The Governor's Sons (43 page)

“Now, Miss Kroth,” he handed her the book he’d given her, “if you don’t mind.”
 
Harland quickly walked her to the door, and then marched her to the reception area.
 
“Miss Kroth, it was nice to see you again,” he said politely, in front of Miss Perfect Smile Angela.
 
“Regards to your parents.”

And don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Leigh Ann thought, as she said her goodbyes and left Harland’s office.
 
She was more than just humiliated by the whole exchange, she was devastated.
 
So devastated, she couldn’t go back to work.
 
Instead she just wanted to go home and die!

****

Harland wiped sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief.

“You certainly are popular today.” Angela smiled as Harland turned to go back to his office.

“And how,” he called over his shoulder as he shut the door.
 
Harland walked to the closed door of a small conference room near the rear of his office.
 
He opened it and leaned inside.
 
“You can come out now, she’s gone.”

“That was close,” Jo Beth said, as she walked from the room.

Surrounded by the oak paneled walls, Ash sat at his mahogany desk.
 
His office was located midway down the marble corridor on the first floor, the executive level of the State House.
 
In the momentary silence, the steady ticking of the wall clock filled the room.
 
Ash was dumbfounded.

Because of an anonymous tip, the FBI had searched Gavin’s car.
 
And because of what they’d found, his room was also searched.
 
Now a black suited agent, clean shaven wearing a little too much Aqua Velva, sat in front of Ash’s desk.
 
He’d spread out an array of damaging evidence implicating Gavin in a plot to murder Harland Hall.

“This can’t be!” Ash said.
 
“You couldn’t have gotten this stuff from my boy’s car!”
 
Several exterior photos of Harland’s office and apartment taken from different angles, bomb building formulas and threatening notes assembled from newspaper and magazine print stared at Ash from the top of his desk.
 
“Have you dusted for prints?”
 
Ash sounded desperate.

“We have, Governor, but there aren’t any.
 
If your son ever handled these, he wore gloves.”
 
The agent’s scalp glistened beneath his crew cut.
 
“When we questioned him, he denied knowing anything about this; claims he’s never seen any of it.”

“I can tell you right now, my son didn’t have
any
thing to do with
any
of this!
 
It’s that Libby Willis—she’s responsible!”

“But, Governor, our men haven’t been able to pin anything on her.
 
All she’s done is shop, go to the movies, the library and the public pool.
 
She hasn’t done anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.”

“How do you know somebody else didn’t plant this stuff?”

“We don’t, Governor.”

“What about that anonymous tip you got about it being in Gavin’s car to begin with?”

“We have traced the call, sir.
 
It was a payphone.”

“Damn it!
 
Now look here, I can assure you my boy’s not a common criminal!”

“Sir, because of what we found in his car, there’s an investigation now into what we think is a valid assassination plot on Harland Hall.
 
But because Gavin’s your son, Governor, we’re not going to do anything at this point regarding his involvement in it.
 
And we’re keeping this whole incident quiet and away from the press.
 
We suspect the evidence found in his car was planted.
 
Everything else in the Mustang had prints all over it.
 
But these items were wiped clean.
 
No prints of any kind whatsoever.
 
It stinks of a plant.
 
But not these things over here.”

The agent pointed to a second cluster of evidence discovered in Gavin’s room that included a stack of racist propaganda and a small bag marijuana.
 
“All this stuff’s covered with his prints and your son’s already admitted that it’s his.”

Ash sighed.
 
Still shocked and embarrassed, he closed his eyes for a moment and put a hand on his forehead.
 
“It’s bad enough he’s smoking reefer—but I can’t believe he’s reading that garbage, too.”

Ash sifted through issues of
The Thunderbolt
and
The White Knights of Righteousness Newsletter,
and then picked up a copy of
The White Supremacist Times.
 
After flipping through an article entitled “Gone are the Days of Lynching as Entertainment,” Ash felt sickened by the graphic photos of what was referred to as “the good old days.”
 
He closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
 
“I—I don’t know what to say.” Ash put down the periodical.
  
“Now--just because he’s been reading this junk—it couldn’t cause him to—”

“Governor, he’s under your supervision,” the agent said.
 
“We trust that you’ll talk to him so he can help us get to the bottom of this.”
  
He began gathering up the evidence.
 
“Maybe he’ll open up and tell you more than he was willing to tell us.”

While the agent spoke, Ash heard a loud police siren outside.
 
He felt a chill as he envisioned Gavin being led away in handcuffs.

“Maybe he knows people that, he doesn’t realize, want to use him as a fall guy,” the agent continued. “But whoever we’re dealing with can’t be too bright.
 
Who’d want to intentionally tip off the FBI to an assassination plot?”
 
He paused for a moment as he sealed the items in large brown envelopes.
 
“Now unfortunately, sir, if we do find more damaging evidence that points the finger at your son, we will have to take some form of action.”

“I understand,” Ash said.

After the agent left, Ash buried his head in his hands.
 
Gavin couldn’t hate Harland enough to want to kill him—could he?
 
Had he driven Gavin over the edge?
 
Ash wondered, as he’d gone on and on about Harland’s accomplishments and academic achievement.
 
Had Ash been the father Gavin needed him to be?
 
He hadn’t been a presence in Harland’s life.
 
