The List

by Robert Whitlow

“Whoa, Robert,” Layne interjected. “I think you need to see my psychiatrist about your anger toward the weaker sex. I don’t think we should punish this young lady for the sins of every woman since Eve. She seems bright and capable to me. My concern is more a matter of, how shall I say … conscience.”

  “Spare us,” Roget said, bristling. “You checked your conscience at the door of your first-grade classroom.”

  “No, no, you’re mistaken. I’m not concerned about my conscience.” Layne grinned. “I have it well sedated. It’s her conscience that raises a question in my mind.”

  “Explain yourself,” Eicholtz said.

  Layne waited until sure he had everyone’s attention.“While the rest of you were gnawing on the prime rib, I was watching young Ms. Johnston. She bowed her head and prayed before we ate, and she failed to sample the excellent Tignabello. She’s a ‘true believer’ and a teetotaler.”

  “So w-w-what. W-w-we’re not alcoholics,” Maxwell said with effort to sound more sober than he was.

  “I agree. Appreciating a fine wine is not a prerequisite for membership to the List, and religion is the harmless opiate of the people. But I think Ms. Johnston believes some of the nonsense in the letter from poor old Taylor about God, curses, tragedy, and the vague culpability of this group in it all. That troubles me. We don’t need someone conducting a witch hunt that upsets our apple cart, to mix my metaphors. My sense is that this young lady is a religious fanatic. It’s trouble with a capital T, and we don’t need that. Ask Mr. Jacobson. He has been around her some for a day or so. I dare say he will confirm what I’m saying.”

  LaRochette nodded toward Renny. “Do you have an opinion about Thomas’s categorization of Ms. Johnston?”

  All eyes now turned to Renny.

  Renny was impressed with Layne’s insight. Although skewed by personal prejudice, he’d read Jo like a book. He instantly replayed some of his own “religious” moments with Jo and debated his options. He could say, “I don’t know her well enough to give an opinion,” “I think you are mistaken,” or “You are right. She is very religious.” He decided to answer as Jo might.

  Addressing Layne, he said, “You’re right. She is very religious. I haven’t been around her before this weekend, but I think she has the type of conscience you described. She believes in a God who is involved in her life in a way I would call somewhat mystical. How she would relate to this group is something I don’t know. She marches to the beat of her own drum.” As soon as he said it, Renny knew Jo’s fate was sealed. The members of the List didn’t want individualism. Everyone had to beat his drum to the same cadence. There was one sheet of music, and there would be no drum for Jo.

  Layne nodded with satisfaction. “I call for a vote.”

  “I second,” Roget responded.

  Renny, Eicholtz, and Maxwell voted to accept Jo for membership; LaRochette, Flournoy, Smithfield, Layne, Roget, and Weiss voted against it. Renny knew Eicholtz’s vote was sentimental. It was his way of honoring Jo’s father. Maxwell’s tenaciousness surprised Renny. Jo had been right—there was more to him than Renny had thought. Renny voted yes, but knew in his heart she would never have joined.

  “Renny, please ask Ms. Johnston to come back in for a moment,” LaRochette said. “I’ll explain our decision to her.”

  Renny left the room and leaned against the wall in the hallway. What had he done? He went into the agreement blind. He hadn’t asked any of his questions. He hadn’t waited until they voted on Jo. He knew nothing more than he did before the meeting started. Why did he feel so rotten, then so wonderful?

  Looking at his left ring finger, he could barely see any sign of the cut. No redness, nothing. He pressed the finger at the site of the cut to see if it was sore. Nothing. Well, he couldn’t stand there and give himself a physical. He needed to retrieve Jo.

  She was sitting in the parlor with her eyes closed. Renny cleared his throat as he walked through the door. It seemed like hours since he had left her there.

  “Not asleep, were you?” he asked.

  “At rest, yes. Asleep, no,” she said, opening her eyes and blinking a couple of times. “What’s the verdict?”

  Renny held his thumb down.

  Jo shrugged. “I’m not surprised.”

