The List

by Robert Whitlow

  Renny relaxed in his chair and closed his eyes.

  “Here’s how they used to do it. Everyone would be in the cabins after a day’s work, and the stars would begin peekin’ out overhead. The bosses were in the big houses, and there was no one to tell them to be quiet. No roar of cars or trucks, no blare of TVs or radios disturbed the sounds of the night. A cricket or two might be a-chirpin’ and then someone would let out a hum—umuh. The sound would be picked up and passed around the little cluster of cabins—umuh, umuh, umuh. Then a black poet who never held a pencil or wrote a word would say, ‘Jesus.’ And the sound of his name would be on everyone’s lips. ‘Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.’

  “On they would go, adding words until they were singin’ stories of the great deeds of the God who delivers his people. The pitch rising and falling, the tempo speedin’ up and slowin’ down, the sounds around the circle from young and old. And you know what? They were free in their spirits long before they were free in their flesh.”

  Renny smiled and said, “Umuh.”

  “OK. Umuh,” Mama A hummed in a singsong melody.

  “Umuh,” Renny responded.

  “Praise you.”

  “Praise you.”

  “Praise you, Lord.”

  “Praise you, Lord.”

  “Praise your mighty name.”

  “Praise your mighty name.”

  On she led him in antiphonal response until Renny’s head was nodding in rhythm, his voice following hers across the hills of spiritual Zion. Barnacles that Renny didn’t know existed fell off his spirit, and by the time she said, “Amen and amen,” he shouted, “Amen!”

  Mama A raised her hands and slapped her knees. “End of lesson one. You did great.”

  “It was easy opening up with you. I’m not too sure about a group of people.”

  “Give it time. Drink your lemonade.”

  Renny took a long swallow. “Thanks for all you’ve done. I couldn’t have made it without you, Mrs. Stokes, and A. L. I know you’ve been praying.”

  “It’s been a privilege.”

  “That’s what A. L. said.”

  “It’s the truth. What’re you goin’ to do now?”

  “I need to get a ticket to Michigan. I’d like to stay with you until it’s time to go to the airport.”

  “Sure.”

  Renny made a reservation on a red-eye to Detroit with an early morning connection to Lansing.

  “Why don’t you try to get some rest in the spare bedroom before you leave?”

  “Good idea. Let me call A. L.’s office first.”

  When A. L. picked up, Renny said, “Any word from Barnwell?”

  “Not a peep. It’s almost quitting time. Maybe they didn’t pull it together yet.”

  “OK. Mama A’s been giving me praising lessons.”

  “Umuh,” A. L. responded.

  “Don’t get me started. I’m going to Michigan late tonight.”

  “Good. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Bye.”

  Mama A went out on the back porch, and Renny lay down on the bed in the spare bedroom and quickly fell into a deep sleep. In a dream, he saw Mama A’s husband, Clarence, standing at the airport ticket counter. He had Renny’s plane ticket in his hand, and when Renny asked for it, Clarence smiled and tore it in two. Renny started to get mad, but the gentle smile on the old man’s face stopped his anger in its tracks. Renny started to walk past him toward the departure gate, but his feet wouldn’t move. Clarence smiled again, stuck his hand in his pocket, and pulled out another ticket. He handed it to Renny, who read the word Georgetown on it. Puzzled, he started to say, “You can’t fly to Georgetown from Charleston” when the dream ended.

  Renny woke up, each detail of the dream clearly etched in his waking memory. It was getting dark, and Mama A was still rocking on the back porch when he came out.

  “I had a disturbing dream,” he said.

  “Sit down and tell me about it.”

  When he finished, he asked, “Am I supposed to go back to Georgetown? Why?”

  Mama A stopped rocking. “I believe the dream is from the Lord. He knew you were determined to go to Michigan and needed something strong to change your mind. Something is not yet finished in Georgetown, and I believe you know it in your spirit.”

  When she spoke it, Renny knew she was right. He stood up and looked out into the darkening sky. “I’ve been making my own plans again,” he admitted. “You’re right.”

  “Cancel your ticket and spend the night here. I’ll seek the Lord for you, and you can go back to Georgetown tomorrow.”

  “OK. Why was Clarence in the dream?”

  “To let me know it was from the Lord.”

  They spent the rest of the evening in separate parts of the little house, Renny searching his Bible for clues and Mama A waiting before the Lord. Around ten o’clock she called Mrs. Stokes and told her what had happened.

  Daisy Stokes listened, then said, “The Lord told me the battle would continue until Saturday evening. Even though Renny is out of jail, I’ve felt the burden increasing all afternoon.”

  “I’m to keep a night watch,” Mama A said. “Can you get some rest?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let me pray for you, then.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mama A called forth the refreshing of the Lord for her intercessory comrade.

  “Amen,” Mrs. Stokes said gratefully when Mama A finished. “The same for you.”

  “Daisy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we meet after this is over? Renny could work it out.”

  “We’ll meet. I’m sure of it. Thanks for calling. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  As Agnes rocked through the night, she watched an incredible display of heat lightning that lasted almost two hours. It all happened so high up in the atmosphere that the resulting thunder was only a distant rumbling.

