement service at Vanderbilt. He planned to skip the one at Ole Miss as well, but Florry thought otherwise. The three of them had enjoyed a glorious time at Hollins when Stella graduated, and they would do the same at Ole Miss, at least in Florry’s plans.

The argument resumed Sunday morning over breakfast in the courtyard. Florry insisted that she would travel to Oxford for the ceremony, and Joel said it would be a waste of time because he wouldn’t be there. The bantering was good-natured. Twyla rolled her eyes a few times. Florry wasn’t going anywhere, except perhaps back to Mercy.

Florry had slept little during the night and was soon weakened. Twyla had hired a nurse who led her back to her room.

Twyla whispered, “She won’t be here long, Joel. Do you understand this?”

“No.”

“You need to brace yourself.”

“How long? A month? A year?”

“It’s a guessing game. When do you finish classes?”

“May 12. Graduation is the following week, but I’m skipping it.”

“What about Stella?”

“She finishes about the same time.”

“I suggest the two of you get here promptly and spend as much time as you can with Florry. You’re welcome to stay here.”

“Thanks.”

“In fact, you can stay here all summer, before and after the wedding. She talks of nothing but you and Stella. Having you here is important.”

“That’s very generous, Twyla. Thank you. She’ll never go home, will she?”

Twyla shrugged and looked away. “I doubt it. I doubt her doctors would agree to it. Frankly, Joel, she doesn’t want to go home, not anytime soon.”

“I understand that.”

Chapter 50

The Crescent Limited ran twice daily from New York to New Orleans, a journey of fourteen hundred miles and thirty hours. At 2:00 p.m. on May 4, a Thursday, Stella boarded the train at Union Station in D.C. and settled into a comfortable seat in coach for a ride that would be anything but comfortable. To help pass the time, she removed her wristwatch, tried to nap, read magazines and a novel, ate nothing but snacks she brought with her, and tried to justify the trip. The headmistress at St. Agnes had not been happy with her request to take off. Because of her complicated family issues, she had missed too many days already, and, well, classes would be over in a week. Couldn’t she wait?

No, according to Miss Twyla, there was no time to wait. Florry was at the end. For Stella, being there with her aunt was far more important than any job. The headmistress was slightly sympathetic, and decided they would discuss a new contract later. Stella had become a popular teacher and St. Agnes did not want to lose her.

According to Twyla, Florry had been rushed to Mercy Hospital for the second time, then the third, and her doctors were doing little more than medicating her and frowning a lot. Now she was back home, bedridden, fading, and wanting to see the kids. Joel was already there. He was missing exams but unconcerned.

Because of delays, the train arrived in New Orleans late Friday afternoon. Joel was waiting at the station and they took a cab to Miss Twyla’s town house on Chartres Street. She met them at the door and ushered them into the courtyard, where cheese, olives, bread, and wine were waiting. As they nibbled and sipped, she said that Florry was resting but should wake up soon.

Twyla shooed away a maid and lowered her voice. “She wants to talk to you before it’s too late. She has some important matters to discuss, some secrets that she wants to tell. I’ve convinced Florry that now is the time to talk. Tomorrow might be too late.”

Joel took a deep breath and shot Stella a look of fear.

“Has she told you?” Stella asked.

“Yes, she’s told me everything.”

“And these stories are about our parents, right?” Joel asked.

Twyla took a deep breath, then a sip of wine. “The night your father died, just hours before his execution, Florry spent an hour with him at the jail, and for the first time he talked about his motives. He made her swear on a Bible that she would never tell anyone, especially the two of you. Six months ago, the night your mother died, she and Florry were alone in the house, in the bedroom, and your mother was off her pills and out of her mind. But she told another story, one your father never knew. She made Florry promise to never tell. And she didn’t, until a few weeks ago when she was in the hospital. We thought she was gone. The doctors said it was over. She finally wanted to talk, said she could not take the truth to her grave.”

“Hearing the truth is like grabbing smoke in our family,” Joel said.

