by Ann B. Ross
“Uh-huh,” she said, her mouth pinched up so tight she could hardly speak. “An’ I ’spect he not sleep so sound when that phone ring sayin’ you on the way to the Atlanta pen.”
“Oh, Lillian, we’re not going to the Atlanta pen. It wouldn’t be a federal crime, you know. And if we do get caught, which I don’t intend to be, they’ll keep us an hour or so until Binkie and Sam can come bail us out. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I am gonna worry ’cause I already am. You jus’…”
The ringing of the telephone interrupted her, which was just as well, since I’d heard enough. I snatched it up and answered it.
“Arthur Kessler here,” Arthur Kessler said. “Thought you might like to come down to the courthouse and watch the action. You saw the paper this morning, didn’t you?”
It was all I could do to keep a level tone in my answer. “Why, yes, I did. And I was surprised to read that the commissioners met in secret and voted to give you the go-ahead.”
He chuckled! I’d never been exactly sure what a chuckle was until one came out of his mouth. “Well, you know,” he said in that smug way of his, “sometimes you have to make an end run to get around those who would hold you back. Perfectly legal, though, but if anybody tries to stop us, well, that old courthouse’ll be gone before you know it.”
My teeth were ground together so tight, I could hardly get the words out. “You certainly know how to get your way, I’ll give you that.”
While he went on chortling over his end run, I was thinking hard. What Lloyd had said about Mr. Kessler knowing that Etta Mae, Mildred, LuAnne, possibly Emma Sue and, certainly, I represented the majority of Abbot County residents had stuck in my mind. We were the “salt-of-the-earth” types, not the likes of Brother Vern, Granny Wiggins and Thurlow Jones, that he would use to attract buyers of the units in the Crowne Plaza. I’d already started disabusing him of that idea by setting LuAnne on him, but that would take time to bear fruit. So if the courthouse was going to be saved, we didn’t have time to waste because Arthur Kessler had been ahead of us every step of the way. He’d come to town expecting to deal with a bunch of country hicks—nice enough, but gullible and easily manipulated—and so far, that’s exactly what we’d proven to be.
So he could pat himself on the back all he wanted for having pulled a fast one, but that just gave me free rein to pull a stunt or two myself. There’d be no trouble with my conscience after this.
When he paused for my response, I gave him one. “I would like to see what’s going on,” I told him, “but my car’s acting up a little. Would you mind coming to pick me up?”
He assured me that he wouldn’t mind at all. His rental car had been sitting idle too long, since Etta Mae and I had been doing all the chauffeuring.
As soon as I hung up, Lillian asked, “What’s wrong with yo’ car?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. I just wanted him over here.”
She eyed me suspiciously. “What for?”
“I’m going to show him that woman’s image on the Family Life Center across the street.”
“They’s not no woman on that building. You tole me that when I was seein’ her. You tole me it was just some kinda something oozin’ outta them new bricks an’ it jus’ look like a woman’s face. And it’s a lady, not a woman. ’Sides, it all washed off now an’ don’t nobody see nothin’ no more.”
“I know that and you know that. But Arthur Kessler doesn’t. It’s called acting, Lillian, play like, pretend, whatever you want to call it, but that man’s going to have to rethink what this town is like before I’m through with him.”
I spent the fifteen minutes before Mr. Kessler’s rental car pulled to the curb getting myself in the right frame of mind. I would have to pretend to be excited about the destruction he was wreaking, while at the same time trying to undermine his idea of Abbotsville as the ideal spot for the development that nobody wanted but him and a few short-sighted commissioners. Well, and Mildred and Thurlow, too, which had rocked me back on my heels. Who would’ve thought they’d be interested in what amounted to high-rise apartments in the middle of town with less space to heat and no yard to care for?