  A verse from Scripture echoed in her mind: “Out of the brightness of his presence bolts of lightning blazed forth. The Lord thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded. He shot arrows and scattered the enemies, bolts of lightning and routed them.”

  “Amen,” she hummed. “Amen and amen.”

  34

  Is not my word like as a fire? saith the LORD;

  and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces?

  JEREMIAH 23:29, KJV

  The next morning Mama A sent Renny off with a blessing instead of breakfast.

  In his short Christian experience, Renny had never abstained from food for a spiritual purpose, but in his reading the previous night he had seen the words of Jesus about fasting and had asked Mama A about it the morning.

  “Do you fast?”

  “Sometimes. Jesus said ‘When you fast,’ not ‘If you fast.’”

  “I read about it last night and thought it might be something I need to do today. And, although the specifics are not clear, I’m more confident this morning than I was last night that I need to go back to Georgetown.”

  “I agree on both counts.”

  “I was looking forward to some hash browns with onions,” Renny said wistfully, his resolve weakening.

  “You’ll get a double portion the next time, but you’ve got to obey what the Lord is tellin’ you, and your spirit man doesn’t need to be distracted by your stomach workin’ on a five-course breakfast.”

  “OK. I’ll get my things together and be on my way.”

  In a few minutes they stood together near the front door.

  “Let me pray for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Here he is, Lord. It’s Renny. Release him into the fullness of your purpose this day. Send your holy angels before and behind him. Keep him safe and”—she paused—“pour out on him the fire of the Holy Spirit. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Renny felt a breeze on his face and glanced to see if the door was cracked open. It wasn’t.

  It was a clear, sunny morning, and Renny
took a slight detour through old Charleston. He drove by his ancestral home place on St. Michael’s Alley, but the old house was just an eye-pleasing combination of boards and paint. Nothing that belonged to him was there, and he had no reason to stop. He drove by Jefferson McClintock’s office and saw the lawyer’s car parked out front. However, there was nothing to discuss with the lawyer, so he didn’t stop. He turned left toward the waterfront and passed by the old Planters and Merchants Bank. The safe deposit box was empty now. No need to wake up the sleeping custodian of the vault. Then he drove to the cemetery at St. Alban’s. He parked along the street and got out of the car.

  It had been less than a month since his visit, but the well-watered grass had closed most of the gaps on his father’s grave. The church placed flowers throughout the cemetery on special occasions, but there was nothing on the tombstone this morning except his parents’ names.

  Standing in front of the tombstone, Renny waited for the familiar feelings of anger and resentment about his father to come out of hiding like soldiers who had been crouching behind rocks and trees during the heat of battle. Some sorrow at missed opportunities and regret at what could have been came to the surface of his thoughts, but surprisingly, rage and anger did not appear. Where were they? He looked at his father’s name and resurrected a few of the innumerable hurts and wounds of his upbringing: the pressure of constant criticism, the inability to satisfy expectations, the lonely nights when he needed a father’s reassuring word. Nothing. He brought the scene forward to his hardships and sufferings since his father’s death: the will, the List, the jail. Nothing. He searched again. Nothing. It was gone! Renny was aware of the hurts and disappointments of his life, but the sharp pain caused by the thorn his father had thrust into his heart was no longer there. He was healed! He was free! He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As much as anything else he had experienced, this was proof of the power of the gospel. He was a new man. The old had gone; the new had come.

  As his emotions calmed, he shifted his thoughts to his mother. Reading her name chiseled in the marble, he waited again. But this time he didn’t dread the appearance of enemy forces seeking to destroy his peace of mind. Instead, he inwardly beckoned a sentimental memory or sense of communion with the one whose faith, as well as face, he now shared. But nothing came. Startled by the silence, he tried again to revisit scenes designed to trigger an internal response. Nothing. Why not? Her presence should have been closer now than ever before.

  “She is not here,” came the quiet response.

  “But why? This is the place to visit my memories.”

  “The grave is not the resting place of those who rest in me.”

  Not fully comprehending the reply, he nudged the green grass with his shoe for a few moments. Then, as the blades gave way to the pressure, understanding came. He could never focus on this place, these few yards of earth as the basis for communion with his mother. She was as alive to him in Charlotte, Georgetown, or East Lansing as she was in a cemetery in Charleston. In fact, more so. She had sown seeds in his life that would continue to sprout and grow although she was not physically present. Though dead in the flesh, the influence of her life still spoke by the Spirit. Death had no dominion over her. No matter where he was, she was eternally alive.

  Walking to his car, Renny knew two things: he had witnessed the final burial of something horribly bad, and he was beginning to understand the resurrection of something tremendously good. Thoughts of the good occupied his mind on the road north toward Georgetown.

  As he turned down Front Street in Georgetown, a familiar silver Mercedes flashed by. Renny remembered Judge Kincaid’s order that he not go near the person or property of Desmond LaRochette. That should have been the easiest part of his probation.

  A. L.’s car was parked in front of his office, and Renny pulled in beside it.

  “Knock, knock,” he said as he let himself in the unlocked front door.

