by John Grisham
She was as gorgeous as ever. Dressed to the hilt and smelling of a perfume that he had never forgotten, she kissed him as they whispered and wept and laughed as time stood absolutely still. He rubbed her backside in full view of the nearby patients, and she didn’t care. He clutched her to his chest, and all was right in the world.
In voices as low as possible, they talked for a long time. Joel, Stella, Florry, the farm, their friends, all the gossip from home. She carried the bulk of the conversation because he had no desire to describe what he had been through. When the doctors arrived on rounds, they gave her a quick summary of the patient’s condition and what was to be expected. They anticipated several more surgeries and a long recovery, but with time he would be as good as new.
An orderly brought her a comfortable chair with a pillow and blanket, and she set up camp. She hauled in books and magazines and read, and talked and talked. She left his side only after dark to return to her hotel.
Before long, Liza knew the names of the other boys and was flirting shamelessly. They perked up when she was around, delighted to have such a lively, beautiful woman showering them with attention. She virtually commandeered the wing. She wrote letters to girlfriends and made phone calls to mothers, always with news that was cheerful and optimistic, regardless of the wounds. She read letters from home, often fighting back tears. She brought in chocolates and candy when she could find them.
Pete was one of the luckier ones. He was not paralyzed or disfigured and all limbs were intact. Some of the boys were pitiful, and they received even more of her attention. Pete was more than happy to share his wife and reveled in her ability to brighten up a hospital ward.
She stayed for two weeks and left only because Stella was at home with Florry and Nineva. When she was gone, the ward returned to its gloominess. Every day the patients yelled at Pete and asked when Liza was coming back.
She returned in mid-March and brought the family with her. Joel and Stella were on spring break and eager to see their father. For three days, they camped around his bed and in general turned the ward upside down. When they were gone, Pete slept for two days, aided by sedatives.
On May 4, he was taken by ambulance to the train station and loaded onto an army hospital ward car for a ride across the country. It stopped many times as men were carried away to other hospitals closer to home. On May 10, it arrived in Jackson, Mississippi, and Liza, Stella, and Florry were waiting. They followed the ambulance across town to the Foster General Hospital, where Pete spent the next three months convalescing.
Part Three
The Betrayal
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.