The List

by Robert Whitlow

  3

  And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver.

  MATTHEW 26:15, KJV

  When he awoke in the morning, it took Renny a couple of seconds to orient his thoughts in light of the previous day’s events. Once assured of his bearings, he dressed and, placing the wooden trunk on the table in the breakfast nook, examined his new possession in the morning light.

  Not large enough for a transatlantic voyage or rough enough for storage in a barn, the old trunk was probably intended for use in a business. It was well constructed; the joints fit closely together, and each corner was reinforced with brass. From the dense texture of the wood, he guessed it was made of teak, consistent with an eighteenth-century craftsman’s disdain for lesser woods such as oak or maple. The top was rounded and ribbed with a dark red mahogany, and each rib was decorated with the four stages of the moon. The brass lock plate stretched across one-third of the front. The trunk was most likely used as a strongbox that would have been filled with gold and silver coins after sale of the cotton and rice crops.

  The original lock had been supplemented with a heavy-duty combination lock. Definitely twentieth century, stainless steel, Masterlock brand, probably from the local Ace Hardware.

  Renny went into the den to look for the combination for the lock. Rummaging through the middle drawer of the desk, he found a Mont Blanc fountain pen, a few paper clips, a yellow notepad, and a slip of paper on which his father had written, “Combination to trunk: 42, 33, 51.”

  “Hike,” he said.

  Carrying the sheet back to the kitchen, he sat down in front of the trunk and tried a right, left, right sequence. The lock clicked and popped open. Sliding the lock out of the brass plate, Renny opened the lid and looked inside.

  He wasn’t expecting a cache of gold, silver, or diamonds. The trunk was too light for gold bullion or pirate treasure. In fact, it was almost empty. On top were a few envelopes with his father’s name written on them, and underneath was an old, dark brown ledger. Renny’s attention was immediately drawn to the book. Oversized by modern standards, it was about fourteen inches wide by eighteen inches long. “Ledger” had been stamped in faded gilt on a dark leather strip embedded in the brown cover. The inside was decorated in a zigzag pattern of different colors, a pattern common to nineteenth-century bookbinders.

  Renny rubbed the front with his hand, enjoying the feel of the old book. Turning to the first page, he saw that all the writing, from beginning to end, was in black ink, some dimmed by age, the more recent, clear and distinct.

  On the first two pages Renny read in bold, flowing script:

  Georgetown, South Carolina, November 30, 1863

  Whereas, the current state of civil and military affairs for the State of South Carolina and the Confederate States of America is deleterious to the preservation of domestic safety and security; and

  Whereas, the undersigned recognize the need for common action and unified response to the current crises; and

  Whereas, the undersigned desire to commit their lives and honor to the common goal of preserving their families during these difficult days; and

  Whereas, the undersigned agree that a mutual covenant and commitment to accumulate resources for transfer to other countries is the best way to insure security for present and future generations:

  Now, therefore, in consideration of the mutual promises recited herein, the undersigned hereby agree, covenant, and bind themselves and their male heirs as determined by the right of primogeniture as follows:

  i. We each agree to transfer within thirty (30) days to a common fund held in trust at LaRochette & Co. the sum of $10,000.00 each in gold or silver, said sum to be transported to England for deposit in the Bank of England under the name of the Covenant List of South Carolina, Limited, hereinafter the List;

  ii. We authorize Messrs. Smithfield and Weiss to arrange transport of said sum to England by sailing vessel as soon as practicable considering the current Northern blockade;

  iii. We agree that neither Messrs. Smithfield nor Weiss shall be liable for any loss incurred should said ship be captured by Northern forces or lost at sea; iv. We agree that distribution of income and/or principal shall be made no more often than every five years from the monies put on deposit or at such other intervals as decided by majority vote of the subscribers hereto;

  v. We agree that investment and distribution of all funds shall rest exclusively with the subscribers to the List free from outside influence or control. The subscribers hereto bind themselves and all successors to strict secrecy and confidence, revealing the existence and function of the List to none.

  vi. We agree that the purpose of this fund is to perpetuate the financial stability and security of each subscriber family irrespective of the laws of civil governments.

  vii. We recognize and acknowledge our dependence upon, and the authority of the Supreme Being who governs our lives and this world to bless us in the accomplishment of the munificent purposes herein.

  viii. To the above preamble and recitation of covenant we swear, binding ourselves and descendants as described herein to all the rights and appurtenances hereinbefore recited.

