Chapter 43
After Rumbold had sat on the case for three months without a word, Burch Dunlap took action, though his maneuver was ineffective and designed only to embarrass the chancellor. In early September, he petitioned the state supreme court for an order demanding a ruling from Rumbold within thirty days. Nowhere in the rule book was such a petition allowed, or even mentioned, and Dunlap knew it. In his petition he claimed bias on the part of Rumbold and made much of the fact that the chancellor should have recused himself. He summarized the testimony and proof during the trial that lasted only hours. He covered the law nicely, said it was straightforward and uncomplicated, and summed up everything by saying, “The docket for the Twenty-Second Chancery District is rather light. Even a cursory review of it reveals the chancellor’s workload is not demanding. It is inconceivable that such a wise, respected, and experienced jurist as the Honorable Abbott Rumbold could not have decided this case and issued a ruling within a matter of days. A delay of three months, and counting, is unfair to the parties. Justice delayed is justice denied.”
John Wilbanks admired the gall of Dunlap and thought his ploy was brilliant. The supreme court would dismiss it without comment, but the court was also being forewarned in an unconventional manner that an important case was coming its way and perhaps it involved some home cooking up in Ford County. Wilbanks filed a one-page response in which he reminded the court that the rules of procedure did not allow such petitions, nor did they allow lawyers to attempt to create new rules of their own volition.
The supreme court ignored the petition and refused to dignify it with a response.
One month later, and without a peep from old Rumbold, Dunlap filed another, identical petition. John Wilbanks’s response included a reminder that Dunlap’s frivolous petitions were causing the litigants to incur unnecessary legal fees. Dunlap fired back. Wilbanks responded. The supreme court was not amused. Rumbold continued napping.
Joel’s last class each Wednesday ended at noon, and he fell into the habit of driving home for lunch. Marietta cooked something delicious each Wednesday, and he and Aunt Florry ate on her back porch with the birds cawing in the distance. Beyond her aviary the acres were laden with cotton and the picking would start as soon as the weather cooled. They had the same conversations about Stella and Liza and law school, but they did not dwell on the lawsuits and legal troubles. Losing the land was never discussed.
After a long lunch, Joel stopped by his home to check on Nineva and Amos and make sure nothing had changed. It had not. He usually met with Buford to discuss the cotton. And he eventually made it to town, where he parked on the square and walked into the Wilbanks firm for a few hours of work. John and Russell assigned him briefs to research and write in his spare time at Ole Miss. Late in the day they would have a quick bourbon on the terrace; then Joel would load up his files and head back to Oxford.
After a couple of attempts, he realized he could not spend the night in his home. The place was too quiet, lonely, and depressing. There were too many photographs of the family in happier times, too many reminders. In his father’s study, on the wall next to his desk, there was a large photo of Pete taken the day he graduated from West Point. Joel had admired it his entire life. Now it was so heartbreaking he couldn’t make himself look at it.
He and Stella had discussed removing all of the photos and books and medals, and boxing them all up for storage, but couldn’t muster the energy. Besides, Liza might return one day and attempt to renew her life, and such memories would be important to her.
So their fine home sat gloomy, dark, and deserted, with only Nineva easing through it each day, dusting here and there and doing as little as possible.
With each visit to the farm, Joel found himself eager to leave it. His life there would never be the same. His father was dead. His mother’s future was uncertain. Stella was headed for the bright lights up north and a life far removed from Ford County. The Wilbanks brothers were dropping serious hints about Joel joining their firm after graduation, but that would not happen. In Clanton, he would always be “Pete Banning’s boy,” the son of the guy they fried in the electric chair right up there in the main courtroom.
Seriously? Did they really expect Joel to practice law in a courtroom where they killed his father? Did they really expect him to live a normal, successful life in a town where half the people viewed his father as a murderer and the other half suspected his mother was fooling around with the preacher?
Clanton was the last place he would live.
Biloxi, on the other hand, looked promising. He wasn’t stalking Mary Ann Malouf, but he knew her dormitory and her class schedule. Armed with this intelligence, he managed to bump into her a couple of times on campus. She seemed to enjoy the encounters. Occasionally, he watched her from a distance, and was irritated at the number of other boys doing the same. When Kentucky rolled into town for a football game on October 1, Joel asked her for a date. She declined and reminded him that she was engaged. Her fiancé had also attended Ole Miss and still had friends on campus. She couldn’t be seen with someone else.
She did not say that she didn’t want to date someone else, only that she couldn’t be seen dating someone else. Joel noted the important distinction. He replied that, at least in his opinion, it wasn’t fair for such a beautiful coed to have her social life so restricted while her fiancé was off no doubt having a grand time in D.C. He asked her why she wasn’t wearing an engagement ring. She didn’t have one.
He persisted and she finally agreed to a late dinner. Not a date, just a meal. He met her outside the Lyceum after dark, and they drove downtown to the square, parked in front of Neilson’s department store, and walked a block along South Lamar to the Mansion, the only restaurant open late. As they entered, Joel saw William Faulkner at his customary table, alone, eating, and reading a magazine.
He had just published Intruder in the Dust, his fourteenth novel. A critic writing for the Memphis Press-Scimitar gave it a mixed review, but more important, another story in the same newspaper revealed that Faulkner had sold the film rights to MGM. Joel bought the book at a small store in Jackson when he was visiting his mother. At that time, there was no bookstore in Oxford and the locals cared little about what their most famous son happened to be writing and publishing. As a general rule, he ignored them and they ignored him.
In a paper sack, Joel had two hardbacks: Intruder in the Dust, which was brand-new and yet to be read, and his father’s well-worn edition of As I Lay Dying.
The restaurant was empty at that hour, and Joel and Mary Ann sat as close to Mr. Faulkner as was reasonable without violating his privacy. Joel was hopeful that Faulkner would notice the stunning coed and wish to flirt, something he was prone to do, but he was too absorbed with his reading. He was oblivious to everything around him.
They ordered iced tea and vegetable plates and spoke quietly while waiting for an opening. Joel was at once thrilled to be staring into the lovely face of the girl he was dreaming of and to be so close to Faulkner, with the determination to say hello.
When Faulkner was half-finished with his barbecued chicken, he shoved it aside, took one bite of peach cobbler, then pulled out his pipe. He glanced around, finally, and noticed Mary Ann. Joel was amused at his double take and obvious interest. Faulkner stared her up and down as he fiddled with his pipe. Joel was on his feet. He stepped over, apologized for the intrusion, and asked the great man if he would be so kind as to autograph his father’s copy of As I Lay Dying, a book that Joel loved, and also his own edition of Intruder in the Dust.