Back to Jerusalem

by Jan Surasky

  “I believe you, Sarah. What is Sammy’s bail?”

  “It’s set at $3,000. But, Sammy doesn’t have that much and no one in his family has it. Jesse and I don’t have it. We barely make ends meet.”

  “I know, Sarah. I’ll call the Penn Yan police and see if I can arrange bail.”

  “Thanks, Jenny. I know it would calm Anne.”

  There was a pause and then Sarah spoke again. “Jenny, it would mean a lot to us if you could rouse Jake. We’ve tried, but the telephone number he gave us is changed and the operator won’t give it out. He’s the only one who could help Sammy. All the cops here hate Mennonites and there are no lawyers we can afford.”

  Jenny stared at the phone. She hadn’t seen Jake since she had been a newlywed expecting Josh.

  “I’ll do my best, Sarah. Meanwhile, tell Sammy to stay cool.”

  “I will, Jenny.” Sarah hesitated. “Jenny, thanks for your help.”

  “I wouldn’t do otherwise. Now, you make sure you take care of yourself and Jesse as well. I know this has been a strain on you both.”

  Jenny hung up and called Sparky. Her former roommate came to the phone with plenty of enthusiasm. She had just dodged a kick from the new cow she had acquired who wanted to knock over the milk pail. Sparky had barely rescued the morning’s bounty.

  “I’ll get on it right away, Jen. Don’t worry. I’ll get Annie. That way her family can save face. And, I’ll get some cookies to Sammy. Jeb Archer down at the jail owes Cliff. He’ll let me smuggle them in.”

  Jenny hung up the phone grateful for the many long years of Sparky’s friendship. She knew proving Sammy’s innocence would be nearly impossible in a town corrupt with crooked lawyers and cops. She knew also that Jake was their only hope. He knew the corruption first hand. She put on the coffee pot. She would call Cathy as soon as the sun came up.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Jenny looked at the imposing building a few doors away as she walked the pavement of Lexington Avenue. The street was filled with mid-morning traffic and the sidewalks filled with pedestrians. She had asked the cabbie to let her off a few buildings ahead so she could compose herself, but it wasn’t working. She was as nervous as the first time she had ventured to Madison Avenue as a newbie to Manhattan and had found the offices of Mallory, Hollander & Wexler.

  She had traced Jake through the Manhattan chapter of the ABA and the large, Manhattan yellow pages. The building his law firm took offices in was marble with a beautifully chiseled beige stone and large, black tinted windows. It rose twenty-four stories above the street.

  She entered the foyer to a large sculpted display of the partners’ names. Jake’s was at the bottom, along with one other. The original, founding partners, no doubt retired or deceased by now, took the prominent three spaces at the top.

  She rang the elevator button for the eighteenth floor, clearly spelled out in the gold plated directory next to the elevator bank in the reception area. Clients were asked to refrain from going above that level.

  As she stepped off the elevator the silence seemed almost eerie. The receptionist stared at her from behind a huge, mahogany desk.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Jake Martin.”

  “Mr. Martin is working at home for the next two weeks. Can I take a message?”

  “I need to speak to him now. It’s urgent.”

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t give out personal phone numbers or addresses of our attorneys.”

  “Could you at least give him a call and ask him if he could see me?”

  The secretary frowned. She hesitated. But, Jenny was used to watching Cathy negotiate a deal.

  “Okay. I’ll give him a call. But, you’ll have to wait.”

  Jenny chose the leather sofa along the wall. She picked up a copy of Newsweek and leafed through it. Breaking world news. Reviews of theater and movies and even an interview with a chef who had concocted a fascinating dish for the president of France.

  But, where was the real news? The news that was happening to people every day in every small town across the country and the world. In backwater places and even in cities where major magazines refused to consider their stories an item.

  Jenny jumped when she heard her name. She rose from the sofa with the same trepidation that had plagued her in the cab on the way over mid-morning.

  “Mr. Martin said of course to give you his address. He has left instructions with the doorman to alert him as soon as you arrive.”

