The List

by Robert Whitlow

  “Sure it does.” She gestured toward the limitless expanse of the ocean. “The panorama of the sky and water is a much better sermon about freedom and the nature of God than you would hear in many churches.”

  “Is that like the guy who says he doesn’t need to go to church because he can meet God in his bass boat?” Renny said, continuing to look up at the sky.

  Jo laughed. “There is some truth to that old excuse. ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.’ However, you have to be looking for God to see him.”

  Bringing his gaze back to earth, Renny muttered, “When I look at the clouds, my mind tells me I’m looking at suspended water vapor responding to shifting air currents. I admire their beauty and freedom to go with the wind, but I don’t see God.”

  Jo popped her toes up out of the sand. “How badly do you want to see?”

  “Um, I’m not sure,” Renny muttered.

  “I mean, are you really looking, Renny? You have to be looking. You will look when God calls you.”

  Renny shook his head. “Come on. Do I need to give God my car phone number or e-mail address so he can send me a message?”

  “He has already given the message; it’s in the Bible.”

  Remembering his blunder the previous evening, Renny chose his words carefully, “I’ve read some of the Bible, and it was more confusing than instructive. I know Jesus said some good things, but the Bible is filled with contradictions and scientifically impossible events. If the daily newspaper has mistakes, how much more something written hundreds and thousands of years ago.”

  “The Bible is not God’s newspaper; it’s the revelation of God’s love and purpose for us. I don’t know about any serious contradictions. And Bible accounts of ‘scientifically impossible events,’ or miracles, simply reveal that there is a spiritual world that can affect the physical one.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe it hook, line, and sinker,” Renny said mockingly. “You don’t believe Jesus walked on water, do you?”

  “I sure do.”

  Renny shrugged. “I think it’s more likely he knew where some rocks were located just under the water.”

  “It was in the middle of a lake.”

  “Do you believe he fed thousands of people with a few pieces of bread and a couple of fish?” Renny said, gathering a little steam.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t you think it’s more likely the generosity of the fellow who contributed the bread and fish caused other people to be generous with what they brought so that everyone was fed?”

  “Then it wouldn’t be a miracle.”

  “Exactly my point. Swallowing the miraculous gives me problems with the Bible. Speaking of swallowing, how about Jonah?” Renny gestured toward the ocean. “You don’t really think he was swallowed by a whale, do you? Even the largest whale would choke on something the size of a grapefruit.”

  “Actually, the Bible says it was a great fish, not necessarily a whale. I guess I can ask Jonah how it happened when I get to heaven.”

  Seeing his chance, Renny sprang, “Jonah lived in the Old Testament. What if he’s not in heaven?”

  Jo picked up some sand and let it run through her fingers. “If he’s not in heaven, Renny, then I guess you’ll have to ask him.”

  Renny sputtered, then burst out laughing. “Touché. Perry Mason couldn’t have said it better.”

  Jo stretched out her legs on the warm sand. “Perry Mason was a pretend lawyer, and I’m no theologian, but I do know God is real. It’s not as much a matter of logic as encounter. Once you meet somebody, it would be foolish to say they did not exist. Remember, you thought I was a man before we met. Now you know the truth. It’s the same with God. We have to meet him to know him, and we meet him at his invitation. That’s why I asked if he’s ever called you.”

  Laying down the sword of argument, Renny asked, “How would I know if he has?”

  “Think back. Have you ever been in church, had a conversation, read a book, or been in some situation in which you felt a tug inside to respond to God? If you did, that was probably God calling you.”

  Renny’s contact with church was more of a desert than an oasis. Given his upper-class roots, he sporadically attended St. Alban’s as a child, but he viewed churches and denominations as a reflection of the social and economic strata, not places to meet God. On the bottom of the ladder were the blue-collar Baptists, next the middle-management Methodists, followed by the professional-level Presbyterians, with the aristocratic Episcopalians perched on top of the heap. The Catholics were shrouded in mist and incense, and he tried not to look at a Pentecostal church in fear something might leap out the door and jump on his back.

  Renny was baptized as an infant in a beautiful white gown, but the pictures of the occasion were more embarrassing than inspiring. He couldn’t figure out why the church wanted every baby to look like a little girl. It seemed more fitting to baptize a baby boy in a tiny baseball uniform; the priest could take off the baseball cap, sprinkle the water, and tell the little fellow he was ready to play ball in the game of life because God was on his team. By his teenage years, Renny occasionally trolled for dates in the church youth group, but generally considered the hour from eleven till noon on Sunday the most boring of the week.

  Renny’s college experience was a mixture of studying and hedonistic haze that left no room to consider the divine. He remembered a couple of occasions when he prayed to get out of trouble and sent up a desperate prayer or two during the bar exam, but he never came close to what might be called a conversion. No, he couldn’t think of a time God called his number, unless …

  “Jo, I need to tell you about a conversation I had with my mother before she died. It was during my senior year in college. She was very, very sick, and I had gone home to see her.”

  Jo turned and faced him. “What happened?”

