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’sletter 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 naïve. “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.”