  “Who’s there?” A. L. boomed out a second before his broad smile graced Renny with its warmth. “What’s Brer Rabbit doing back in the brier patch? I thought you were going to Michigan. Don’t you remember what happened with the tar baby here a few days ago?”

  “I remember,” Renny said, grinning. “I need to talk with you.”

  “Come in. I was just opening my mail before going back home for the rest of the afternoon.”

  Renny told A. L. about the dream and his decision to come back to Georgetown.

  “That’s high-level stuff. Do you have any other insight?”

  “I’m supposed to fast and pray.”

  “Would you like to come to the house?”

  “No, I don’t want to disrupt your Saturday with your family. Could I stay here at the office for a few hours? I could lock up later and bring the key by to you.”

  “Sure. We’re not going anywhere.”

  After A. L. left, Renny paced the floor for a while, took time to read every frame on the Wall of Faith, and leafed through some of the books in A. L.’s library. As the afternoon marched toward evening, he became increasingly agitated.

  “What is it, Lord? What do you want me to do?”

  Picking up a Bible A. L. kept on the corner of his desk, Renny began reading in Isaiah. When he came to Chapter 6, his heart began to pound at Isaiah’s encounter with the holiness and glory of God. It was as if the words were written specifically for him. Identifying with the prophet of old, he prayed that the Lord would take away his sins, touch his mouth with a coal from the altar, and remove his guilt. Then, he read verse 8: “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’”

  The Lord’s invitation and the prophet’s response hit Renny with intense impact. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. It was a message for Isaiah; it was a message for Renny. He knelt on the floor and yielded himself to the will of God. Like Moses at the burning bush every option except abandonment to the will of the Lord lost persuasive appeal. Renny echoed the prophet’s words, “Here I am. Send me!”

  The Bible on the floor before him, he continued reading:

  He said, “Go and tell this people: ‘Be ever hearing, but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving.’ Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.”

  Then I said, “For how long, O Lord?”

  And he answered: “Until the cities lie ruined and without inhabitant, until the houses are left deserted and the fields ruined and ravaged, until the LORD has sent everyone far away and the land is utterly forsaken.”

  Renny put his forehead to the pages. Time passed. How long he didn’t know. He waited until a sense of completion entered his spirit.

  Getting up from the floor, he left the building and locked the door. As he drove toward A. L.’s house he passed the Rice Planter’s Inn. He saw them on the front porch. Roget was holding the door open for Layne and Weiss. Turning down a side street, Renny came up behind the old building. The familiar cars were in the parking lot. LaRochette, Roget, Smithfield, Weiss, Layne, Flournoy, Eicholtz—all were present. There was going to be a meeting tonight. Renny knew what he had to do.

  Sarah Jenkins opened the door. “Come in.”

  “Thanks. I’m just here for a few minutes. Is A. L. around?”

  “He’s upstairs supervising bath time. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  The big man came into the dining room, drying his hands on a towel. “Well?” he asked.

  “There is a meeting of the List tonight. I drove past the inn, and all of them are there, even Eicholtz. I’m supposed to go.”

  “Whew. Are you sure?”

  “This time I’m sure.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ll know when I get there.”

  “As your attorney, I have to remind you that if LaRochett
e is there, your presence will violate the terms of probation, and Judge Kincaid can send you to prison.”

  “I thought of that, but I have no option.”

  “You’ve got a lot of courage, Renny.”

  “I’m at peace whatever happens.”

  A. L. came closer and put his big hand on Renny’s shoulder. “As your friend, my spirit says do whatever the Lord has put in your heart. He will take care of the consequences.”

  “Thanks. I need to go.”

  “Go with God.”

  35

  All these things shall come upon this generation.

  MATTHEW 23:36, KJV

  Renny parked next to the silver Mercedes, a definite violation of Judge Kincaid’s order to stay away from Desmond LaRochette. Soon, there would be no doubt. A. L. was right. A face-to-face encounter with LaRochette would trigger revocation of his probation, and within a week he would be sleeping in a hot prison cell somewhere in rural South Carolina. He forced himself to concentrate on the present. Turning off the engine, he waited. He wanted to make sure everyone would be in his place.

  It was dusk when he got out of his vehicle and walked to the front of the inn. A storm was churning the ocean, and a stiff breeze from the east opposed him as he faced the ancient structure. Suddenly, he heard someone call his name.

  “Renny!” a wailing voice separated itself from the wind and demanded his attention.

  He jerked his head around to see who had cried out. A car passed by on the street, but there was no one but himself in front of the inn or on the sidewalk. A second, stronger gust of wind rushed past him.

  “Renny!” the voice came again, and with it an involuntary shudder ran down his spine. “You fool,” it added with a sneer. The voice was not without, but within.

  He wavered. And when he did, a seed of fear quickly sprouted in his heart and enveloped him in darkness. What did he think he was going to do? He was blindly walking to his own execution. Here I am, Mr. LaRochette. Finish the job you started the other night. A heart attack at age twenty-six would be a novel way to die. Good evening, Mr. Layne. Do you need someone to mock tonight? I’m your man, the one with the bull’s-eye on his chest.