But, I thought, as the glimmer of an idea wiggled its way into my mind, if that’s the case, I happened to own a block or two at the end of Main Street with nothing on them that would ever be missed—certainly no historic buildings. With two, possibly three, units as good as sold—I mean, both Mildred and Thurlow were friends of mine—putting up my own condominiums would catch a wave of the future and, on top of that, be a smart investment. I determined to talk to Binkie about it just as soon as I disabused Mr. Kessler of the same idea.
So out I pranced to meet him, plastering a welcoming smile on my face.
“So this is the day,” I said, shaking his hand since he had shown enough courtesy to step out of the car at my approach. “The one you’ve been looking forward to, the day the destruction begins.”
“Oh, I don’t look at it as a day of destruction. It’s a day of new beginnings. The crown jewel of my company will rise up on that spot and finally,” he stopped and gave a little laugh, “and finally, my partners will see that I was right all along.”
“Oh? I’m not sure I knew you had partners.”
With a condescending smile, he set me straight. “In a monumental undertaking like this, you always have partners. You didn’t think I’d put my assets into it, did you?”
“Well, I don’t know much about high finance.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but I don’t tell every Tom, Dick and Harry my business.
“It’s called spreading the risk. And I’ll have to say,” he stopped to give that smug little laugh again, “my partners have taken a few risks, but they knew that going in. It’ll all straighten out, though, when the Crowne Plaza is ready for occupancy.”
I couldn’t believe it, but he actually rubbed his hands together. It was all I could do not to take one of mine and smack him to kingdom come. Instead, I let my eyes wander to the Family Life Building—another monstrosity perpetrated on us Presbyterians who had to pay for it and on me who had to live across the street from it.
“Oh, look!” I cried, pointing to the tall brick wall facing us.
“What?” Mr. Kessler turned in that direction.
“She’s back! See her, Arthur? She doesn’t show herself to just anybody. You must be special to her.”
“What? Who? I don’t see anything.”
“Right there on the wall! See, see the shawl over her head, and look at her eyes. They’re so soulful. You can just make out her features. Oh, this is a blessed day! I’ve seen her many times in the past, but she appears less and less frequently—only when something momentous is about to happen. It must have to do with you, Arthur.”
Mr. Kessler’s head was stretched forward out of his collar, his eyes squinched up as he stared at the wall. “What are you talking about? I don’t see anything.”
“You don’t? Why, she’s right there, big as life. Well, somewhat bigger, given the size of the wall. Well, I declare, it must be me she’s aiming at. She’s very selective, you know. Not everybody can see her, just certain ones. The elect, I guess.” Then I cringed, fearing I’d given myself away by using a Presbyterian concept in a Catholic context. But being theologically ignorant, Mr. Kessler let it sail right past. He kept on gazing first at me, then the wall, with a look of confusion on his face.
“You sure you see something on that wall?” he asked.
“As sure as I’m standing here. Oh, she is so beautiful, but of course the Holy Mother would be, wouldn’t she?”
“The Holy Mother?” Arthur Kessler gave me his full attention, pulling his head back and looking down his nose at me. “I think you’re seeing things.”
“I certainly am,” I said, “and honored to be able to. If I could kneel and get back up again, I’d do it right here on this blessed sidewalk.”
Then, thinking in for a penny, in for a pound, I crossed myself. I got it a
little off-kilter since I’d forgotten to practice. But for better or worse, I made the sign of the cross going from nose to navel and arm to arm, which was as good as your average Presbyterian could do and Mr. Kessler didn’t know the difference.
“Maybe you better stay home,” he said. “Too much excitement’s not good for you.”
“Why, how thoughtful of you, Arthur. And, yes, I think I shall stay home. I need some meditation time after being given this sighting. It may be that the lady has a message for us, and if so, I’ll pass it along. It may have to do with you, since you were here when she appeared.”
“You do that,” he said, and abruptly opened the car door and slid inside.
I stood with my hands clasped in prayer, my eyes turned heavenward, as he sped off. Then I smiled and went inside.