“Well, you’re about to hear it, and it will not be easy for you. I’ve convinced her that she must tell you. It will disappoint you. It will shock you. But only the truth can allow you to fully understand, and move on. Without it, you’ll carry burdens and doubts and suspicions forever. But with it, you can finally put away the past, pick up the pieces, and face the future. You must be strong.”

Stella said, “I’m so tired of being strong.”

Joel said, “Why am I suddenly nervous?” He gulped some wine.

“We cut back on the pills a little so she will be more coherent, but she tires so easily.”

“Is she in pain?” Stella asked.

“Not much. Her heart is just slowly giving up. It’s so sad.”

Across the courtyard, a nurse came out of Florry’s room and nodded at Twyla, who said, “She’s awake now. You can go in.”

Florry was sitting in her bed, propped up by pillows and smiling when they entered and started hugging. She was wearing one of her many brightly colored robes, probably to mask the fact that she had lost so much weight. Her legs were under a blanket. For a few minutes she was a chatterbox, prattling on about Joel’s upcoming wedding and what she planned to wear. She seemed to have forgotten about his law school graduation in a couple of weeks.

A wave of fatigue hit hard, and she closed her eyes. Stella sat on the end of the bed and patted her feet. Joel eased into a chair close by the bed.

When she opened her eyes, she said, “There are some things you should know.”

“When Pete came back from the war, he was all banged up, casts on both legs, you remember. He spent three months at the hospital in Jackson, gaining strength. When he got to the farm he was walking with a cane, doing all sorts of exercises, and moving around more and more each day. It was early fall of 1945. The war was over and the country was trying to get things back to normal. He went through hell over there but never said a word about it. Evidently, your parents engaged in an active marital relationship, shall we say. Nineva once told Marietta, long before the war, that if she turned her back they were trying to sneak away to the bedroom.”

Joel said, “They had to get married, Florry. We know this. I’ve seen my birth certificate and I’ve seen their marriage license. We’re not stupid.”

“Didn’t imply that you are. I was suspicious but never knew for sure.”

“Dad pulled strings and got shipped to Germany before I was born. They were far away from home and the gossips never knew for sure.”

“Then that’s settled.” She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, as if fatigued. Joel and Stella exchanged nervous looks.

Florry opened her eyes, blinked and smiled, and asked, “Now where were we?”

“In Germany, a long time ago. Our parents had a rather lusty relationship.”

“You could say that. They enjoyed each other, and as soon as Pete was back home and able he was ready to go. But there was a problem. Liza had no interest. At first Pete thought it was because his body was scarred and ravaged by war, and not what it once was. But she wouldn’t respond. Finally, they had a big fight and she told a tale, the first of several. She concocted a story about having a miscarriage not long after he left home in 1941. She had three of them, you know.”

“Four,” Stella said.

“Okay, four, and by the time Pete left for war, they were convinced she could never have more children. Well, supposedly, she was pregnant when he left but they didn’t know it. When she realized it, she told no one because she was afraid of losing another baby and didn’t want to worry him. He was at Fort Riley, waiting to be shipped out. Then she miscarried, or so she said, and because of the miscarriage she had some lingering female problems. She had discharges that were unpleasant. She had seen doctors. She was taking medicines. Her body was doing things she couldn’t control, and she had lost the desire for sex. It embarrasses me to say that word in front of you two.”

“Come on, Aunt Florry. We know all about sex,” Joel said.

“Both of you?” she asked, looking at Stella.

“Yes, both of us.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Come on, Florry. We’re all adults here.”

“Okay. Sex, sex, sex. There, I’ve said it. So when she was never in the mood, he was upset. Think about it. Poor guy spent three years in the jungle half-dead dreaming of food and water, and also thinking a lot about his beautiful wife back home. Then Pete got suspicious. According to her story, they got pregnant right before he left for Fort Riley, early in October of 1941. But in late August of that year, Pete wrenched his back pulling a stump and was in terrible pain. Sex was out of the question.”

