by Ann B. Ross
“I’m not talking about the pasture, which, if I recall from the heavy rains we had a few years ago, is partly in a flood plain. Plus, it’s a burial site. You can keep that. I’m talking about two acres, more or less, where the houses are.”
“Can’t do that,” he said, shaking his head in a sorrowful way. “We got to talk the whole parcel, which means the whole ten acres.”
“I declare, Mr. Gibbs,” I snapped. “You could break it up into two parcels if you had a mind to. In fact, I expect it’s already listed that way down at the courthouse.”
“It don’t matter since I own ’em both. If I want to sell as one package, I got ever’ right to do it. If I decide to sell.”
It was my turn to stare out the window, as I cogitated over how to proceed. If he’d set a reasonable price, maybe the fund drive could afford to buy it all, then sell off the pasture to help fix up the houses. Of course, we didn’t yet have a fund to be able to afford anything.
“All right,” I said, turning back to him. “What’s your price?”
“Well,” he said with a dramatic sigh, like I was pushing him to his limit. But I could see the way his eyes glinted. He thought he had me where he wanted me. “I hadn’t really given it much thought.”
Hah, I thought. That’s all he’d been thinking about ever since I’d walked in.
“Name it,” I said.
“I got to think about it,” he said, frowning as he put on a show of serious consideration. “I don’t much like selling what’s already owned free and clear. And I had that property a long time now, so it’s hard to let something like that go. They’re not making any more real estate, you know.”
“Mr. Gibbs,” I said, trying to break through all that put-on resistance, when we both knew he’d sell his own mother if he could get a good price. “I’m acting in good faith here, and I expect you to do the same. We’ve been sitting here discussing that property, me with an eye to purchase and you with an eye to sell. Now, let’s quit beating around the bush and get to what you’ll take for it.”
“Let me give you some advice, Mrs. Springer,” he said, hunching over the table. “When you’re negotiating a piece of property, you don’t want to jump too quick to talkin’ money. You miss a lot of the fun that way.”
“You may be looking for fun, Mr. Gibbs, but I assure you I am not. We’ve got good and decent people about to be without homes, and I’m trying to help them out. Now, set your price.”
He stared at me, but I didn’t think he was really seeing me. I could see that he was running figures through his head, even though I figured that he already knew what he wanted for it.
“Mr. Gibbs,” I said before he could commit himself. “I would not exactly be the sole purchaser of your property. We’re getting a community effort together, and I know that you’ll want to take that into consideration in your asking price.”
“If that’s the case, I could make a donation down the line somewhere. Right now, I’m thinkin’ bidness.”
I sighed in exasperation, but what can you do with a businessman who has something you want and knows it? “All right, then, talk business.” I almost said ‘bidness,’ but caught myself in time.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,” he said, all too promptly, “and worth every penny.”
I was stunned. That property, in that part of town, with houses in the shape those were in, couldn’t be worth more than a hundred thousand, which was more than a gracious plenty. I’d been hoping against hope that even if he’d wanted to engage in a little gouging, he’d not go higher than one-fifty.
“And another thing,” he said, “if you want it, you got to go ahead and take it. I can’t be waitin’ around for fund drives and evaluations and bank approvals. I got plans in the making and deadlines to meet.”
“Why, Mr. Gibbs!” I said, just so provoked I didn’t know what to do. “I can’t possibly buy that property anytime soon. There are people I have to consult, and, well, we’ve barely started the fund drive. We’re going to need a few weeks just to come up with a down payment.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mrs. Springer, but I can’t let these things hang fire.” He smiled, and it was a sorry sight to see. “Unless, of course, you want to put a little sweetener in the pot.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about something that’ll make it worth my while to wait. Say, you put up something of value, like your house, for instance, and I’ll give you three weeks to get up the money for the Willow Lane property. You raise the money, you keep your house and you get the property.” He shrugged his shoulders and splayed out his hands. “You don’t, and I get both.”