Chapter 33
Lillian looked up from whatever she was doing at the sink as I trudged back into the kitchen. “I thought you goin’ to watch ’em wreck the courthouse.”
I flopped down in a chair at the table and put my head in my hands. Smiling tiredly, I said, “The lady on the wall told me not to.”
Water sloshed in the sink as Lillian dropped a head of lettuce. “What you say?”
“Oh, I’m just teasing. The lady didn’t say a word. How could she? I didn’t even see her, but Arthur Kessler thought I did. So he wasn’t all that eager to take me down there.” I laughed a little, as much as I could manage under the circumstances. “He suggested I stay home and rest, which means, I hope, that I did a good acting job. Maybe I qualify now as one of his quaint characters.”
Lillian turned back to the sink and started pulling apart lettuce leaves, mumbling, “You one of them, all right.”
I rubbed my hands across my face, feeling more and more sick at heart. “None of it’s going to work, Lillian. Even Sam admits it’s too late. I’ve just got to face it. We can fill machinery with dirt every night that rolls around, and they’ll still get it running. And I can pretend to be half-crazy, along with the likes of Thurlow Jones, and it won’t stop him. That man is bound and determined to destroy our history and put up a monument to himself.” I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Reminds me of Pastor Ledbetter, and you see how far I got trying to stop him. That Family Life Building stares me in the face every time I step outside.”
Lillian went to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of lemonade. Without a word, she poured two glasses and brought them to the table. Then, sitting across from me, she said, “Can’t nobody get what they want all the time. Maybe you oughtta put something else in yo’ mind ’stead of this.”
“Well, what…?” The ringing of the telephone cut me off, so I walked over and answered it.
“Julia?”
At the sound of her voice, I had to sit back down.
“Helen?”
“Of course it is,” she said, as if she hadn’t been out of touch for days on end. “I guess you know they’re tearing down the courthouse.”
“Yes, I know it, and I’ve been knowing it. And trying to do something to stop it, too, with mighty little help from anybody else, I might add.”
“Well, you should’ve called me. I would’ve helped, because I’ve been trying to organize a historic association to preserve our heritage for the longest time. I’m surprised you didn’t let me know what was going on.”
This was a new Helen Stroud. Never had she spoken to me or to anybody else in such a snippy way for as long as I’d known her. But then, I’d never known her to lean on somebody else’s husband as she’d been doing, either.
So I came right back at her. “I tried to let you know, Helen, but when you don’t answer your door or return anybody’s calls, what am I supposed to do? Camp out on your doorstep?”
“You could’ve e-mailed me. Did you think of that?”
Well, no, I hadn’t, since Lloyd would’ve had to have done it for me. “No, Helen, I didn’t. I figured you didn’t want to hear from me. Besides,” I said, wanting her to know I wasn’t totally out of the loop, “Sam told me of his visits with you, so I knew how you were doing.”
“Well,” she said, “well, we need to do something about the courthouse.”
“I’ve been trying, but everything I come up with is either a criminal act or a crazy one. If you have any ideas, I’m open to them.”
“You probably don’t know this, but I’ve done a lot of research on the courthouse, because I thought it was the obvious place to base the historic association. And come to find out, that building’s about the third one on the site. The original one burned around the time of the Civil War, and the second was so poorly constructed that it was torn down in the early twenties, and that’s when the one we have now was built. Right before the Great Depression, which in hindsight was good timing. Anyway, it has no great historic value, but I’d still like to see it saved.”
“No great historic value? I didn’t know that.”
“No, and in fact, it’s about to fall down by itself. It has some termite damage and the foundation’s settling. It would cost a mint to restore. Frankly, tearing it down is probably for the best, but it breaks my heart to say it, because the building is an architectural jewel.”
“Well, my goodness, maybe I should’ve done a little research myself. But like you say, it is a beautiful building and I hate to see it go.”
“Well, the county’s waited too long to do anything, and, really, Julia, nobody’s been all that interested. Which is just a shame.”