  This 30th day of November, 1863.

  Signed by: Henri LaRochette

  George P. Smithfield

  Alexander Weiss

  Fredrik Eicholtz

  J. F. Jacobson

  Astor M. Flournoy

  Thomas Layne

  Pierre Roget

  Alexander Hammond

  Marcus K. Johnston

  Lawrence Maxwell

  Renny half expected to see a Rockefeller, Rothschild, or Du Pont as one of the signers.

  He knew the cumulative power of compound interest over a long period. A penny invested at 4 percent compound interest at the time of Jesus’ birth would today exceed the gross national product of the United States. Depending on withdrawals, the original $110,000, a large sum in 1863, had been churning and percolating for almost 140 years. He again remembered his father’s words on the tape, “Far more valuable than my known estate.”

  Questions blinked in his mind like Christmas tree lights. Was the money still in England? How much and how frequently were distributions made? Who knew the details of the amounts of money and its location? Had there been diversification of investment? Had World War I, the Depression of the 1930s, or World War II affected the funds? Was it time for a distribution? What would be his share?

  He examined his great-great-grandfather’s signature, a strong first letter trailing off to illegibility at the end. J. F. Jacobson, the same initials as Renny. What did his initials stand for? What was he like? Renny knew some about the branches of his family tree and a little bit about the twigs, but as he stared at the old signature, he felt as if he were looking at the roots of an old oak.

  The original Covenant document filled the first three pages of the ledger. Turning the pages, Renny read multiple entries in a common form for successors from each family.

  The undersigned, eldest legal heir of _________, hereby enters into covenant under the terms and conditions of the Covenant List of South Carolina, Limited.

  __________________________ Sufficient and confident proof of legal succession having been presented and upon administration of an oath of Covenant allegiance, ________________ is hereby accepted to full rights and privileges pursuant to the Covenant List of South Carolina, Limited.

  This ____ day of __________, ____.

  In addition to the original signatories, there were at least sixty or seventy subsequent subscribers. Beside each signature was a small brown smudge. Renny located three other Jacobsons: his father, H. L., signed in 1957, his grandfather Philip S. in 1921 and his great-grandfather Hiram T. in 1874. Renny wished each name could come to life, step from the page, and spend an evening telling his tale. He regretted the vow of secrecy and felt a pang of regret that it had prevented his father from sharing this with him. Could it have made their relationship different? A sense of family pride
swelled in Renny’s chest; he felt privileged, connected with the past, linked to his roots.

  Although he had no brothers or sisters, Renny grew up as part of a larger family of Low Country relatives, and the modern twentieth-century notion of the nuclear family, isolated and distant from blood kin, was not his experience. To Renny, the concept of family also included links with other similar families from the same social strata in their geographic area. Among aristocratic Charleston families there was an unspoken understanding that, if possible, suitable unions of young men and women from the pool of established families should be pursued. That way the offspring would, like thoroughbred horses, bring out the best in the line of sire and dam. Renny himself was the progeny of such a union. His mother, although not as well off financially as his father, had roots wrapped around the bedrock of the pre–Revolutionary War settlement of South Carolina.

  Renny reread the original agreement. Given his upbringing, he was comfortable with the purpose of the List and its references to honor and family security. It reminded him of a compact between European noblemen in the face of a common enemy.

