Comfort and Affliction

by Michael Frosolono

  “We frequently affirm the resurrection of the body the author of First Peter describes when we recite from the Apostles’ Creed, I believe in the resurrection of the body. Our resurrection with Jesus Christ means a fleshly, bodily process to take place on this earth, not simply a spiritual phenomenon without animation. Yes, we must grieve appropriately over the loss of Master Sergeant Rollins; yet we must go forward secure in the ultimate reality: We, like him, will be resurrected in the body when Christ comes again to make all things new.”

  Eric closed his Bible. “Please follow the Rollins family out of the sanctuary through the rear door to my left and into the parking lot. Although the City Cemetery is only a short distance from here, school buses wait in the parking lot for those who wish to attend the interment. The buses will return everyone to the parking lot. We do not need the distraction from the demonstrators in front of our church.” Eric grinned. “I am assured the demonstrators will not be allowed into, or even near, the buses, the cemetery, or the church parking lot.

  “We will leave after the closing hymn, For All the Saints. I urge you to pay close attention to the words. Although the words apply to all who soldier for Christ, they have a special meaning for Christian warriors like Master Sergeant Rollins, who died in service to our God and country.”

  John Carlyle led the choir and congregation in singing the hymn as Eric went to accompany the Rollins family to the gravesite:

  For all the saints, who from their labors rest,

  Who thee by faith before the world confessed,

  Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.

  Alleluia, Alleluia.

  Thou wast their rock, their fortress, and their might;

  Thou, Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight,

  Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true light.

  Alleluia, Alleluia.

  O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,

  Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,

  And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.

  Alleluia, Alleluia.

  O blest communion, fellowship divine!

  We feebly struggle, they in glory shine,

  Yet all are one in thee, for all are thine.

  Alleluia, Alleluia.

  And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

  Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,

  And hearts are brave again,

  And arms are strong.

  Alleluia, Alleluia.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tuesday, 16 September

  Eric waited until the waitress delivered his and Allison’s usual coffee and donuts before broaching the serious topic on his mind. “I need your legal assistance.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I want to establish a trust fund for the Rollins family.”

  “Sounds like a great project. What exactly do you want to accomplish?”

  “Sufficient funds to ensure Linda and the boys have a comfortable life, and to provide for the boys’ educations.”

  “Linda will receive the Army insurance payment for her husband’s death in action. Phillip took out the maximum amount allowed,” Allison said.

  “How about the house? Is there a mortgage?”

  “I think so,” Allison said. “I’ll need to check my records.”

  “My sources tell me Master Sergeant Rollins was in the National Guard rather than the professional Army.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What did he do in civilian life?”

  “He constructed and maintained many of the floating docks on the Georgia side of Lake Hartwell, as well as some on the South Carolina shoreline. Linda ran the office.”

  “Do you think she’ll sell the business?” Eric asked.

  “I don’t know. She might have trouble hiring someone to do the heavy work.”

  “Probably a number of other people will simply try to take over her husband’s clients.”

  “Unless someone wants the cache of the business name.”

  “I’m willing to contribute two hundred fifty thousand dollars to set up the trust fund.”

  Allison looked surprised at the amount. “Would you mind if other people also participate?”

  “Not at all.”

  “With your permission, and in confidence, let me speak with Miz Lizbeth. She may want to participate, as will I. My donation will be markedly less than yours,” Allison said.

  “Would you be the trust fund administrator or trustee?”

  “Gladly.”

  “Good. Once you talk with Miz Lizbeth, should we go public with the project, keeping my name out of it?”

  “Probably so. Let me cogitate a while. A premature announcement about major donors might not be the best way to raise additional funds,” Allison offered.

  “We shouldn’t give the public the impression they don’t need to be involved?” Eric asked.

  “Right.”

  “You’re the team leader,” Eric said.

  “I’ll push forward with all deliberate haste. You have ready access to your funds?” Allison asked.

  “I might need a few days to get the cash in hand, or at least in my account at Vickery Bank and Trust,” Eric answered.

  “I’ll give you the word in plenty of time. I have another consideration that might be relevant to the trust fund.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Phillip Rollins is unlikely to be the last local serviceperson to be killed in action,” Allison said.

  “More deaths could happen with a seemingly unending ‘War on Terror’ and other conflicts to follow,” Eric acknowledged.

  “Do you plan on setting up similar trust funds for other survivors?”

  “Be a fine thing to do.”

  “In the interim, you’re acting upon the starfish approach?” Allison asked.

  “I don’t know the reference,” Eric said.

  “An old man walks on the beach after a huge storm. Whenever he comes upon a starfish on its back, he carefully returns it to the water, thereby saving the lives of many starfish. A teenager, who has been watching the old man, asks him, ‘What are you doing, Old Man?’ The gentleman says he’s saving the lives of stranded starfish that otherwise would die on their backs, unable to get to the water. The kid laughs and says, ‘Old Man, there must be thousands of stranded starfish on this beach. What you’re doing doesn’t matter.’ The gentleman continues with what he’s doing and replies, ‘It matters to the ones I save.’”