“I remember that,” Stella said. “When he left for Fort Riley he could hardly walk.”

“In fact, his back was so bad the doctors at Fort Riley almost discharged him for medical reasons. He was certain that there had been no sex in September because he thought about it a million times when he was a prisoner. Her story was that she got pregnant around early October, kept it quiet for a couple of months, and planned to tell Pete in a letter if she made it to three months. She didn’t. She miscarried in early December, two months in, and never told anyone. Pete knew that wasn’t true. If she indeed got pregnant, then it was in late August. His point was that she was more than three months along when she claimed to have miscarried. He studied the calendars and pieced together a timeline. Then he ambushed Nineva one day and asked her about the miscarriage. She knew nothing, which, as you know, was virtually impossible. She knew nothing about a miscarriage, nothing about a pregnancy. Pete knew that if Liza was three months along, then Nineva would know it. She delivered a hundred babies, including me and Pete. Once he was convinced Liza was lying about the miscarriage, thus the discharges, thus the total lack of interest in sex, he became really suspicious. She was fanatical about cleaning her own undergarments, and Nineva confirmed this. With time, he waited for the right chance and was able to confirm the discharges. There were small stains on her delicates. And she was taking a lot of pills that she was trying to hide. He wanted to talk to her doctors, but she flatly refused. Anyway, the clues were piling up, the lies were breaking down. Something was physically wrong with his wife and it wasn’t caused by a miscarriage. He’d been through three of them, remember?”

“Four,” Stella said.

“Right. Nineva had said some things about Dexter Bell and how much time he spent with Liza after the news that Pete was missing and presumed dead. We all remember how horrible that was, and Dexter was at the house a lot. Turns out that Pete had never really trusted Dexter, thought he had a roving eye. There was a rumor at church, one I never heard, about Dexter being too friendly with a young woman, I think she was twenty. Just a rumor, but Pete was suspicious.”

Florry exhaled and asked for a glass of water. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and breathed heavily for a moment or so. She closed her eyes and continued. “Anyway, Pete got very suspicious. He went to Memphis and hired a private detective, paid him a lot of money, gave him photos of Liza and Dexter Bell. At the time there were three doctors, if you call them doctors, I’m not sure really what they were, and they’re probably still in business, but, they, well, they, uh, did abortions.”

Stella nodded stoically. Joel took a deep breath. Florry kept her eyes closed and plowed on. “Sure enough, the private detective found a doctor who recognized them from the photos, but he wanted a big bribe. Pete had no choice. Paid the guy $2,000 in cash, and he confirmed that on September 29, 1943, he did the deed for Liza.”

Joel grunted, “Good God.”

Stella said, “Well, that explains Nineva’s story about the day Mom and Dexter spent in Memphis.”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know that one,” Florry said.

“There are so many,” Stella said. “Keep going and we might circle back to it.”

“Okay. So, needless to say, Pete was devastated. He had the proof of her betrayal, and not just a little fooling around, but a full-blown pregnancy that got aborted in the back room of some low-end clinic in Memphis. He was furious, devastated, and felt thoroughly betrayed by the woman he had always adored.”

She paused and wiped a tear. “This is so awful. I never wanted to tell this story, never.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Aunt Florry,” Stella said. “We can deal with the truth.”

“So he confronted her?” Joel asked.

“He did. He picked the right moment, and ambushed her with the proof. The result was a complete and total breakdown. Nervous breakdown, emotional breakdown, call it whatever the doctors want to call it. She admitted everything: the affair, the abortion, the infection that wouldn’t go away. She begged for forgiveness, again and again. In fact, she never stopped begging for forgiveness, and he never offered it. He never got over it. He’d come so close to death so many times, but he kept going because of her, and you. And to think that she was having fun with Dexter Bell was more than he could stand. He saw John Wilbanks. They went to the judge. She was committed to Whitfield, and she did not resist. She knew she needed help, and she had to get away from him. Once she was gone, he tried to go about his business, but he reached a point where that was not possible.”