But had he been a presence enough in Gavin’s?
 
Was all this his fault?
 
Ash couldn’t have his sons at odds with each other.
 
He had to tell the truth.
 
It was getting too dangerous not to.

****

Harland motioned JoBeth to the one comfortable place to sit in his office, a slim black leather couch along the wall.
 
From a used furniture store, it had cost all of $15.00.
 
But it was in decent shape, and great for a quick nap.

Harland sat down next to her.
 
“So—I suppose you heard everything.”
 
JoBeth nodded.
 
Although she wore a faint smile, the melancholy look in her eyes, told Harland she was embarrassed for her sister.
 
“How did you know she was coming?”

“She mentioned it last night.
 
I just didn’t know what time she’d show up.
 
Harland, if Leigh Ann knew you’d asked my dad if I could work on that Negro infant mortality study—she’d be crushed.
  
I had to hide.
 
I couldn’t let her see me here--she’d hate me.
 
Even though Leigh Ann wants to be an activist, Daddy doesn’t want her involved in Civil Rights at all.
 
With her mouth, he’s afraid she’ll be harmed or killed.”

“But he’s okay with
you
helping me?”

JoBeth smiled.
 
“I hardly have an activist nature.
 
And since the research won’t be conducted here, Daddy’s fine with that.
 
But wouldn’t you know—Leigh Ann
had
to stop by, right in the middle of
our
meeting.”
 
She sighed.
 
“Murphy’s Law, I guess.”

“Has your sister always been so…”

JoBeth laughed.
 
“She’s always been outspoken.
 
Leigh Ann’s convinced she can bring racial harmony to the world.
 
She was in love with a musician who had lots of colored friends who were also musicians.
 
Lance—her boyfriend—said that music was color blind, and that’s how the world should be.
 
He died from a—a drug overdose--but Leigh Ann’s determined to carry out that vision.
 
I just didn’t know she had—feelings—for you.”

“Yeah, and now she’s a woman scorned.
 
I think I should tell your father what happened.”

“Harland, no, Leigh Ann would die if Daddy found out!”

“JoBeth—I’ve had experiences with all kinds of women.
 
And it’s the feisty ones, like your sister, who get a guy in trouble.
 
I don’t want her accusing me of anything inappropriate.”

“Harland, Leigh Ann wouldn’t do that.
 
But, I’ll talk to her and make sure she won’t, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“I’d appreciate that.
 
It’s best to be safe.”

“I’ll figure out something to say, without letting on that I overheard everything.”

“Thanks.”
 
Harland looked at JoBeth a little longer than necessary, although she didn’t seem to mind, because her eyes never left his.
 
But finally, Harland’s gaze dropped to the floor.
 
“JoBeth—I feel like a heel.”
 
His eyes wandered from the green speckled tile, to her long shapely legs.
 
He tried not to linger there too long before making his way to her face.

JoBeth smiled.
 
“Why should you feel that way?”
 
She looked so sweet and innocent in her pale pink scoop neck dress and short matching jacket.

“Because—I just made up that infant mortality study.
 
I made it up the first moment I saw you.
 
Studying the mortality rate of Negro infants compared to Caucasian babies seemed like a valid type of civil rights project.
 
But the truth is—I just wanted an opportunity to work with you—and maybe—get to know you better.”

Harland stood from the couch and walked a few paces away.
 
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stood silently, reflecting on his past.
 
He wasn’t proud of it.
 
If a woman had been attractive and willing—he’d certainly been more than able.
 
And up North, that had been especially true with white women—because of what happened to his real mother.

Harland had felt a sense of justice on his mother’s behalf, each time he bedded a white girl.
 
But he’d come to realize that promiscuity wasn’t a way to get even for what had happened to her.
 
Now he could only hope that any women he’d hurt along the way could forgive him.

“There was a time in my life when I would’ve jumped at the opportunity Leigh Ann was offering.”
  
Harland turned quickly to JoBeth.
 
“But I’m not like that anymore.
 
I’ve been— so focused on the Civil Rights Cause—I haven’t dated for a while.
 
And that’s been intentional.
 
I need to stay focused on what I’m fighting for.”
 
He let out a deep breath and looked down.
 
“Part of the reason I’m so passionate about Civil Rights is because of what happened to my mother.
 
Not my adoptive mother, but my real mother.
 
She was raped by a white man.
 
So whenever I think about that--it just makes me want to fight harder.”

His gaze met JoBeth’s.
 
“But when I first saw you—I just felt something between us.”
 
He laughed.
 
“What’s funny is that--Leigh Ann reminds me of one of my little sisters.
 
Now, she’s pretty and all, but you--I can’t explain what it is.”
 
Embarrassed, he said, “And I can’t explain why I’m telling you all this.”
 
He smiled.
 
“You’re putting on a good front, but--I’ve probably scared you—and I’m sorry.”

JoBeth held out her hand and he took it.
 
“You haven’t frightened me.”
 
She gently tugged him toward her and smiled.
 
“Sit with me again.” Once he sat down, JoBeth said, “I felt something, too.”

Harland hesitated, looking at her.
 
“I didn’t think someone—like you—would ever—give me a second thought.”
 
Without saying a word, they held each other’s gaze.
 
“But—I think we both realize that—we can’t possibly pursue anything.”