  “Come back in for a minute. LaRochette wants to give you the news.”

  Renny didn’t mention his own decision, and they walked down the hall in silence. He held the door for her as she reentered the dining room.

  LaRochette turned on the charm. “Ms. Johnston, please have a seat.”

  Renny held her chair for her. Several of the men occupied themselves with another glass of wine.

  “Deciding your status has been a difficult issue. We respected your father greatly and have considered his request designating you as his successor on the List. However, the terms of the relationship established by our forefathers do not make provision for your membership to the List, and we have voted accordingly. However, while Mr. Jacobson was getting you, someone suggested we demonstrate in a small way our sentiments to you and your family. For this reason we would like to transfer one million dollars to you as a gift. All we ask is that you honor your family’s commitment to keep the List confidential.”

  Jo arched her eyebrows and said, “I understand the reason for your decision and appreciate your offer. But I did not come here seeking money. Frankly, it would be better if I didn’t take any money or make any promises.”

  “Are you sure?” Layne asked.

  “Yes, very sure. Good night, gentlemen.” She got up quickly and swept out of the room.

  As the door shut behind her, Eicholtz said to no one in particular, “I’ve never seen anyone like her.”

  Neither have I, Renny thought dolefully. He felt alone. Alone, although he was surrounded by men seated at the same table. Maybe empty was a better word. Empty, alone. The words themselves sounded hollow.

  9

  And let all mankind agree.

  JOHN DRYDEN

  I would have thought she could have taken the money and given it to her favorite church or charity,” Layne said dryly as the room collectively digested Jo’s refusal of the million dollars.

  “Maybe Taylor had a secret stash and she doesn’t need any money,” Weiss grunted.

  Renny started to answer, then changed his mind.

  “I am more than a little concerned about Ms. Johnston breaching the confidentiality of this group,” Roget said quietly.

  “We all are,” LaRochette agreed, clearing his throat. “Perhaps you could help us, Renny.”

  Renny, already missing Jo’s presence, shrugged. “How? I just met her yesterday, and I assume she’ll be leaving town to return to Michigan in the morning. I doubt I’ll ever see her again.”

  “You could have a say in that, couldn’t you?” LaRochette responded. “We saw how the two of you exchanged glances all evening. It doesn’t take a savant to see there is a mutual interest.”

  Renny flushed. “If there was, it was probably dealt a deathblow by the rejection of this group.”

  Eicholtz interrupted, “Hogwash, boy. She looked at you like you were the finest crabmeat soufflé in Charleston.” Turning to LaRochette, he continued, “What do you have in mind, Desmond? Get to the point.”

  LaRochette clasped his hands together behind his back. “All I have in mind is for Renny to embark on a goodwill, fact-finding mission. Whether he admits it or not, he wants to spend time with Ms. Johnston. I merely suggest that he give her a positive perspective on the List and find out if she intends to violate our rule of confidentiality.”

  “What are we g-g-going to do if she d-d-does? B-b-break her legs?” Maxwell asked.

  “Don’t be silly, Bart. If we have information, we can give Renny advice on how to respond. Also, I am not convinced she will continue to refuse a financial incentive.”

  Everyone turned toward Renny, who found himself nodding in agreement and saying, “I can’t promise anything, but I will see what I can
find out.”

  “Excellent,” LaRochette said with a satisfied smile. “One of us will stay in touch with you. Next we need a financial report. Robert?”

  “Just a minute, Desmond,” Flournoy interjected. “Before we get into the figures, I would like to propose a toast honoring the upcoming wedding of Bartholomew Maxwell. It appears he will avoid the unfortunate fate of Alexander Hammond.”

  “Rightly so,” added Layne with a nod toward Bart, who rose unsteadily from his seat and stammered, “Th-th-thank you.”

  Eicholtz retrieved a bottle of Dom Perignon from a side table and pulled the cork with a pop. “Here, Harry, please help me with the glasses.”

  Smithfield took a round silver tray with the delicate goblets around the table, and Eicholtz followed, pouring the pale champagne.

