Another document listed the furnishings in the house, what was left of them anyway. Joel had managed to take the books, keepsakes, guns, clothing, jewelry, memorabilia, bed linens, and better pieces of furniture.
As far as cash, McLeish didn’t push too hard. He figured, rightfully so, that most of it had been either spent or hidden. Using the inventory Wilbanks had filed after probate in the fall of 1947, he agreed to accept the sum of $2,500, on behalf of his wife, of course.
Joel had loathed the man for so long and so hard it was difficult to conjure up another round of proper loathing. McLeish was at once pompous and pathetic as he considered sums of money and lists of assets earned and built by the sweat of others. He acted as though he truly believed that he and his new wife deserved the Bannings’ land.
The meeting was a nightmare, and at times Joel felt nauseated. As soon as possible, he left without a word, slammed the door behind him, and fled from the office. He drove to the farm, and had tears in his eyes as he parked his car.
Nineva and Amos were sitting on the back porch, never the front, and they had the bewildered looks of people who might lose everything. They had been born on the Banning land and never left. When they saw the tears in Joel’s eyes they began crying too. Somehow the three managed to wade through the emotions and farewells and separate themselves. When Joel left them on the porch, Nineva had collapsed into tears and Amos was holding her. Joel walked to the barn, where Buford was waiting in the cold. Joel passed along the message from the new owner that he, McLeish, would like to speak with Buford that afternoon. He would probably keep his job. Joel had said many fine things about their foreman and it would be a mistake to replace him. Buford thanked him, shook his hand, wiped a tear of his own.
Facing a raw wind, Joel walked half a mile over frozen soil to Old Sycamore and said good-bye to his parents. By a stroke of luck, the family cemetery was on Florry’s section and thus accessible forever, or at least the near future. What did forever mean anymore? He was born to own his land forever.
For a long time he stared at both tombstones and asked himself for the thousandth time how their lives had become so complicated and so tragic. They were far too young to die and leave behind mysteries and burdens that would haunt those they loved. He looked at the other tombstones and wondered how many dark secrets the Bannings had taken all the way to their graves.
He walked the field roads and pig trails and footpaths of the land for the last time, and when he returned to his car his fingers were numb. He was chilled deep to the bone, and he ached to his core. Driving away, he refused to look at the house, and he wished he’d burned it.
Later in the afternoon, Errol McLeish appeared at his new home and introduced himself to Nineva. Neither tried to be polite. He didn’t trust her, because she had worked forever for the Bannings, and she thought of him as nothing more than a thieving trespasser.
“Would you like to keep your job?” he asked.
“Not really. I’m too old, sir. Too old for housework anymore. Ain’t you got a buncha kids?”
“There are three.”
“See there. I’m too old to do all the washin’ and cleanin’ and cookin’ and ironin’ for three kids, plus a wife. Me and Amos just need to retire. We’re too old.”
“Retire where?”
“Can’t we stay here? It’s just a little house, but it’s all we got. Been here for over fifty years. Ain’t worth nothin’ to nobody else.”
“We’ll see. I’m told Amos milks the cows and tends the vegetable garden.”
“That’s right, but he gettin’ old too.”
“How old is he?”
“’Bout sixty, I guess.”
“And you?”
“’Bout the same.”
“You got kids?”
“Bunch of ’em but they all gone, up north. Just me and Amos in our little house.”
“Where’s Mr. Provine?”
“Buford? He down by the tractor barn, waitin’.”
McLeish walked through the kitchen and across the porch. He tightened the scarf around his neck, lit a cigar, and strutted across the backyard, passing the barns and sheds, counting the livestock, savoring his good fortune. Jackie and the kids would arrive next week, and they would begin the wonderful challenge of establishing themselves as people to reckon with in Ford County.
With his aunt tucked away safely in the warmth of New Orleans, and with his father’s estate closed and his ancestral home now occupied by others, Joel had no reason to return to Ford County. Indeed, he wanted to stay away. Most of the cash left in the estate went to the Wilbanks firm, for its faithful and loyal representation. His weekly telephone chats with John Wilbanks came to a halt, but not before the lawyer passed along the news that McLeish had fired Nineva and Amos and evicted them from their home. They had been given forty-eight hours to move, and were currently living with relatives in Clanton. According to Buford Provine, who was gossiping with the Wilbankses’ foreman on Florry’s land, McLeish was planning to charge the field hands rent on their shacks while at the same time cutting their wages.
Joel was shocked and furious over the eviction. He could not imagine Nineva and Amos living anywhere else, or being forced to find a new home at their ages. He vowed to drive to Clanton, find them, and give them some money. And the other field hands were being abused for doing nothing wrong. They were accustomed to being treated fairly by his father and grandfather, but now an idiot was taking charge. Meanness does not inspire loyalty. The thought of it made him sick, and it was another reason to forget about the farm.
If not for the magic of Mary Ann, he would have been a brooding, depressed twenty-four-year-old law student facing a bleak future. She had said yes to his marriage proposal, and they were planning a small wedding in New Orleans after graduation in May. When spring arrived with all its promise and splendor, Joel shook off the doldrums and tried to savor his final days as a student. He and Mary Ann were inseparable. For spring break, they took the train to D.C. and spent a week with Stella.
Along the way to D.C. and back, they spent hours talking of finding a better life far away from Mississippi. Joel wanted to run, like his sister, and bolt for the big cities up north where the opportunities seemed boundless, and the memories more distant. Mary Ann was not quite as desperate to get away, but as the grandchild of immigrants she was not opposed to the idea of starting over. They were just kids, madly in love, about to be married, so why not explore the world?
On April 19, Florry awoke in the early morning with aching chest pains. She was faint, could barely breathe, and managed to wake Twyla before collapsing in a chair. An ambulance took her to Mercy Hospital, where she was stabilized. Her doctors diagnosed it as a mild heart attack and were concerned about her overall condition. The next day, Twyla called Joel at Ole Miss, and the following day, a Friday, he skipped his last class of the day and drove nonstop to New Orleans. Mary Ann was worried about exams and could not make the drive.
At Mercy, Florry was delighted to see him — it had been three and a half months — and worked hard to appear aggravated by all the attention. She claimed to be fine, bored with the routine, and ready to go home to start writing a new short story. Joel was surprised at her appearance. She had aged dramatically and looked at least ten years older with gray hair and pasty skin. Always heavy, she had thinned considerably. Her breathing was labored and she often seemed to gasp for breath.
In the hallway, Joel expressed his concerns to Miss Twyla. “She looks awful,” he whispered.