“Why . . . why,” I stammered, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I have never heard of such a thing. My house? I can’t possibly do that.”
He smiled. “Real estate investors make this kinda deal all the time. If they want to hold something bad enough. So,” he said, shrugging and splaying out his hands, “I guess it depends on how bad you want Willow Lane.”
I slid out of the booth and struggled to my feet. “I’ll be in touch,” I said, holding on to the table to steady myself. “Two days, Mr. Gibbs. Give me two days to come to grips with this. Will you do that?”
“Won’t be easy,” he said. “But I will.”
I managed to get out that I’d give him my answer in the time specified.
I started to leave, simply stunned by his proposal that I put up my home as surety of the sale. Then I turned back. “In the meantime,” I said, “I sincerely hope you’ll make your position a matter of prayerful reconsideration.”
Chapter 14
My home! I thought as I drove away from the pancake house. I’d never heard of anything so outrageous. He ought to’ve been thrashed through the streets for suggesting such a thing. Taking advantage of a poor widow woman, that’s what he was trying to do.
Well, there were other ways to skin a cat. And with that thought, I drove directly to Binkie’s office to find out what they were. By the time I got there, parked, and walked along the sidewalk, I’d calmed down somewhat. Clarence Gibbs’s proposal was simply out of bounds, no two ways about it. Still, I couldn’t help but store it in the back of my mind as a last-ditch option, if all else failed.
But I had no intention of telling Binkie about it. I knew she’d hit the ceiling and spin around a few times. And in her condition, she didn’t need that kind of excitement.
“Binkie,” I said, as I sat in her client’s chair, my hands folded on top of the pocketbook in my lap. “I declare, I think that baby’s found a home.” I didn’t want to make too big an issue over her size, since that’s as impolite as commenting on someone’s food, but I was awestruck. “You think it’s ever going to get here?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” she said, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “I’m just getting bigger and bigger, and slower and slower. Why, I haven’t seen my feet for weeks now.”
She laughed, then squirmed in her chair behind the desk, trying to find a comfortable position. “I tell Coleman it’s all his fault.”
“Uh, yes, I imagine so.” As a sudden image came to mind of just how Coleman managed that, I hurried on to the purpose of my visit. These young women today don’t care what they say. “Now, Binkie, I wanted to ask you about liquidating some of my assets so I can help those poor homeless folks who live on Willow Lane. We’re starting a fund drive, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about it, and I think it’s a fine idea. Coleman and I will certainly contribute, so you can count on that. Now, as far as you’re concerned, Miss Julia, let me see.” She opened the folder that Mary Alice McKinnon, her office assistant, had brought in, and pulled out several papers. “I wouldn’t recommend selling any stock at this time. I’d rather see the market settle down a little.”
“And I’d rather get out of the market altogether,” I said, never having put my total trust into something so much like a game of chance. As I’d remin
ded Sam, we Presbyterians are generally opposed to putting money in risky ventures, and I’d never understood why Pastor Ledbetter hadn’t included the stock market the Sunday he took off on the evils of gambling. He’d gotten stirred up when the sewing group that met in the Fellowship Hall once a month asked if they could use the church bus to go over to the casino at the Cherokee Indian Reservation.
She glanced up at me. “Well, we can certainly discuss that, but you have some fairly liquid assets already, and all kinds of real estate. I’d hate to see you sell any of that, though. Here’s a sizeable money market account that you can draw on, but you don’t want to touch the annuities. How much do you think you’ll need?”
“Enough to build a house for Lillian,” I said. “And I may be forced to buy that property from Clarence Gibbs, who has set an unreasonably high price on it. The more I think about that man, the more I’d like to pinch his head off.”
I told her what he was asking for the property, omitting any mention of the so-called sweetener, namely my house.