  The cab ride over seemed interminable. Lunch time traffic filled the streets and the address was in the poshest neighborhood in New York, its streets lined with private cars and chauffeurs waiting at a moment’s notice to take off for the airport or an important business meeting or an equally important social gala. The cabbie stopped in front of the number Jenny had given him.

  As Jenny stepped out, she gave her name to the doorman. She entered the lobby, one of the most wealthy and elegant she had seen. The potted palms fought for space with the statuary. The desk, unobtrusive and heavy mahogany, sat in the corner with an attendant who seemed to not be busy at all. She answered the muted ring of the elegant ivory telephone with a very soft voice that was nevertheless crisp and efficient.

  Jenny stood behind a potted palm to look for Jake. In very short order the elevator opened to let out a man dressed in casual elegance with a coolly impervious air of authority. Jenny came out from behind her palm. Jake walked over.

  “Jenny, it’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Jake.”

  “Let’s go up. I’ve canceled my afternoon calls. Can I get you lunch?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “How about some cold salmon with some of that aspic thrown in? Does that sound good?”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  “I’ll ring them as soon as we get up.”

  The ride up was fast and silent. Neither Jenny or Jake could think of anything to say.

  The elevator stopped to let them out on the penthouse floor. The doors of Jake’s apartment opened to a breathtaking view of Central Park. Jenny had never seen the maples and sycamores and oak trees from this height.

  “Oh, Jake, it’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Jenny. But, I never get to enjoy it, it seems. I’m either on a research trip in the rainforests of South America or here laboring over a pile of paperwork long after the sun goes down.”

  “The price of success.”

  “Maybe. How about you, Jenny? I’ve seen your work in the New York Times.”

  “I’ve had a few photographs there. My paintings are in a gallery in Brooklyn and I work for an import export firm.”

  “You’re busy.”

  A knock on the door interrupted the awkward conversation. A waiter wheeled in the lunch on a silver cart and uncovered the dishes of salmon and Cumberland sauce, lifting the coffee urn and plate of petit fours to the sideboard.

  “You can set that up over there, Jose.”

  “I’ll be out of your way in a jiffy, Mr. Jake.”

  “Take your time, Jose. I’m entertaining a very special guest.”

  As Jake and Jenny stared at each other across the beautifully set table, candlelight flickering on either side of a crystal vase filled with three rare orchids, neither of them spoke. Then, Jake spoke up.

  “Jenny, you must be here for a reason. I know you’ve been in New York but have never called me. You must have had your reasons.”

  “You never called me either, Jake. But, I didn’t want to disturb your success. I thought a farm girl from your past might get in the way.”

  “I didn’t call you Jenny because I was hurt. I felt that Mennonites were barely accepted at the Thompsons. I felt that so-called socialites like the Andersons had a better chance. And, Jenny, though you were kind to me, I never felt you changed that.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, Jake. I’m truly sorry that a young girl had so little sense in her head.”

 
; “Well, that’s water over the dam. Suppose you tell me what you came here for.”

  “Sammy’s in jail, Jake. Falsely accused of theft at the Anderson agency.”

  Jake was silent. He took a moment to absorb the news. “I know I haven’t been a good correspondent. It’s been months since I called Ma and Pa or Sarah or Anne. How is Annie doing?”

  “She’s with Cliff and Sparky. They’ve given her a room with a place for a nursery if necessary.”

  “Jenny, I can’t leave my practice. But, I’ll see what I can do. I can find a pro bono in Penn Yan and open up all our resources to him. Or, I can pay the fees myself.”

  “Jake, you know as well as I do that the whole southern tier legal community is just about owned by the Andersons. And, they’ve set out to pick Sammy as a scapegoat for whatever wrongdoing they’ve incurred this time. Jake, you are Sammy’s only hope.”

  “I’ll lose my partnership and most likely the major part of my law practice if I leave now. I’m in the middle of some big, international cases which will bring in not only money but international fame to the firm. They’ve been waiting to go global and this is their big chance.”

