Chapter 29
CHAPTER
Back in the driver’s seat of my car, with windows rolled all the way up, I let loose.
“Stupid! Stupid, stupid!”
I beat the heel of my hand against the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. Because I was mad as hell. But my ire wasn’t only directed at the shyster Arch Pearce and his lying client. I also wanted to beat my own head against a wall.
A lot of Black folks lose their land because they don’t understand the law. I didn’t have that excuse. I knew better.
“Idiot!”
We could lose everything Mama and Daddy died for.
One final slam against the steering wheel. People passing by on the sidewalk were looking spooked. Guess I was making more noise than I intended.
I can carry a lot. That’s why I stay so busy, work so hard. I can shoulder everything. But not my own pain.
After I started the ignition, I hit Nellie in my contacts. She picked right up.
“What’s up?” she said. Her voice was cheery, with that upbeat “Friday afternoon” sound.
“Meet me at Jordan’s. I’m on my way over there right now.”
I could tell that I’d stolen the shine right off her day when she answered. “Is something wrong? You sound like somebody just died.”
I blew out a breath, tried to chill. It wouldn’t help to scare my family out of their wits. “Nothing that bad. Serious, though. Jordan’s home, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, I just talked to her. What is this all about?”
“I’ll see you over there.” Cut off the call, didn’t even say good-bye. I could hear Nellie’s voice in my head: Why do you have to be so rude? But I was trying to spare her. There’s some news you don’t want to break over the phone.
It only took a few minutes to drive to Jordan’s house from the commercial area of town. Nellie got there before me, though. The call must’ve lit a fire under her. I pulled up behind Nellie’s car on the curb.
I walked up to the front door of the neat one-story, ranch-style house where Jordan and Trayvone lived with their two daughters. The front door was open. I could see Jordan and Nellie through the screen door, waiting for me.
When the door banged shut behind me, the questions started raining down.
Nellie was quicker. “What the hell is going on? Damn! You do realize you hung up on me, right?”
“Nellie! Don’t start cussing, the girls will hear you. Mary, what’s wrong? Nellie said you’re sounding like the world is coming to an end.”
“Let’s sit down, okay?”
Jordan led us into the kitchen. I pulled the copy of Pearce’s letter from my bag. It was wrinkled, but not so bad that they couldn’t read it. Jordan sat and smoothed the paper on the wooden table. Nellie leaned on the chair behind her, reading over her shoulder.
Jordan gave her head a shake, like she was trying to clear it. “I don’t understand. What’s it mean?”
Nellie wasn’t as na?ve. “They’re taking the farm.” She looked up, met my eye. “That’s right, isn’t it? That’s what they want.”
I pulled out a chair. Sat down. “That’s what they’re trying to do.”
“No.” Jordan was genuinely confused. “They can’t. It’s been in the family for generations.”
“That’s true. But—there was no will, you understand.”
“But we own it.”
I put my elbows on the table, propped up my chin in my hand. Suddenly felt so weary, I had to hold my head up.
I said, “Nellie, that’s just it. No one in the family ever made out a legal will. So the farm, the sixty acres our great-grandfather bought back in 1917, it’s heirs’ property. When a person in Alabama dies without a will, their heirs own the property as tenants in common.”
Jordan wasn’t a believer, not yet. “But we’re the last. The only surviving generation. Everybody knows that. So it belongs to us.”
Nellie put her finger on the sheet of paper for emphasis. “Apparently, this motherfucka Wilton is not convinced. He’s claiming that he bought a share from Abraham Stone—whoever the hell that is.”
In complete disbelief, we three sisters exchanged glances, our voices rising, each speaking over the other now, not in anger, but in urgency—to get our points across, as if the volume directly correlated with the others’ understanding of the words.
Jordan said, “Daddy ain’t had but two brothers and one died when he was one year old. Direct descendants? Make that make sense.”
“Shit, Jordan! It doesn’t have to. Wilton is just a name.” Nellie nudged my shoulder.
I interjected, my voice overpowering theirs, “Nellie’s right. Somebody who claims to be a descendant sold his interest to this Wilton.”
“But what the fuck, Mary? You pay the taxes! You’ve paid them every year since Mama died.” Jordan swiped the paper off the table. She looked like she was about to cry.
“It’s not enough that I pay the taxes. Not if he’s an heir.”
“He’s lying, though.” Nellie grabbed the sheet of paper off the floor and slid it across the table at me, like I needed to see it again.
“He’s obviously a crook. Look at the dollar amount in this letter.
No way his claim could possibly be worth that kind of money.
One hundred and ninety thousand, for his one-fourth share?
That would make the farm worth over three-quarters of a million dollars.
” She broke into a rusty laugh. “Damn, girls! We’re millionaires! ”
I snickered, couldn’t help myself. “I feel better already. Now that I know I’m so rich.”
Nellie slapped the tabletop. “I’m gonna go buy me a Lexus!”
We laughed together. It felt like Nellie and I were schoolgirls again, trying to put on a brave face and shrug off something that was bringing us down.
Jordan stared at both of us like we were crazy. Well, she was the baby. Our little Saint Jordan. The relationship dynamic was different with her.
Our laughing got the kids’ attention. They came running into the kitchen. “What’s funny?” Stella asked. She was the youngest. Jordan’s first daughter was named Rose, for our mama.
Jordan turned into strict Mama. “Out into the backyard, you two. I told you we were talking about grown-up business in here.”
“But y’all was laughing, Mama.”
“You gonna make me tell you again?”
That did it. We waited until they slipped out the patio door into the back. Watched while they ran across the yard and climbed onto the swing set. Jordan lingered by the window, then turned to me. “What do we do, Mary?”
I’d already started to map it out. “We’ll be prepared to go to court. We get all of the documentation we can put together. I’ll get the deed from the safe-deposit box at the bank. Jordan, you’ve still got the family Bible?”
She sputtered, indignant. “Of course I’ve still got it!”
“I’ll do a title search. Nellie, did you ever find anything when you were going onto that ancestry website?”
She shook her head. “Girl, there wasn’t much I could find. It’s hard to document our family history, even after our people were free. We just didn’t have many official papers. No birth certificates or death certificates. No government documents.”
“I think I’ve got Mama’s and Daddy’s death certificates. There are some old obituaries somewhere.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve got those,” Nellie said.
“We’ll put it all together. You know, another name for heirs’ property is ‘tangled property.’ We need to straighten it out.”
We fell silent for a long minute. Jordan reached across the table, clutched both our hands. I gave hers a squeeze.
My baby sister’s voice wavered when she asked, “We won’t let them take the farm, will we?”
“No!” I answered. I didn’t repeat my vow to Arch Pearce: that we’d dig up Luke Stone, if need be. Sounded gruesome.
Nellie wasn’t put off. “I told you, Mary. They’re coming after you.” She shook off Jordan’s hand, walked away from the table. Her voice sounded bitter when she spoke.
“That goddamn court case.”
I didn’t deny it.
She wasn’t wrong.