Binkie just stared at me over her reading glasses. “He doesn’t want to sell it,” she said flatly, which I’d already figured out for myself. “Now, look, Miss Julia,” she went on, “you can certainly build a small house for Lillian with no problem, and more power to you for doing it. But I wouldn’t recommend that you buy all of that property yourself. It’s way overpriced, and not a good business move for you to try to replace all those houses. What I recommend you do is find a small lot and build on it for Lillian; or you might find a house she likes that’s already built.”
“But Lillian’s concerned about the others,” I said, all the while knowing that Binkie was giving me good advice. “I think she’d feel so guilty about them that she wouldn’t let me do it just for her. Of course,” I added, “that’s why we’re starting a fund, so the whole community can own that property in common.”
“Better let me think about that,” Binkie said, leaning back in her chair and squirming some more. “You’re going to need some legal guidelines on exactly who will own it. Maybe form a corporation, or turn it over to the town council. If you’re able to buy it. You could get into a real mess if you’re not careful. I’m surprised that Sam hasn’t cautioned you about it.”
“Well, Sam,” I said, letting my eyes wander around the room, “That’s another matter. Binkie, I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m a little worried about Little Lloyd’s estate.”
“What?” She sat up in her chair and leaned as far over the desk as the mound in front of her would allow. “You don’t suspect Sam of . . . ?”
“No. Oh, no,” I quickly interrupted her. “Absolutely not. It’s just, well, Sam’s acting a little strange every now and again, and I couldn’t help but wonder. He’s aging, you know. And he might not be quite up to par, what with that motorcycle and, well, with some other things I’ve noticed.”
Binkie started laughing, pushing her hair off her forehead. “Miss Julia, don’t tell me you think he’s getting senile. Listen,” she said, stacking the papers and putting them into the folder. “Sam can run rings around both of us any day. You don’t need to worry about him.”
“Well,” I said, somewhat offended at having my concerns given so little credit, “I just feel a responsibility to make sure Little Lloyd’s assets are safe.”
“They are,” she assured me. “I look over everything every year at tax time and, believe me, nobody could do a better job than Sam is doing.”
“That’s reassuring, then,” I said, preparing myself to leave. “But I’m telling you, Binkie . . . Well, I don’t guess I will, if you think everything’s fine. But let me know how much money I’ll have available for Lillian, and I do want to make a contribution toward the purchase of the property.” I sighed and got to my feet.
“Well,” I said, disappointed that I couldn’t immediately lay my hands on enough money to call Clarence Gibbs’s bluff. What’s the use of having wealth if you can’t get at it when you want it? “I guess that’s it, then.”
I caught my lip between my teeth, as Mr. Gibbs’s proposal concerning my house loomed ever larger in my mind. It was certainly one way to buy time until the fund kicked in and got me out of the hole. “So,” I said, hating to just let it drop, “you don’t think I ought to buy it myself ?”
“Absolutely not. But I’ll look over things, and if I come up with some other ideas, I’ll let you know.”
“Don’t wait too long,” I said, standing and putting on my coat. “That baby’s going to be here any day.”
“Today wouldn’t be too soon for me,” she said with a smile, as she rubbed her stomach. “Oops, I just got kicked.”
I turned away, never very comfortable with this modern tendency of discussing every little detail of our inner workings. I mean, just think of some of those television ads they have now—like the one with a woman high-stepping down the street singing, “I feel good,” because she had a movement that morning.
“You never did find out if it’s a boy or a girl, did you?” I asked.
“No, Coleman and I want it to be a surprise.”
“Well, I can tell you it’s a girl because you’re carrying it high. That’s what Lillian says, and,” I said with a laugh, “she’s right about half the time.”
I pondered what Binkie had told me as I drove home, finally deciding that it was best to put aside any idea of buying that property myself. What I had to do was concentrate on raising money from other people, while at the same time making sure that Gibbs gave us enough time to raise it.
I parked the car in the driveway and, without giving it much thought in case I talked myself out of it, walked across the street to the church. My chest tightened up every time I looked at or passed by that Family Life Center, which we’d gotten whether we wanted or needed it. I walked through the back door of the church and on through the Fellowship Hall that was under the sanctuary on the main floor.