  Eric smiled. “Sounds good: Save who we can whenever the opportunity presents.”

  “Let’s hope this madness ends soon, before more deaths occur.”

  “I may use your story in a sermon one day. Should I pay you a royalty fee?” Eric grinned.

  “One kiss.”

  Eric leaned across the table and kissed Allison long and deeply.

  “Payment in full,” Allison said when they withdrew, oblivious of the other people in the cafe. “There are a couple of other issues I’d like to discuss.”

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “You apparently have financial resources over and above your ministerial salary and your Army retirement. Is my inference valid?”

  “Essentially.”

  “May I ask the source of your wealth? Miz Lizbeth believes you’re the heir to a textile fortune.”

  “Small fortune, not a humongous one. Dad had a significant financial stake in the Troup Textile Company, with factories in and around LaGrange. He was ready to retire, and knew that I wouldn’t want to run the business because of my commitment to the Army. The partners sold the company to the Marvel Textile Company.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “They died in an airplane crash in Paris. They were on the first leg of an around-the-world tour with a group out of Atlanta, all of whom were killed. I inherited Mom and Dad’s estate, as their only child.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Behind enemy lines.”

&nb
sp; “Were you able to attend the funeral?”

  “Extracting me would have jeopardized the mission I led.”

  “Missing your parents’ funeral must have been terrible for you.”

  “I didn’t know about my parents’ deaths until the mission ended. My commanding officer, Malcolm Bingham, didn’t want me to be distracted, a sure way to get somebody killed.”

  “Was the mission worth the deception?”

  “I wouldn’t call it deception. More like the absence of full disclosure.”

  “Were you angry about the situation?” Allison asked.

  “My attendance at my parents’ funeral wouldn’t have brought them back. Look, Allison, I chose the life of a warrior, which entailed giving up a lot of things.”

  “Did anyone feel the need to explain your absence at your parents’ funeral?”

  “There was a joint memorial service in Atlanta for all of the victims. No one noticed my absence,” Eric said.

  “What can you tell me about this Malcolm Bingham?”

  “We were roommates at West Point, great friends to this day. Several times we fought side-by-side. His radio handle is Buckshot, which should give you some idea about his personality.”

  “What was your radio handle?”

  “Apocalypse.”

  “I won’t delve any deeper into your using that name. One more thing.”

  “Ask away.”

  “What brought you into the ministry?”

  “Long story. Why don’t we save it for another time? I promise to reveal all.”

  “I’ll accept your promise, and I look forward to the revelation,” Allison said.

  “I saw in The Alexander County Messenger that you have a big case tomorrow, representing Raymond Taliaferro.”

  “Yes! We’re suing Ralph Whitfield over a bogus sale of property.”

  “From what I gathered, Raymond bought some property a few years ago and claims Whitfield is attempting to steal it.”

  “That’s essentially right. More complicated than that. If you’re free tomorrow, you might enjoy the trial.”

  “I’d like that. At the county court house?”

  “Yes. Big Al and I have arranged for Cathy and Joseph to be excused from school for the day.”

  “How did you and Big Al manage that?”

  “The trial presents an educational opportunity because both are interested in the law as careers.”

  “Really?”

  “Makes a good story, and both want to see me in action.”

  “So would I.” Eric smiled.

  “Would you mind taking them to the trial? That way Joseph won’t have to drive and I’d have one less worry on my mind.”

  “My pleasure. I enjoy their company.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Wednesday, 17 September

  Where do you want to sit?” Eric asked Joseph and Cathy upon entering the back of the main courtroom in the Alexander County governmental building, centrally located on the Mercerville town square about fifteen miles south of Vickery.

  “Down front, so we’ll have a good view of Mom in action,” Joseph said.

  Eric led the way to the third row from the front in the center section of the room. Before they could take their seats, Joan Mitchell—the editor of the Alexander County Messenger— touched him on his shoulder. “Reverend Jameson, do you mind if I sit with your group?”

  “Happy to have you.” Eric used his bulk to encourage the other people in the row to make room for his group.

  “Did Allison tell you to expect fireworks today?” Joan asked Eric.

  “No.”

  “My sources tell me a new day for Alexander County dawns here at the courthouse.”

  “Do you have Deep Throats in the courthouse?” Joseph asked.

  Cathy hit Joseph in the side with her elbow. “You sure are phallic today.”

  “I’m a male and your hero. What else do you expect?”

  Joan looked at Eric, who shrugged. “Confidential sources,” she said.