  The most recent entry in the ledger was a man named Bartholomew Maxwell. Checking back in time, Renny found that Maxwell’s father, Stephen Franklin Maxwell, entered into membership in 1942. The List was like a necklace, each family a strand of beads connected at the beginning. Shutting the book, he took a sip of water and decided he wanted to learn more about his family before the meeting in Georgetown.

  There was a Charleston phone book on top of the desk in the den. Turning to the Cs, he found the entry for Gerald C. Caswell, his deceased uncle. Uncle Gerald had been dead for ten years, but Renny’s Aunt Margaret continued to list her husband’s name in the phone book. To her thinking, anyone she wanted to talk to would know that she was Mrs. Gerald C. Caswell. She answered on the third ring.

  “Aunt Margaret, it’s Renny. I’m here in Charleston for the weekend.”

  “Good morning, Renny,” Aunt Margaret said in her high-pitched but congenial drawl. “Do you have time to come by and see me?”

  “That’s why I called. I had a meeting yesterday with Jefferson McClintock about my father’s estate and decided to stay the weekend.”

  “Good. Come at noon, and I’ll fix you a bite to eat.”

  “Thanks. See you then,” Renny responded with satisfaction. His aunt’s “bite to eat” would be enough of the four major food groups to last him until the next day. Confident he would not starve to death in the foreseeable future, Renny carefully put the List back in the trunk and snapped the lock shut.

  Aunt Margaret, his father’s older sister by twelve years, had helped raise H. L. and always viewed him more as a son than a brother. When Renny was born, she transferred some of her maternal affection from H. L. to him. She had three children, all much older than Renny, and a number of grandchildren, two of whom, boys named James and Andrew, were contemporaries of Renny and his frequent playmates while growing up.

  Aunt Margaret’s home was close to Charleston’s air force base, or more accurately, the air force base was close to her home. Long before jet engines, the Caswell family sold the U.S. government a sizable portion of the land needed for construction of the base. Although her house was not in the direct flight paths of incoming and outgoing aircraft, it was noisy on a busy day. Aunt Margaret had adapted to the airport sounds like people who lived beside the railroad tracks in a small town: After a while, the noise of a passing train became so common that it was nestled in a familiar slot of their consciousness without disturbing them. Renny pulled onto a long driveway and drove several hundred yards through rows of live oaks to the house. Not quite Gone with the Wind’s Tara but still impressive, the white-columned house was built around 1900 and originally served as the main house on a large farm. Turning into the circular driveway, Renny parked directly in front of the house and opened the car door to a boisterous greeting from his aunt’s two golden retrievers, Johnny and Jay. His aunt had watched The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson every night for years, and when Jay Leno took over for Carson, she transferred her loyalties to the new toastmaster. As a gift upon Renny’s graduation from college, Aunt Margaret presented him with one of Johnny’s offspring, a beautiful female named Brandy.

  True to their namesakes, Johnny was older than Jay, and both loved to chase tennis balls. Jay dropped a slobbery yellow mass at Renny’s feet and crouched low, ready to spring into action. Estimating he could make it to the door by the time the dogs returned, Renny threw the ball as far to the left of the house as he could and dashed up the porch steps as the dogs sped off.

  Stoop-shouldered by her eighty years of life but still full of energy for her daily tasks, Aunt Margaret waited for him. “I wish I could throw the ball for them like that,” she said. “Do you want to wash your hands? Those tennis balls are soaking wet, although I’m sure you know a dog’s mouth is cleaner than a human’s.”

  Not having scientific proof available to substantiate his aunt’s hypothesis, Renny said, “I’ll wash up.”