“So he killed Dexter,” Stella said.

“Not a bad motive,” Joel said.

There was a long heavy silence in which all three tried to focus. Joel stood, opened the door, walked to the courtyard, poured a glass of wine, and brought the bottle back with him. “Anyone?” he asked. Stella shook her head no. Florry appeared to be sleeping.

He sat down and took a sip, then another. Finally, he said, “And I guess there’s more to the story.”

“A lot more,” Florry whispered with her eyes closed. She coughed and cleared her throat, propped herself up again. “We all knew Jupe, Nineva’s grandson. He worked around the house and the gardens.”

“We grew up together, Florry, and played together,” Joel said.

“Right, he left home young, went to Chicago, came back. Pete taught him how to drive, let him run errands in his truck, treated him special. Pete was very fond of Jupe.”

She swallowed hard, took another deep breath. “And so was your mother.”

“No,” Joel grunted, too stunned to say anything else.

“It can’t be,” Stella said.

“It was so. When your father confronted your mother with the proof of the abortion, he demanded to know if it was Dexter Bell. At that awful moment, she had to make a decision. A choice. The truth or a lie. And your mother lied. She could not bring herself to admit she had carried on with Jupe. It was unthinkable, unimaginable.”

“How did it happen?” Joel asked.

“Did he force himself?” Stella asked.

“He did not. The night your mom died, she obviously knew what she was about to do. I did not. I was with her and she was at the end. She talked and talked and told me everything. At times she seemed lucid, at times out of it, but she never stopped talking. She said that Nineva got sick with something and stayed at home for a week. Jupe was working around the house. One day he was in the house, alone with Liza, and it just happened. It was a year after the news of Pete, and something just came over her. It wasn’t planned. There was no seduction, no forcing, all consensual. It just happened. And it happened again.”

Joel closed his eyes and exhaled mightily. Stella stared at the floor, mouth open, stunned.

Florry plowed ahead. “Your mother has always hated driving, so Jupe became her driver, and to get away from Nineva they would go to town. They had some hiding places along the way, around the county. It became a game and Liza frankly admitted to enjoying herself. It’s not unheard of, kids, the races have been mixing from day one. Again, she considered herself a widow, she was single, she was just having a little harmless fun, or so she thought.”

“Impossible,” Joel grunted.

“It doesn’t seem harmless,” Stella said.

“It happened; we can’t change any of it. I’m just telling you what your mother told me. Sure, she was out of her mind that last night, but what could she gain by fabricating such a tale? She wanted someone to know before she went to the grave. That’s why she told me.”

“You were there and you were never suspicious?” Joel asked.

“Never, not for a minute. I never suspected Dexter Bell, never suspected anyone. All of us were trying to get on with our lives after Pete. It never crossed my mind that Liza was carrying on with anybody.”

“Can we get through the rest of this god-awful story?” Stella asked.

“You’ve always wanted the truth,” Florry said.

“Now I’m not so sure,” Joel said.

“Please continue.”

“Okay, I’m trying, kids. This is not easy. Anyway, the frolicking came to an end when Liza realized she was pregnant. For a month or so she was in denial, but then she started to show and realized Nineva or someone else would get suspicious. She was in a panic, as you might guess. Her first idea was to do what white women have always done when they get caught — scream rape. That puts the blame somewhere else and makes it easier to take care of the pregnancy. She was at her wit’s end when she decided to confide in Dexter Bell, a man she could trust. He never touched her in a bad way. He was always the kind, compassionate pastor who provided comfort. Dexter convinced her not to go through with the rape story, and in doing so saved Jupe’s life. They would’ve strung the boy up in a heartbeat. At about the same time, word got to Nineva and Amos about the grandson and the boss lady carrying on. They were terrified and got him out of town.”

Joel and Stella were speechless. The door opened a few inches and Twyla looked in. “How are we doing?”

“We’re fine,” Florry whispered, and the door closed. They were anything but fine.