Poking my head into Norma Cantrell’s office, I saw with some pleasure that the gatekeeper was not at her desk. So I marched across the room and tapped on Pastor Ledbetter’s door.
“Who . . . ?” he started to ask, as he opened the door, a frown of annoyance on his face. I knew that he did his sermon preparations mostly in the mornings, but didn’t like disturbances anytime. Too bad.
“Oh, Miss Julia,” he said, quickly smoothing out his broad face. He looked around for Norma, wondering, I guess, how I’d gotten past her.
“I expect Norma’s in the ladies’ room,” I said, moving past his large frame and into his office. I declare, the man could use some time in that gymnasium he’d built next door. “I just need a minute of your time, Pastor.”
“Always glad to see you, Miss Julia,” he said, slipping on his suit coat and sliding his tie up. “Always have time for you.” Neither of which I believed for a minute, but I let it go.
“Pastor, I’m here about those poor, evicted folks on Willow Lane, who the whole town ought to be exercised about. Lillian’s one of them, you know.”
“Yes, I know, and they’ve been weighing on my heart. I’ve had them all in my prayers ever since I heard about it.”
“I’m sure you have,” I said, taking the damask-covered wing chair, in front of his desk, which I noticed he’d not offered to me. “But it might’ve done some good if you’d had a word or two with Clarence Gibbs, as well. Now, I’d like to know what the church plans to do for them. It could come under the heading of Mission Outreach or some such.”
“Why, Miss Julia,” he said, as he settled himself in the executive chair behind his desk. “You know that our budget is set up to take care of overhead here in our own church first. Then everything else goes toward our evangelistic endeavors, both at home and on the mission field—a step that the session took a few years ago when it became apparent that the liberals in Congress were turning this great country into a welfare state.”
“Well, Pastor, disregarding the liberal threat for a minute, these are our people, and they’
re in great need. I’d think that the church would want to do something to help them. We’re supposed to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and it would surprise me if housing the homeless isn’t included in that.”
He shook his head tiredly. “You’ve let the social gospel confuse you, Miss Julia. You can’t just look after the body and overlook the soul. That’s not the way of those of us who obey the Great Commission. We go into all the world and preach the Gospel. But don’t despair,” he added, seeing my mouth tighten, “I’m sure that many in the congregation will give generously on an individual basis, but the church itself, well, it’s not our policy to rob Peter to pay Paul.” He smiled. “So to speak.”
This was the man, as I recalled, who’d put a stop to the Boy Scout meetings in the Fellowship Hall on the basis that the Scouts were not a Christian organization. And he’d proclaimed his justification for it some years later when there was all that uproar over perversion and deviant lifestyles and such as that, which I hadn’t wanted to hear, neither then nor now. In fact, there was a time not too long ago when certain words, like pregnancy, were only whispered in polite company. And when other words in the same general category happened to be mentioned, I hadn’t known what half of them meant. Now, I could just about count on hearing many more such previously unmentionable words flung out in his newsletters and from the pulpit almost every Sunday that rolled around. And Pastor Ledbetter, who’d improved my education considerably, was one of the loudest opponents to teaching the same subjects in our schools.
“I guess, then,” I said with a mighty sigh as I rose from the chair, “that you wouldn’t object to our asking individual members for donations. Over-and-above giving, I believe it’s called, as you yourself have asked for on occasion.”
“Of course not,” he said expansively, getting up to hurry me on my way. “Our members are free to do as they’re led with what the Lord has blessed them with. And, to show that our hearts are in the right place, Emma Sue and I will pledge a hundred dollars to your fund. But, Miss Julia,” he held out a cautionary hand, “I know some people count their donations to the United Fund, the Red Cross, and other worthy causes as part of their tithe, but I hope you won’t encourage that kind of thinking. The church needs every penny it can get to carry on the Lord’s work of evangelizing the lost souls of the world.”