  “Sammy never hesitated when you came to Penn Yan a gangling kid from Pennsylvania who didn’t know how to stand up for himself. Sammy fought your battles for you and taught you how to defend yourself. And, for that, he lost his chance at football and a college scholarship.”

  Jake looked down. Then, without missing a beat, he stood. “Jenny, I suppose we’d better get back to work. It’s been so good seeing you. I’ll get back to you on this. I’ll get the best minds in the firm working on it and we’ll come up with a solution.”

  Jenny rose as well. “Thank you for seeing me, Jake. I’ll see myself out.”

  As Jenny pushed the elevator button, she mused on the passing of time. She barely recognized Jake. And, what had time done to her?

  She headed for home in a cab hailed by the doorman. In it, she looked around. Steel girders, tall buildings, some modern with tinted black windows, others preserved from a century before. People heading in all directions with a direct purpose of getting where they were going.

  She had realized one of her dreams. She was selling to wealthy people on Long Island. But, why, she wondered now, had that been a dream so long ago in a hayloft set so far back on a farm in those pastoral lands?

  She greeted Rinaldo and turned the key to her apartment. She headed for her bed without changing her clothes. When Josh arrived he found her peacefully asleep, her shoes still on and her Yves St. Laurent soft grey suit very wrinkled.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  From her desk at the import export firm through the floor to ceiling windows Jenny could see the streets of Manhattan from thirty-five floors up. Miniature people scurrying. Traffic slowed to a crawl. A typical business day.

  She fingered a letter she had just received from Mark. He had found his Ajuba, and needed Jenny to keep a line open to the US embassy in New York. Communication in Tanzania was primitive, and Ajuba, the fifth wife of a powerful chief in the backlands, who so much wanted out of her pitiful position, would be sorely missed by the other four wives who she had been a virtual slave to.

  Cathy and Jeff had been married quietly in the city clerk’s offices by a Justice of the Peace and were busy building a branch of the firm in Iowa. Jenny stared out of the window. She had been in a daze since her meeting with Jake a week ago. She hadn’t recovered. She had called Sparky and talked to Sarah. She promised them she would do all she could to help Sammy. But, she didn’t know what that was. She had money to contribute if necessary, but no legal skills. She felt helpless.

  Josh asked her daily how Sammy was. Sparky was searching the Long Island area for a lawyer who would take the case but the answer was the same every time. They would be ousted or shunned by the “good old boy network” they knew existed there and it wouldn’t be worth their time. They would lose and the case would be stacked against them.

  Jenny’s phone rang. She picked it up. “Ginny, can you hold the call?”

  “I can’t Jen. The caller’s pretty insistent. He says it’s urgent.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  “Jake Martin.”

  “Okay, Ginny, put him on.”

  Jake’s voice was brusque but authoritative. “Jenny, can you meet me at Lindy’s, Seventh Avenue between 53rd and 54th, in about a half an hour?”

  “I’ll try, Jake.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Jenny rushed in to the washroom to freshen up. She wanted to look good for Jake. It wouldn’t do to be less than authoritative herself.

  She put on a fresh blouse under her beige suit and applied new makeup. She would just have time to get a cab and get through the city in time to beat the lunchtime traffic.

  She arrived at Lindy’s, only a few minutes late. She paid the cabbie and rushed in the front door. Jake stood up, ushering her to a booth he had already reserved.

  “Jenny, thanks for coming. Would you like coffee, a pastry, lunch?”

  “Whatever you prefer. I’m flexible today.”

  “Then, how about lunch?”

  “Sounds good.”

  They sat in the booth and for a moment Jake was silent. Jenny noticed he seemed flustered, perhaps unshaven as well, and the dark circles under his eyes pointed to a very sleepless night.

  “Jenny, I’ve quit my job. Or, been fired. I’m not sure which.

  “When I asked Dave Marchand, one of the three founders of the firm and my mentor since I came to New York, if I could have a few weeks off to go defend Sammy, he blew up. He accused me of being an ingrate, a hayseed from the sticks he molded into an attorney worthy of cases from Park Avenue. Now, at a crucial time for the firm, I was asking for time off.