Joel eventually stood with his glass of wine and walked to the small window overlooking the courtyard. He asked, “Did Nineva know she was pregnant?”

“Liza was convinced that she did not. No one knew, not even Jupe. They got him out of town about the time she realized she was pregnant.”

“How did Nineva know they were doing it?”

Florry closed her eyes again and breathed as if waiting for a surge of energy. Without opening them, she coughed and continued. “A colored boy was fishing down by the creek and saw something. He ran home to his momma and told her. Word eventually got to Nineva and Amos, and they were horrified and appreciated the danger. Jupe was on the next bus to Chicago. I think he’s still there.”

A long, heavy pause settled over the room. Minutes passed and nothing was said. Florry opened her eyes but avoided eye contact. Joel returned to his seat, put his wineglass on the table, and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Finally, he said, “So, I guess Pete killed the wrong man, right, Florry?”

She did not answer his question. Instead, she said, “I’ve often thought about Liza in that awful moment when she was confronted with her abortion. She had to make a choice, one that she had not had time to prepare for. Pete assumed it was Dexter Bell, and it was much easier for her to say yes than to stop and think for a moment. One choice, made under extreme duress and confusion, and look at the consequences.”

Stella said, “True, but if she’d had the time, she would never have admitted to the truth. No white woman in her position could do that.”

Florry said, “Don’t make your mother a whore. If she had believed that there was even the slimmest chance your father was alive, she would never have carried on so. She was a fine woman who loved your father endlessly. I was with her the night she died, and she ached and ached and ached for her sins. She begged forgiveness. She longed for her old life back with her family. She was so broken, so pathetic. You must remember her as a good, kind, loving mother.”

Joel stood and left the room without a word. He crossed the courtyard, said nothing to Miss Twyla in her wicker rocker, and left the town house. He drifted down Chartres Street to Jackson Square where he sat on the steps of the cathedral and watched the circus of street performers, musicians, hucksters, con men, artists, pickpockets, pimps, and tourists. Every black man was Jupe up to no good. Every painted white woman was his mother with desire. Everything was a blur; nothing made sense. His breathing was labored, his eyes out of focus.

And then he was on the levee, though he didn’t remember walking over. The barges were passing by and he was staring at them, staring at nothing. Damn the truth. He’d been much happier without it. Every day for the past three and a half years he had tortured himself with questions about why his father did what he did, and countless times he had conceded that he would never know. Well, now he knew, and he missed all those blissfully ignorant days.

For a long time, Joel sat lost in his own world, hardly moving, occasionally shaking his head slightly in disbelief. Then he realized his breathing had slowed, his senses were normal. He convinced himself that no one would ever know, other than himself, Stella, and Miss Twyla. Florry would soon be dead, and like all good Bannings she would take her secrets to her grave. He and Stella would eventually follow suit. A broken and disgraced family would not suffer further humiliation.

And what did it really matter? Neither he nor Stella, nor Florry, for that matter, would ever again live among those people in Ford County. Let the truth be buried there, at Old Sycamore. He wasn’t going back.

A hand touched his shoulder and Stella sat next to him, close. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight. There was no emotion. They were too stunned for any of that.

“How is she?” he asked.

“It won’t be long.”

“She’s all we have left.”

“No, Joel, we have each other, so please don’t die young.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“A question, Counselor,” she said. “If Mom had told the truth, what would Dad have done?”

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else. I’m sure he would have divorced her and run her out of the county. He would have sworn revenge against Jupe, but then he’s safe in Chicago. Different laws up north.”

“But she would be alive, wouldn’t she?”

“I guess. Who knows?”

“But Dad would certainly be alive.”

“Yes, along with Dexter Bell. And we would have our land.”

She shook her head and mumbled, “What a lie.”

“Did she really have a choice?”

“I can’t say. I just feel so sorry for her. And for Dad. And for Dexter. For all of us, I guess. How did we get here?”

She was shaking and he hugged her tighter. He kissed the top of her head as she began crying.

“What a family,” he said softly.