  The bailiff and judge entered the courtroom. “All rise,” the bailiff bellowed. “Hear ye, hear ye. All ye who have business before this honorable court, Judge Reagan Prentice presiding, come forward and make yourselves known.”

  Eric saw the angry looks on Whitfield and his attorney’s faces. Joan winked at Eric. The judge entered the courtroom and took his place on the high bench. “Be seated, everyone. Bailiff, call the first case.”

  The bailiff announced the docket number of the case. “Raymond Taliaferro, plaintiff; Ralph Whitfield, defendant, Judge Prentice. This case concerns an allegedly fraudulent sale of land.”

  “Are the plaintiff and defendant ready to proceed?” the judge asked.

  Allison stood. “Allison Stevens for the plaintiff, Your Honor. We’re ready.” She looked toward the defense table and smiled.

  Whitfield’s lawyer rose. “Dean Scott, Judge Prentice, for the defense. We ask for a continuance.”

  “On what grounds?” Judge Prentice asked.

  “We were expecting Judge Speir to hear this case.”

  “Judge Speir found it necessary to resign rather suddenly at the end of last week. That’s why this court term did not begin on Monday. Judge Torrance, chief judge of this judicial district, assigned me to this and several other cases. You were properly notified of these changes.”

  “I believe a continuance would be in order to give Your Honor sufficient time to familiarize himself with this complicated case.”

  “I already am thoroughly familiar with all of the briefs and other documents submitted in relation to this matter. Motion for continuance denied.”

  “Your Honor, we prepared our defense on the expectation Judge Speir would be presiding; therefore, we respectfully ask again for a continuance.”

  “I am ready to hear this case. The records show you have already asked for, and received, three continuances. Enough is enough. Don’t waste any more of this court’s time, Counselor Scott.”

  “Your Honor,” Scott began a protest.

  “You question my competence, Counselor?”

  “Not at all, Your Honor. I am simply suggesting you might need more time to familiarize yourself with the nuances of the justice system here in Alexander County.”

  “What nuances, Counselor? The law is the law.”

  “You’re new to Alexander County, Your Honor.”

  “Are you implying I cannot be impartial because I’m new to this county?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  “Good.” Prentice turned to Allison, “Counselor Stevens, present your case.”

  Scott remained standing. “Your Honor. We request a jury trial.”

  “Counselor Scott, the record clearly shows you and your client wanted this case to be tried before a judge, not a jury. If you’re not ready to defend your client after all this time, I’ll rule in favor of Mr. Taliaferro.”

  “I object, and I want the record to show my objection.”

  “So noted and so done, Counselor Scott. Don’t dilly-dally any further with more objections of a similar nature.” Prentice banged his gavel. “Let us proceed without any further delay.”

  Allison began. “We call Mr. Lewis Whitfield.” After the bailiff administered the oath, Allison asked, “Please state your name, residential address, and profession.”

  Lewis Whitfield ended his declaration with his professional title, “I am the tax assessor for Alexander County.”

  “Is your position appointed rather than elected?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who appointed you to this position?”

  Scott rose to his feet. “Your Honor, why do you allow Ms. Stevens to waste our time with questions concerning common knowledge?”

  Allison responded. “Judge, I’m laying the groundwork for a pattern of relationships concerning this case.”

  “You may answer the question, Mr. Whitfield,” Prentice said.

  “The Board of County Commissioners appointed me.”

  �
��Is Mr. Ralph Whitfield, the defendant in this case, a Commissioner?”

  “He’s the Chairman of the Board of Commissioners.”

  “Are you and the defendant related?”

  Scott stood. “Your Honor, I don’t see the relevance of these questions.”

  Prentice, a frown on his face, asked, “You’re making an objection, Counselor Scott?”

  “Definitely.”

  Prentice looked at Allison, “Counselor?”

  “Like I said, Your Honor, I will show a pattern integral to our case.”

  “Objection overruled,” Prentice said. “You may answer the question, Mr. Whitfield.”

  “We’re first cousins,” the tax assessor said.

  Allison held up a piece of paper. “Your Honor, we direct the court’s attention to our Exhibit A.” She punched a key on the laptop computer at the plaintiff’s table to bring up an image on the video screen to the witness’ left. “Mr. Whitfield, what is this document?”

  “The property record card for Parcel Number 17655-24.”

  “Do you use the information on the property record cards, one for each parcel in the county, to determine the current valuations for the properties?”

  “Yes. Do you want the details of how we make those valuations?”

  “No, not at this time. Without going into any details, does the county use these valuations to determine property taxes the owners must pay?”

  “Yes.”

  “How far back do the county records go for this property?”

  “All the way to the period immediately following the Revolutionary War.”

  “Who was the original owner?”

  “The first Ralph Whitfield, a captain in the Continental Army. He received the property through a land grant because of his service.”

  “Was it a common practice to award veterans of our War for Independence with land grants?”