by John Grisham
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 vo
lume, “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.