  I was stunned. I quit. Just like that. My voice and my delivery didn’t even sound like me. All the years I spent learning how to argue in the courtroom suddenly seemed to evaporate in those few minutes.”

  “Jake, I’m sorry.”

  “No need, Jenny. It’s not your problem. But, I’m asking for your help. I’ll need someone to get into the Andersons’ financials. I’m sure they’re keeping two sets of books. And, we’ll need to photograph the evidence. With your expertise in photography and your knowledge of the physical at the Anderson agency, you would be a shoo-in. But, it’s risky. So, I’m only asking.”

  “Of course I’ll help.”

  “I’ll be leaving today for Penn Yan. I have to pull out of the apartment before I set out. I lost my fiancee in the bargain.”

  “Oh, Jake. I’m sorry.”

  “She was Dave Marchand’s daughter. She preferred to line up with the family code rather than stick with me. Social standing means more to Bitsy than life.”

  “I’ll have to make arrangements for Josh before I go. I should be able to leave tomorrow.”

  “He must be quite a kid by now.”

  “He is, Jake. He’s a great kid.”

  “I’m glad, Jenny.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you probably about tomorrow night in Penn Yan.”

  “I’ll give you a chance to get settled in. Then, I’ll give you a call on Thursday.”

  “Good. I’ll be staying with Sparky or Aunt Gert. It’s hard for Mother and Father right now to take any changes. Changes cramp their style and they don’t cope.”

  “I’ll be staying in my old room on the farm. Ma broke down when she heard. She’s putting my old quilt back on the bed.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I get Josh settled. See you then.”

  Jenny rose to leave. She had to get back to the office. She put her hand in Jake’s.

  “Thanks for calling me, Jake.”

  “I didn’t want to, Jenny. I didn’t want to interrupt the life you’ve built for yourself here. But, I needed you.”

  “I would do anything for Sammy. He’s the good in everyone’s life.”

  “See you on Thursday.”

  As Jenny left Lindy�
�s and hailed a cab, she wondered how she had gotten here. A woman at the height of her career, especially in the import export business. An artist whose patrons would draw the envy of her most accomplished peers.

  But, the path to these accomplishments seemed shaky and almost dim. She wasn’t certain what her goals had been or even if she ever had had any.

  She decided to put the self-doubt on the back burner. Cathy was in the middle of a multi-million dollar deal and needed her. She paid the cabbie and took the stairs. She didn’t have time to wait for the elevator or mill about in the lobby. Suddenly, the crowds and the din of mindless chatter seemed an unwelcome intrusion.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Jenny woke to the jangling of Aunt Gert’s old telephone which still hung on the wall of her bright yellow kitchen, its checkered gingham curtains drenched in the early morning sun. It was barely 8 a. m.

  “Jenny, it’s Jake Martin. Should I tell him to call back?”

  “No, Aunt Gert. I’ll take it.”

  She clambered down the back stairway, it’s old treads creaking as she went. She was still hung over with sleep and the comfort of Aunt Gert’s old feather bed and the warmth of the five-star quilt.

  “Jen, can you get over here right away?”

  “Where’s that, Jake?”

  “The old abandoned flour mill off 54A where we used to play as kids. Ethan Hawkins is letting me have it for as long as we need.”

  “Give me a half hour.”

  “Never mind breakfast. I’ve got coffee brewing and some Danish from Hartzel’s.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She hung up the phone and looked at Aunt Gert. “Jake hasn’t changed any. He’s still as ambitious and impatient as he ever was.”

  “Folks don’t change all that much, Jenny. Sometimes that’s a good thing and sometimes it’s not.”

  She gave Aunt Gert a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll catch up, later. See you tonight.”

  “You take your time, Jenny. That’s what you’re here for. Shakespeare and I will be fine.”

  Jenny showered as quickly as she could and threw on an old pair of jeans she found in the bottom of her suitcase and an old sweat shirt she had left at Aunt Gert’s years ago. She brushed her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed a ribbon from the dresser meant for a bouquet of greenhouse gardenias.