Sycamore Row (29 page)

Suddenly a free man, and given the chance to speak, Rufus Buckley cleared his throat and seized the moment with confidence. “Well, Your Honor, we will be here to protect the rights of our client, Ms. Lettie Lang and—”

“I get that. I’m talking about the trial, Mr. Buckley. It seems to me that there’s simply not enough room for Mr. Brigance, the lead attorney for the proponents of the will, and all the lawyers representing the beneficiary. It’s just too crowded, know what I mean?”

“Well, not really, Your Honor.”

“Okay, I’ll be blunt. A person who wishes to contest a will has the right to hire a lawyer and file a petition,” he said as he waved an arm at the lawyers on the other side. “That lawyer is then involved in the case from start to finish. On the other hand, the proponents of the will are represented by the attorney for the estate. In this case, it’s Mr. Brigance. The individual beneficiaries sort of ride his coattails.”

“Oh, I disagree, Your Honor, we—”

“Hold on. What I’m saying, Mr. Buckley, with all due respect, is that I’m not sure you’re really needed. Maybe you are, but you’ll have to convince me later. We have plenty of time. Just think about it, okay?”

“Well, Judge, I think—”

Judge Atlee showed him his palms and said, “That’s enough. I’ll not argue this. Maybe another day.”

For an instant, Buckley seemed ready for an argument, then quickly remembered why he was there. No sense irritating the judge again. “Sure, Judge, and thank you.”

“You’re free to go.”

Jake glanced at the young woman again. Tight jeans, a red sweater, well-worn yellow running shoes, short hair and stylish glasses. She appeared lean and fit and did not look like the typical twenty-five-year-old black woman in Ford County. She glanced at him and smiled.

Thirty minutes later, she was standing before Roxy’s desk, politely inquiring as to whether she might have a few minutes with Mr. Brigance. Name please? Portia Lang, daughter of Lettie. Mr. Brigance was very busy, but Roxy knew this might be important. She made her wait ten minutes, then found a gap in his schedule.

Jake welcomed her into his office. He offered coffee but she declined. They sat in a corner, Jake in an ancient leather chair and
Portia on the sofa, as if she were there for therapy. She could not help but gaze around the big room and admire its handsome furnishings and organized clutter. She admitted that it was her first visit to a lawyer’s office. “If you’re lucky it’ll be your last,” he said and got a laugh. She was nervous and at first reluctant to say much. Her presence could be crucial, and Jake worked to make her feel welcome.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“I know you’re busy.”

“I have plenty of time, and your mother’s case is the most important one in this office.”

She smiled, a nervous grin. She sat on her hands, the yellow running shoes twitching. Slowly, she began to talk. She was twenty-four, the oldest daughter, and had just left the Army after six years. She had been in Germany when she got the news that her mother had been mentioned in Mr. Hubbard’s will, though that had nothing to do with her discharge. Six years was enough. She was tired of the military and ready for civilian life. She had been a good student at Clanton High, but with her father’s sketchy work history there was no money for college. (She frowned when she talked about Simeon.) Eager to leave home, and Ford County, she joined the Army and traveled the world. She had been back now for almost a week, though she had no plans to stay in the area. She had enough credits for three years of college, wanted to finish, and she was dreaming of law school. In Germany, she had worked in the JAG Corps as a clerk and watched court-martial proceedings.

She was staying with her parents and family, who, by the way, had moved to town. They were renting the old Sappington place, she said with a trace of pride. “I know,” Jake said. “It’s a small town. Word travels fast.” Anyway, she doubted she would stay there much longer because the house, though much larger, was a circus with relatives coming and going and people sleeping everywhere.

Jake listened intently, waiting on an opening, certain it would come. Occasionally, he asked a question about her life, but she needed little prompting. She was warming up nicely and chattering away. Six years in the military had erased the drawl and twang and sloppy grammatical habits. Her diction was perfect, and not just by accident. She’d learned German and French in Europe and worked as a translator. Now she was studying Spanish.

Out of habit, he wanted to take notes, but that seemed rude.

She had gone to Parchman last weekend, to see Marvis, and he had
told her about Jake’s visit. She talked about him for a long time and occasionally wiped a tear. He was her big brother, had always been her hero, and it was such a waste. If Simeon had been a better father, Marvis would not have gone bad. Yes, he told Portia to tell their momma to stick with Jake, said he’d talked to his lawyer, Nick Norton, who said those Memphis lawyers would screw it all up.

“Why were you in court this morning?” Jake asked.

“I was in court yesterday, Mr. Brigance.”

“Please call me Jake.”

“Okay. Jake. I saw that fiasco yesterday, and I came back this morning to look through the court file in the clerk’s office. That’s when I heard the rumor that they were bringing the lawyers over from jail.”

“Your family’s lawyers.”

“Right.” She took a deep breath and spoke much slower. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Is it okay if we talk about the case?”

“Of course. Technically, we’re on the same side. It doesn’t feel that way, but for now we’re allies.”

“Okay.” Another deep breath. “I have to talk to someone, okay? Look, Jake, I was not here during the Hailey trial, but I heard all about it. I came home that Christmas and there was a lot of talk about the trial and Clanton and the Klan and National Guard and all that, and I sort of felt bad for missing the fun. But your name is well known in our parts. My mother told me a few days ago that she felt like she could trust you. That’s not easy for black folks, Jake, especially in a situation like this.”

“We’ve never seen a situation like this.”

“You know what I mean. With all this money being thrown around, well, we just sort of naturally expect to get the short end.”

“I think I understand.”