  All the years watching The Tonight Show had not made Aunt Margaret cosmopolitan. The house was decorated much as it was when Uncle Gerald was a boy. The foyer opened to a large dining room on the right and a smaller living room to the left, with heart pine flooring throughout. A huge kitchen occupied most of the back of the house. In the 1930s, Gerald’s father employed fifteen to twenty day men as field hands. The men were paid, in part, by an all-they-could-eat noonday dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, creamed corn, beets, tomatoes, biscuits, fruit cobbler, and sweet tea. It took two women most of a morning to fry the chicken, fix the vegetables, and prepare the baked goods. For many of the men during the Depression, it was the only meal of the day.

  Renny washed his hands in a large bathroom with two freestanding sinks. In earlier times, water to the house had been supplied by a private water tower constructed on the property. The Caswells had used two windmills to pump water from a well to the holding tank, and his aunt still used it to irrigate her flowers and a portion of the lawn close to the house. Renny remembered it as a frigid contrast to the summer heat. He and his cousins would use a hand pump to fill an old horse trough and lie in it on hot days.

  His aunt had a bedroom downstairs and kept the upstairs closed except for frequent visits from children and grandchildren. Much of the furniture in the house was wood. She even had a long wood settee as a substitute for a sofa in the living room. It was a handsome piece, with a dip in the seat that made it surprisingly comfortable. Renny smelled dinner as he walked through the living room. This was not going to be a frozen meal for two popped out of the microwave. Aunt Margaret was a good cook who continued to prepare fancy holiday dinners for her children and grandchildren.

  The long kitchen had a bank of windows facing the broad expanse of the backyard, a row of huge pin oaks, and the edge of the air base.

  “Come out to the kitchen, Renny, we’ll eat here.”

  The combination of smells made Renny’s mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since the previous evening and he gratefully watched as his aunt prepared a plate with a medium to large portion of everything.

  “Go ahead and get started, Renny,” she said as she set the food in front of him. “You look hungry.”

  Renny didn’t protest and began feasting like a field hand. “If Jay Leno knew about your cooking, he’d fly in for dinner,” he said after he had made a sizable dent in the food piled on his plate.

  “Thank you,” she said. “How have you been doing?”

  “OK, I guess.”

  Aunt Margaret spread some butter on a homemade yeast roll. “It’s hard to believe your father is gone. I miss him.”

  “Me, too,” Renny said, trying to sound sincere.

  “Yes, he used to come out every couple of weeks or so and eat with me.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. How long had that been going on?”

  “At least two years. We had some good talks.”

&nbs
p; “Just the two of you?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “You know, he was getting softer as the years went by.”

  “Um,” Renny grunted noncommittally.

  “Oh, I know he was hard on you. It was just his way of wanting you to grow up strong.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Just a few months ago he told me he had been too demanding with you.”

  “He did?” Renny put down his fork.

  “He never told you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not surprised. I told him to talk with you, but he was a proud man. He rarely opened the window into his soul.” Getting up, Aunt Margaret took some fresh rolls out of the oven. “Let one of these rolls float onto your plate,” she said more cheerfully.

  Renny filled his stomach with Southern cooking at its best and wondered what his aunt would think about all he had learned about his father in the past twenty-four hours. She was a gracious, hospitable, Southern matron, focused on family activities, serving others, and preserving her little corner of the world. The idea of confederate gold and secret overseas bank accounts was not included in her framework. Perhaps that was why the founders of the List decided that succession pass to subsequent generations by the law of primogeniture, the exclusive right of the eldest son to inherit the estate of his father. Secrecy prevented the jealousy of those who received nothing, although Renny doubted Aunt Margaret would have cared.

  Slowing down in order to make sure he had enough room for two servings of dessert, Renny swallowed a bite of chicken and broached the reason for his visit. “Aunt Margaret, I’m interested in learning about the Jacobson ancestors. My father once told me that you had documented a fairly detailed family tree. Do you have something you could show me about the male line back to the time of the Civil War?”

  Visibly pleased with his request, she pushed away her plate. “My files are upstairs; I’ll be back in a moment.” He heard the floor overhead creak under her footsteps. She returned a couple of minutes later with a manila folder.