When Joel and Florry crossed the state line into Mississippi in late July, they began to notice, as always, the cotton, and it was not encouraging. Heavy rains in the spring had delayed the planting, and in the two months they had been living it up in England and Europe the weather had obviously not cooperated. In a good year the cotton bloomed by July 4, and by Labor Day it was chest high.
This was the worst-looking crop in recent memory, and as they crossed through the farmlands of north Mississippi the cotton looked worse. There were no blooms. The stalks were hardly knee high. In low spots entire acres had been washed out.
Nineva made a pot of coffee and asked about their trip. They asked about the weather and got an earful. While they were gone it rained every day, it seemed, and even when it wasn’t raining the skies were cloudy. Cotton needed days and days of dry weather and hot sun, and, well, it was obvious the weather was killing the crops. Amos was fighting it in the garden but the yield was far below normal.
As if life on the Banning farm wasn’t depressing enough.
Joel drove his aunt to the pink cottage and unloaded her luggage. They had a drink on the porch, stared at the pathetic crops, and wished they were back in Scotland.
John Wilbanks wanted to see him, and as badly as Joel wanted to avoid the law office and the courthouse and everything else about downtown Clanton, he had no choice. They met in the large conference room on the ground floor, a sign that the meeting was of extra importance. Russell also joined them, another sure signal.
The brothers promptly fired up their smokes, the standard short black cigar for John and a cigarette for Russell. Joel declined and said he would join them just by breathing the air.
John recapped the litigation. They had two frivolous appeals filed with the U.S. Supreme Court and they could expect both to be rejected within a couple of months, as soon as a clerk there got around to the paperwork. There was no reason whatsoever for the Court to show any interest in either case. Burch Dunlap had enrolled the $100,000 judgment across the street, and would wait patiently for the Bannings and their lawyers to tire themselves with useless legal maneuverings and throw in the towel.
“What about bankruptcy?” Joel asked.
“It won’t work, because the estate is not bankrupt. We could do it and stall, but Dunlap would waste no time getting a hearing before the bankruptcy judge. And remember, if we put the estate into bankruptcy, the trustee then assumes control of the estate. We don’t name the trustee. The court does.”
Russell let loose a cloud of smoke and said, “There’s an excellent chance the trustee could order the executrix, Florry, to hand over all assets to the judgment creditor, Jackie Bell.”
“None of this is surprising,” Joel said.
“And there’s something else,” Russell said. “We need to get paid. Our bill is now over $7,000 and I’m not sure there’s enough in the estate to pay us. We’ve been shotgunning petitions and motions right and left, hoping for a miracle, and it’s taken a lot of time. Using a bankruptcy as a stall tactic just eats more clock.”
“I understand.”
John said, “We’re at the end of the road, Joel. There’s nothing left except a good-faith effort to settle with these people. We have one idea left, and it’s the only one that might save the land. It requires a mortgage on both pieces of property — Pete’s and Florry’s. All twelve hundred acres. You borrow as much as you can, and offer it to Dunlap to settle everything.”
Cautiously, Joel asked, “How much?”
“The house is valued at thirty thousand. The land is worth about a hundred bucks an acre, on the high side, but you’d have a hard time getting that much in this market. As you know, only about a thousand acres are planted. No bank is going to lend the full value because of the risk. Think about it. Pete managed to either break even or show a profit most years because he owned the land free and clear, plus he worked himself to the bone, pushed his workers, and watched every dime. Burden the land with a mortgage and suddenly you’re in business with a bank. A couple of bad crops, like this one, and you fall behind. Before you know it, the bank starts talking about foreclosure. Happens every year around here, even in good years.”
Russell took the handoff and said, “We’ve talked to our brother over at the bank and he’s not too keen on the deal. If Pete were alive and cracking the whip, the farm would be more attractive. But he’s gone, you’re not a farmer, Florry’s crazy as hell. I can see the banks running from this one.”
Joel asked, “How much would your brother lend?”
“Seventy-five thousand at the most,” John said.
Russell added, “And I’m not sure about that. There’s another problem that’s rather obvious. We represent your family, and we represent the bank. What if there’s a default? The law firm suddenly has a huge conflict of interest, one that could land us in serious trouble.”
John said, “And we haven’t discussed this with the other bank in town. As you know, there’s a good bit of rivalry involved between the families. I doubt they would touch it, but we could possibly take it to a larger bank in Tupelo.”
Joel stood and walked around the room. “I can’t ask Florry to mortgage her land. That’s simply too much. It’s all she’s got and if she lost it I don’t know where she’d go. I can’t do it. I’m not going to ask her.”
John flicked ashes into a dish and said, “Here’s a plan. Tell me what you think. I’ll sit down with Dunlap and negotiate. He probably took this case on a contingency and hasn’t been paid a dime yet, so he might have an interest in a cash settlement. I’ll start at fifty thousand and we’ll see what he’s thinking. You can handle fifty, right?”
“I suppose,” Joel said. “But the thought of owing that much makes me sick.”
“It should, but you and Stella can keep your land and your home.”
“What if they want too much?”
“We’ll see. Let’s have the first round of negotiations. I’ll act as poor as possible.”
Chapter 45
In the stifling heat of August, Liza’s little room was unbearable. There was no window to catch a breeze, nothing to break the suffocating humidity but a flimsy box fan Joel had brought her the summer before. After a few minutes, they were both sweating and decided to go hunt for shade. She was walking well these days; her condition had improved, at least physically. She had gained a few pounds, though still ate little. At times the Thorazine gave her an appetite. It certainly calmed her and she didn’t fidget nonstop and pull at her hair as before. She cut her hair short and washed it more often, and she had ditched the pale and permanently stained hospital gowns for the simple cotton dresses Stella sent. A milestone had been reached a month earlier when Stella brought in three tubes of lipstick, and Liza was thrilled. Now each visitor was greeted with a bright red smile.
Dr. Hilsabeck continued to say that he was pleased with her progress, but Joel had lost hope that his mother would ever recover enough to leave. After three years in the institution, it had become her home. Yes, she had improved, but then she’d had so far to climb.
They left the building and walked to the pond, where they sat on a picnic table under the shade of an oak. The heat was brutal and the air was too thick to stir, so it hung in one place with no hint of a breeze. Unlike most visits, Joel looked forward to this one because he had so much to talk about. In vivid detail, he recounted their travels to New York, London, Scotland, and Paris.
Liza listened with a pretty smile, one that broke his heart because it was the best she could ever hope for. His mother was not coming home, and home was a subject he could not discuss.