“So, when we got home yesterday, there was another fight. A big one, between Momma and Dad with a few other unwanted opinions thrown in. You see, I don’t know everything that happened before I came home, but evidently they’ve been fighting over some pretty serious stuff. I think my dad accused her of sleeping with Mr. Hubbard.” Her eyes watered quickly and she stopped to wipe them. “My mother is not a whore, Jake, she is a great woman who raised five kids practically alone. It hurts to know that so many people around here think she somehow screwed her way into that old man’s will. I’ll never believe it. Never. But my father is another story. They’ve been at war for twenty
years and when I was in high school I begged her to leave him. He criticizes everything she does and now he’s criticizing her for something she didn’t do. I told him to shut it up.” Jake handed her a tissue, but the tears were gone. She said, “Thanks. Anyway, on one hand he accuses her of sleeping with Mr. Hubbard, and on the other hand he’s secretly happy she did, if she did, because it might pay off. She can’t win. So, after we got home yesterday from court, my momma tore into him about the Memphis lawyers.”

“So he hired them?”

“Yes, he’s a big shot now, and he has to protect his asset—my momma. He’s convinced the white folks around here will conspire to invalidate the will and keep the money. It will all come down to race, so why not hire the biggest race baiter in these parts? And here we are. And there he is, sitting over there in jail.”

“What do you think about that?”

“Sistrunk? He wants to be in jail right now. Got his picture in the paper with a nice headline. Another black man wrongfully jailed by the racists in Mississippi. It’s perfect for him. He could not have scripted it any better.”

Jake nodded and smiled. This woman could see around corners.

“I agree,” he said. “It was all an act. By Sistrunk, at least. I can assure you Rufus Buckley had no plans to go to jail.”

“How did we end up with these clowns?” she asked.

“I was planning to ask you the same question.”

“Well, from what I gather, my dad went to Memphis and met with Sistrunk, who, no surprise, smelled a big payday. So he hustled down here to Ford County, put on his show, and my mother fell for it. She really likes you, Jake, and she trusts you, but Sistrunk convinced her no white people can be trusted in this case. For some reason, he brought in Buckley.”

“If those guys stay in the case, we’re going to lose. Can you imagine them before a jury?”

“No, I cannot, and that’s what the fight was all about. My momma and I argued that we’re screwing up the case right now. Simeon, always the expert, argued that Sistrunk will take the case to federal court and win it there.”

“There’s no way, Portia. There’s no federal question here.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“How much is Sistrunk getting?”

“Half. And the only reason I know this is because it spilled out during the fight. My momma said giving half of her share to Sistrunk was ridiculous. My dad said, ‘Well, half of nothing is nothing.’ ”

“Have they borrowed money from Sistrunk?”

“You don’t mind asking questions, do you?”

Jake smiled and shrugged, said, “It will all come out eventually, believe me.”

“Yes, there was a loan. I don’t know how much.”

Jake took a sip of cold coffee as both pondered the next question. “This is serious business, Portia. There’s a fortune at stake, and our side is losing right now.”

She smiled and said, “A fortune? When word got out that this poor black woman in rural Mississippi was about to inherit twenty million, the lawyers went crazy. Had one call from Chicago, making all kinds of promises. Sistrunk was on board by then and he fought them back, but they’re still calling. White lawyers, black lawyers, everybody’s got a better deal.”

“You don’t need them.”

“Are you sure?”

“My job is to enforce the provisions of Mr. Hubbard’s last will, plain and simple. That will is under attack from his family, and that’s where the fight should be. When we go to trial, I want her to be sitting right there, at my table, with Mr. Quince Lundy, the administrator of the estate. He’s white and I’m white, and between us will be Lettie, looking pretty and happy. This is about money, Portia, but it’s also about race. We don’t need a courtroom that’s black on one side and white on the other. I’ll take the case all the way to the jury, and—”

“And you’ll win?”

“Only an idiot lawyer predicts what a jury might do. But I’ll swear that my chances of winning the case are far greater than Booker Sistrunk’s. Plus, I’m not getting a cut of Lettie’s inheritance.”

“How do you get paid?”

“You don’t mind asking questions, do you?”

“Sorry. There’s just so much I don’t know.”

“I’m working by the hour and my fees come from the estate. All reasonable and court approved.”

She nodded as if she heard this all the time. She coughed and said, “My mouth is dry. Do you have a soft drink or something?”

“Sure. Follow me.” They went downstairs to the small kitchen where Jake found a diet soda. To impress her, he took her into the small
conference room and showed her where Quince Lundy was currently doing his work and digging through the Hubbard records. Lundy had not yet arrived for the day. “How much of the money is in cash?” she asked timidly, as if she might be out-of-bounds. She stared at the boxes of records as if they were filled with cash.

“Most of it.”

She admired the shelves packed with thick law books and treatises, few of which had been touched in years. “You have a nice office here, Jake,” she said.

“It’s a hand-me-down. It belongs to a man named Lucien Wilbanks.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Most people have. Have a seat.”

She eased into a thick, leather chair at the long table as Jake closed the door. Roxy, of course, was nearby and on full radar alert.

Jake sat across from her and said, “So, tell me, Portia, how do you get rid of Sistrunk?”

In the best military tradition, she instantly blurted, “Keep his big ass in jail.”

Jake laughed and said, “That’s only temporary. Your mother has to fire him. Your father doesn’t matter; he’s not a party.”

“But they owe him money.”

“They can pay him later. If she’ll listen to me, I’ll walk her through it. But, first, she has to tell Sistrunk he’s fired. And Buckley too. In writing. I’ll draft a letter if she’ll sign it.”

“Give me some time, okay?”

“There’s not much time. The longer Sistrunk hangs around the more damage he does. He’s a publicity hound and loves the attention. Unfortunately, he’s getting the attention of all the white people in Ford County. Those will be our jurors, Portia.”

“An all-white jury?”

“No, but at least eight or nine of the twelve.”

“Wasn’t the Hailey jury all white?”