That flew all over me, because who had been working her fingers to the bone to discourage Arthur Kessler from his destructive course, and who had been closed off in her own house without a word to anyone? Except to my husband?
“I’ve been interested, Helen, but I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what else to do at this point,” I said, ready to end this conversation. “Because you’re right. If we’d started earlier, gotten better organized, maybe the courthouse could’ve been saved. As it is, though, I guess we’ll have to live with the wreckage.” I took a deep breath and the plunge. “Speaking of which, how is Richard? Have you heard from him?”
“That’s something I can’t discuss, Julia, on my lawyer’s advice. And I’m surprised you’d ask.”
The question I wanted to ask was: Which lawyer? But I didn’t. Instead I said, “You shouldn’t be surprised. Everybody who invested with him is interested, and I’m one of them.”
“Oh,” she said in a strangled kind of way, making me feel ashamed of myself. Still, I saw no reason to pretend that Richard Stroud’s actions hadn’t affected me.
“Well, be that as it may,” I went on, “it looks as if Arthur Kessler is getting his way, in spite of how we feel. But when you have all the money in the world you can do whatever you want, regardless.”
“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat, “from what’s going on down there today, it looks like we’ve lost that battle. But, uh, Julia, as a matter of curiosity, where does Mr. Kessler’s money come from?”
“I really don’t know,” I told her. “He speaks of his company, whatever that is, and implies that he’s done a lot of developing in other places. He sort of brags about this new building being the crown jewel of his company—that’s what he’s going to name it—the Crowne, with an e, Plaza. To give it an English flavor, I guess.” I paused, then went on. “Come to think of it, though, he’s mentioned partners a few times and laughed about them taking all the risks. So either he has a lot of money not being used or he doesn’t have any and has to use other people’s. It’d be interesting to find out which it is, wouldn’t it?”
“I guess so, but it wouldn’t matter. Either way, I expect that courthouse is coming down. But, Julia, there is something that ought to be and can be saved, something that does have historic value.”
“What?”
“The figure of Lady Justice on top of the dome. From what I’ve found out, it was made in France in the late 1800s and shipped over here for the building that was put up after the original burned. It was
a gift to the town from the family of a certain Andrew Milsap, who’d moved here to recuperate from tuberculosis around 1885. He died, but the family was grateful to the town, I guess, for making his last days comfortable. Anyway, the figure was saved when the second courthouse was razed and put on the dome of the new one. I mean, the one that’s now the old one, since we now have another new one.”
“Well, I say,” I said. “I didn’t know that. Well, Helen, there’s no reason in the world we can’t save that statue. Surely Arthur Kessler won’t deny us that. I’ll speak to him about it right away.”
After hanging up the phone, I turned to Lillian. “Well, if that doesn’t beat all. That was Helen Stroud, and she as good as told me that I’ve been spinning my wheels all this time for nothing.”
“Huh. Nothin’ new ’bout that. What she say Mr. Stroud doin’ with all them other people’s money?”
“She wouldn’t talk about it. Some lawyer told her not to, and she wouldn’t even say that she had nothing to do with what Richard did. Not that I think she did, but I wish she’d come right out and say it. It’d make me feel better, if nothing else.”
“You want a sam’ich? It about lunchtime.”
“Not yet, thank you. It’s still a little early, and I need to go see Mr. Kessler.”
“What for? I thought you had enough of him this morning, or him enough of you, one.”
“Well, that’s true of both of us, I expect. But, if I can’t save the whole building, I can save an important part of it. Where’s my pocketbook?”
I picked my way through the spectators who lined the side street as they watched the parking lot being gouged and broken up. As I drew closer, a thrill ran through me at the sight of a line of protesters held back by sawhorses and yellow tape. It did me good to know that I wasn’t the only outraged soul in town. A few sheriff’s deputies, looking somewhat embarrassed by the duty, strolled in front of the objectors who, other than bobbing their signs up and down, were a well-mannered lot.