  Once all were served, Eicholtz held his glass aloft and said, “To Bartholomew Maxwell. May you prove Euripides wrong and your marriage have more joy than pain.”

  A few of the members echoed, “Hear, hear,” as they drained their goblets.

  “I-I-It is an honor t-t-to be here,” Bart stuttered and drained his glass in a single swallow.

  Everyone sat down except Bart, who stared ahead with a startled look on his face, turned toward LaRochette, and crashed forward face-first onto the table.

  Eicholtz said, “He’s passed out.”

  Remembering Jo’s training as a cardiac care nurse, Renny ran out the door and up the stairs. Pounding on her door, he yelled, “Jo, it’s Renny! Come quick!”

  Jo opened the door, barefoot, but still dressed in her evening gown. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Bart Maxwell. He’s passed out. Come back downstairs.”

  As they quickly went down the steps, Renny said, “We had a toast honoring his upcoming wedding and he fell face-first on the table.”

  As they passed the front desk, Layne was on the phone. “It looks serious! I’m calling an ambulance!” he shouted as they went by him.

  They entered the dining room and saw Maxwell lying face-up on the floor. Someone had placed a damp dinner napkin on his forehead.

  Jo quickly knelt beside him. “Let me see.” Taking his wrist, she held it in her hand. “He doesn’t have a pulse!”

  Layne thrust his head inside the door. “An ambulance is on the way. It should be here any minute.”

  Jo put her ear to Bart’s chest. “Did he appear to choke on anything?”

  “No, no,” Harry Smithfield answered. “He just drank his champagne, got a strange look in his eyes, and fell on the table.”

  Renny glanced up and saw Robert Roget standing with his arms crossed, calmly watching.

  Jo was administering CPR when the ambulance siren wailed in the distance. A few seconds later, the emergency medical personnel burst through the dining room’s door.

  Jo immediately yielded to the EMT. “I’m a nurse. I can’t pick up a pulse.”

  The EMT continued with CPR as they lifted Bart onto a stretcher and hurriedly rolled him out to the waiting vehicle.

  “Where are you taking him?” Jo asked as she followed them down the hall.

  “Georgetown Memorial,” the EMT replied. “It’s one block south of Highway 53 on Seventh Street.”

  “Renny, can you take me?” Jo asked.

  “Sure, sure. Put on some shoes and we’ll go.”

  Jo looked at her bare feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  Renny stood by the front desk. The meeting was obviously over. LaRochette, Smithfield, and Roget passed by on their way to the hospital.

  Renny rubbed his eyes and shook his head. This was not a good picture. Before he could further sort his thoughts, Jo appeared, still dressed in her formal gown but without the sapphire necklace. She said nothing as they walked quickly down the back steps of the inn to the parking area. Renny started the car as Jo slammed her door shut.

  “What do you think is wrong with him?” Renny asked.

  “I don’t know, but unless they get his heart beating, he’s gone.”

  “Did he have a heart attack?”

  “Possibly, or a seizure of some kind. He didn’t appear to be choking, did he?”

  “No. It was like Smithfield said. He drank his champagne and crashed onto the table.”

  “Strange,” Jo said.

  Renny wove in and out of traffic. He went through two stoplights just as they turned red, pulled up to the hospital, and parked next to LaRochette’s Mercedes. A few big drops of rain hit the roof of the convertible.

  LaRochette, Roget, and Smithfield met them as Jo and Renny walked into the ER.

  “He’s gone,” Smithfield said, shaking his head. “They tried electric shock, but they were unable to revive him.”

  “The hospital is trying to reach his sister in Savannah,” Roget added.

  “Are you coming back to the inn now?” LaRochette asked.

  Jo addressed Renny, “I’d like to see if I can talk to someone inside.”

  LaRochette touched Renny’s arm as Jo passed through the doors. “We’ll see you back at the inn as soon as you finish here.”

  Renny nodded and followed Jo inside the hospital.