  “She had Lou Gehrig’s disease; it affects the central nervous system. Well, you’re a nurse; you probably know more about it than I do. She had reached the stage where her speech was incomprehensible. A lady who had worked for us since before I was born was staying almost full time at the house taking care of my mother. I came in on a Friday afternoon and told Mama A, that’s what I called the lady who helped us, she could go home because I would stay with my mother. My father was out of town, so it was just the two of us in the house.

  “My mother was in a hospital bed and motioned for me to raise the head of the bed. I gave her a sip of water through a straw. After that … she began to speak in a weak but clearly understandable tone of voice. I guess you could call it a miracle,” he added sheepishly.

  “What did she say?”

  “It was strange. She told me her father, you know, the pharmacist in Moncks Corner, had written down some things God told him about his children and grandchildren. I asked her, ‘Why are you able to talk so clearly?’ but she ignored my question and said that someday I would need to know what he had written about me. She said he’d named me before I was born, something I’d never known before, and told me when the time came to ask Mama A about it, but not now, because Mama A didn’t know yet. I could understand her words, but not their meaning.

  “Her voice started fading, and she asked me to come closer. When I did, she kissed my cheek and said, ‘God loves you, Renny. I love you.’ Then she closed her eyes and slept. She died a month later.”

  Jo said nothing for several moments. A single tear ran down her cheek. “Renny, that was to prepare you for the time when God would call you.”

  “You may be right,” Renny said, “but the whole conversation was so confusing I thought the disease had affected her mind. My father came home the next day, and I asked him if she had been talking to him. He said that she had not been able to communicate except by gestures for weeks.”

  “Did you say anything to Mama A?”

  “I started to talk to her but decided not to mention what happened because I didn’t know what to say. Besides
, my mother said Mama A wouldn’t know anything, and it seemed pointless to bring it up.”

  “What about your mother’s faith? What did she believe?”

  “I’m not sure. She was more of a churchgoer when she and my father were first married, but then didn’t attend as often until she became sick. After that she would occasionally go to church with Mama A. It was a racially mixed congregation, quite radical for Charleston. My father thought it was crazy, so she only went when he was out of town. I went with her two times, and it was definitely more lively than the old parish, but too wild and emotional to be considered church.”

  “So you don’t know what your grandfather wrote about you?”

  “I haven’t a clue and never thought about it since her death until now.”

  “Is Mama A still alive?”

  “Yes, she came to my father’s funeral.”

  “Are you going to contact her?”

  “I might.”

  “It sounds like she’s part of the answer to your search.”

  “What search?”

  “Your search for God; his search for you. The Bible says no one can come to Jesus unless Father God draws them and that God rewards those who earnestly seek him. It’s a process on our part and God’s part.”

  “You’re assuming what I want to do.”

  Brushing the sand from her shorts, Jo stood up. “You do; you will. I can tell.”

  Jo picked up the shell bag, and they started back down the beach.

  When they were almost back to their beginning point, Jo found a large, unbroken sand dollar skimming through the surf. It was as big as Renny’s palm, and a real beauty by Pawley’s Island standards.

  “There are folks who comb this beach for years and never find one like that one,” Renny said.

  “What’s it worth?” Jo asked.

  Renny stopped and gave her a puzzled look. “Nothing. You can buy one at a beach shop for two dollars. Finding it on your own is what makes it valuable.”

  “Good answer. Think about it.” Jo laughed, kicking some sand and water back toward Renny.

  They gathered their belongings and returned to the car. It was early afternoon, and even with sunblock, Jo needed to avoid further exposure to the sun’s rays.

  Noting the effects of the sun on Jo’s forehead and nose, Renny suggested they drive with the top up. Once in the car, he remembered his stomach. “Would you like to get something to eat?” he asked.

  “I have another tangerine,” Jo responded, “but that’s probably not what you had in mind.”

  “Like I said, those are the best tangerine pieces I’ve ever tasted, but I think a foot-long sub would do more to sustain my high-octane metabolism.”

  A shopping area on the mainland had a sub shop. They took their food to a small table, and Jo said, “I want to pray again.”

  “Sure.”

  “Father, thank you for the ways in which you are calling Renny. Help him to hear your voice. Also, please don’t let him choke on his sandwich, just as the great fish didn’t choke on Jonah. Amen.”

  “Hey, I already admitted you won that round. Don’t rub it in. And you’d better be careful joking with God,” Renny said, taking a bite out of his sandwich. “And are you sure he understands what you say without the thees and thous?”

  “He understands, and it seems to me the joke is on you, not God.”

  “Whatever. It’s tough being a straight man for either you or God.”

  “I’ll try to go easy on you,” she said lightly, “but you’ll have to talk to him about what he does.”

  Renny shook his head. “Are you sure you’re not a lawyer?”

  Jo grinned and shook her head. “Eat.”

  On the highway back to Georgetown, Jo identified several types of birds perched in trees near the road or flying overhead. Renny knew some of them, but Jo was a walking Audubon Society. They grew quieter as they neared Georgetown. Jo yawned a couple of times as they drove over the bridge into town.

  “I want to rest for a while. What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I may read or go down to the docks. I’ll probably make a few notes about questions I want to ask tonight. Can we get together before the meeting? I meant to talk to you today, but I never got around to it.”

  “OK, let’s meet in your room at six-thirty. We can go down together at seven.”

  “And don’t worry about the meeting,” Renny said. “You’re better than Perry Mason. You’ll handle every objection with class. Little did I know when I offered my help how little you probably need it.”

  “No, don’t say that. I don’t feel very confident or comfortable.”

  “Everything will be OK. You’ll see.”

  They pulled into the parking lot. There were several expensive cars in the area, most with South Carolina license plates. Renny counted. “It looks like the boys are here.”

  Envelopes waited for Renny and Jo at the front desk. Jo’s was addressed to Mr. Joe Taylor Johnston, and the elderly clerk did his usual double take, squinting at the lettering on the envelope, squinting at Jo, then squinting once again at the envelope before shrugging his shoulders and handing it to her. They stepped off to the side of the small lobby to open them. Inside were identical messages, except for a P.S. on Renny’s.

  Dear Mr. Jacobson,

  Welcome to Georgetown. We will meet this evening in the private dining room at 7:00 for cocktails, followed by supper and a meeting of the members. We look forward to seeing you then.

  Sincerely,

  Desmond LaRochette

  P.S. I trust you brought the List and other documents entrusted to your father as custodian.

  “Here we go,” Renny said. “I feel like a kid who has never ridden a roller coaster about to go to the county fair for the first time.”

  Jo folded her letter and put it back in the envelope.

  “Are you sure you will be able to rest?” Renny asked. “I’m getting too psyched up to sit still.”

  “Probably not, but I need some time in my room before the meeting.” Jo touched Renny’s arm. “Thanks for today. It was great.”

  Renny spent a second basking in the glow of her upturned face, which continued to radiate some of the sun they had gathered on the beach. “We’ll have to do it again sometime soon. I liked it, even when you cross-examined me.”

  “Next time, I’ll let you be the lawyer.”

  Renny cooled off by taking a shower. He reread the covenant and organized the contents of the old trunk. Taking a yellow legal pad, he outlined some notes and questions for the meeting.

  • Where are the List assets invested?

  • What was my father’s role as custodian?

  • How often are meetings held?

  He would be humble and non-confrontational, asking general questions before getting more specific. The items on the sheet of paper grew.

  • What is the amount of current List assets?

  • Who keeps the records?

  • What safeguards are there against embezzlement?

  • When and how are monies distributed?

  • What about the IRS?

  • Why couldn’t he directly withdraw funds from his father’s Swiss account?

  Pausing, he said softly, “What else?” He knew there was something else. Then he remembered. Of course, how could he forget?

  • What about Jo, primogeniture no longer viable?

  He tore out the sheet, folded it, and put it on the edge of the bed.

  It was after six. Putting everything back in the trunk, Renny dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and silk tie—dressed for success. Butterflies flitted around inside his stomach as he worked to get his tie straight. A soft knock at the door pulled him away from the mirror.

  It was Jo, but not the Jo of the convenience store or his companion who dug her toes in the soft sand of Pawley’s Island.

  He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again before saying, “Wow!”

  She wore a wh
ite-and-blue tinged gown that rushed up to her shoulders, opened expansively in the back, brushed snugly past her hips, and swept gracefully to the floor. A large sapphire pendant on a white gold necklace hugged her neck. Her dark hair had not totally submitted to her efforts to pull it back, but the few rebellious strands made her look softer than if every lock of black was successfully held captive.

  “Thanks. Nice compliment.” Jo’s eyes sparkled more than the blue stone.

  “Come in,” Renny said, grabbing the room’s only chair for her to sit in as he closed the door behind her. “I was trying to straighten my tie.”

  “Here, let me do it.”

  Renny stood at attention as she reached up. While she worked to flatten the knot, her fingers reached inside his collar and touched his neck. Renny’s knees almost buckled.

  “Are you OK?” she asked, stepping back.

  Renny knew it was the moment of truth. He could lie and say “Sure,” or he could tell her, “You are the most incredibly beautiful woman I have ever met. Your slightest touch has an overwhelming effect on me that I can’t begin to explain or understand.” He decided to lie. “Sure, I’m fine. Thanks for fixing my tie.”

  Sitting in the chair, Jo asked, “What do you think about tonight?”

  Renny handed his yellow sheet to her. “Here are some comments and questions I wrote down.”

  Jo unfolded the paper and read it. “Renny, these questions presume you want to join the List. I thought you wanted to check it out first.”

  “Yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” Renny admitted. “But I’m optimistic that my questions will be answered and I can participate, like my father, grandfather, great-grandfather, back to the original Jacobson who signed in 1863.”

  “I understand,” Jo said. “And we know this could involve an astronomical sum of money.”

  “It is a factor. I mean it wouldn’t make sense not to consider how much money is involved in reaching a decision.” Shifting the subject, he asked, “What about you? What do you want me to do or say on your behalf? You saw I had a question about primogeniture on my sheet.”

  “Yes. I appreciate it.” Jo hesitated. “Here’s what I want you to do.”