  There was a small waiting area to the left of the entrance where two registration clerks were taking information from patients. Jo walked up to the nearest clerk. “A man named Bartholomew Maxwell was brought in by ambulance a few minutes ago. I would like to talk to the attending doctor.”

  “Are you a relative?” the clerk asked.

  “No, I’m a nurse who gave him CPR at the Rice Planter’s Inn when he collapsed after dinner.”

  “I’ll check with the doctor,” the clerk said, disappearing into the area behind the registration desk.

  She reappeared in a few seconds with the doctor. He held out his hand to Renny. “I’m Dr. Davidson.”

  Jo stepped forward. “Dr. Davidson, I’m Jo Johnston, the nurse who gave Mr. Bartholomew CPR after he collapsed. Could I have done anything differently to help him?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I don’t think so. He was dead on arrival here at the hospital. We tried to revive him by electric stimulation without success. It appears he died immediately after his collapse.”

  “What was the cause of death?” Renny asked.

  “We’re going to conduct an autopsy as soon as we contact the next of kin. At this time, I would have to say unknown causes. I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks anyway.” Jo turned away, and they headed outside.

  It was raining, and Renny ran to the car and drove up to the ER entrance to pick up Jo.

  “I’ve never seen someone die,” he said. “One minute he was talking in his stuttering voice; the next he’s unconscious on the floor. I’m sure you’ve seen death at the hospital. How do you get used to it?”

  “You don’t. If you did you would be better off working at a mortuary instead of a hospital.”

  Renny had a hard time seeing in the heavy rain, and he drove slowly, the windshield wipers flicking back and forth as quickly as possible.

  “It’s just hard to imagine he was here one second and gone the next,” Renny said. They stopped for a red light. “So, where is Bart Maxwell now? In heaven?”

  The light turned green. A passing truck plowed through a puddle and splashed the car.

  “It goes back to our talk this morning,” Jo said. “It depends on whether Bart ever responded to God’s call and was born again.”

  “Born again? Like Jimmy Carter or Billy Graham?”

  “They made the term well known to a lot of people, but it was first used by Jesus himself when he talked to a religious leader named Nicodemus.”

  Renny slowed to a stop as a second light turned red. “What does it mean?”

  “Jesus told Nicodemus, ‘The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.’ It’s a supernatural, spiritual experience.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Renny said.
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  “It’s a spiritual birth, the point of beginning for spiritual life. That’s why it’s compared to a newborn infant passing from the womb to the world.”

  “So serving a couple of times as an altar boy when I was a kid won’t get me into heaven?”

  “No. That’s why I asked you whether God had ever called you when we were on the beach today.”

  The beach seemed like a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

  As they turned into the inn’s parking lot, Renny remembered he had not told Jo about the List. “In all the confusion about Bart, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I was accepted on the List.”

  “Oh, weren’t they going to wait until after they discussed my situation?” Jo asked, puzzled.

  “No, when I came back into the room with the trunk, LaRochette said they wanted me to participate as a voting member. To do so it would be necessary for me to take the Covenant. It took me by surprise, and I was off balance, but his comment made sense since there was no reason I couldn’t join. It was over in a few minutes. A very strange experience—almost like I wasn’t there at all. I don’t know how to describe it except that I watched myself walk to the front, agree to the Covenant, and sign the book.”

  “What about the marks in the book beside each name?” Jo asked.

  “They prick your finger and put the blood beside your name, just like a couple of kids might do. They used a little dagger. Look”—he turned on the car’s interior lights and held his finger out for her to see—“there’s no mark where I was cut.”

  Jo leaned over and inspected Renny’s finger. There was no visible sign of a cut.

  “I don’t know, Renny. How do you feel about it now?”

  “The way it happened. So easy, it seemed inevitable. It’s my destiny, I guess.”

  They got out of the car and walked to the inn.

  Jo turned to go upstairs. “I’m going up to my room, but I won’t go to bed until I see you after the meeting.”

  “OK.”

  Renny walked down the hall to the private dining room. His stomach was acting up again. It was almost midnight; Eicholtz and Weiss, each with a large tumbler in his hand, were the only people in the room.