thinking about their mother again, and the conversation died. When Joel turned in to the drive, he inched along the gravel and stopped halfway to the house. He turned off the motor and they looked at their home.
Stella finally spoke. “I never thought I would say this, but I really don’t like this place now. The happy memories are all gone, shattered by what’s happened. I never want to set foot in that house again.”
“I think we should burn it,” Joel said.
“Don’t be stupid. Are you serious?”
“Sort of. I can’t stomach the idea of Jackie Bell and her kids and that creep McLeish living here. He’ll become the gentleman farmer, a real big shot. That’s hard to swallow.”
“But you’re never going to live here again, right, Joel?”
“Right.”
“Nor am I. So what difference does it make? We’ll come back when we have to and visit Florry, but after she’s gone I’ll never come back.”
“What about the cemetery?”
“What about it? How are we supposed to benefit from staring at old tombstones and wiping tears? They’re dead, and it’s painful because they shouldn’t be dead, but they’re gone, Joel. I’m trying to forget how they died and remember how they lived. Let’s remember the good times, if that’s possible.”
“It seems impossible now.”
“Yes, it does.”
“It’s all moot, Stella. We’re losing the place anyway.”
“I know. Just sign the deed and get it over with. I’m going back to the big city.”
* * *
—
The headmistress at St. Agnes was sympathetic too, and told Stella she would be excused for the week. She was expected back the Sunday after Thanksgiving.
They stayed in the pink cottage and away from their house. Marietta roasted a turkey and prepared all the side dishes and pies, and they worked hard to get through the day in a grateful spirit. Florry was rallying and trying to enjoy the time with them.
Early Friday morning, Joel loaded Stella’s bags into the Pontiac, and they hugged their aunt good-bye. They stopped at Old Sycamore and had a tear. At their house, Stella hurried inside for a hug with Nineva; then they were off.
She had insisted on taking the train to D.C., but Joel would have none of it. She was quite fragile—weren’t they all?—and he did not want her sitting alone on a train for hour after hour. They needed the time together, so a road trip was in order. As they left the farm and turned onto the highway, Stella looked at her home and the fields around them. She hoped to never return.
And she never would.
* * *
—
Dead judges were replaced by the governor, who appointed interims until the next round of elections. Governor Fielding Wright, who had witnessed Pete’s execution two and a half years earlier, was flooded with the usual requests for patronage after the death of Chancellor Rumbold. One of Wright’s biggest supporters in north Mississippi was none other than Burch Dunlap, who was lobbying hard for a Tupelo sidekick named Jack Shenault. Dunlap had a plan to collect a quick, lucrative fee from the Banning case, and he needed Shenault on the bench.
In early December, while Joel was sweating through final exams at Ole Miss, Governor Wright appointed Shenault the interim chancellor to succeed Rumbold. John Wilbanks and most of the other lawyers disliked the choice, primarily because Shenault did not live in the district. He said he planned to move.
Wilbanks was pushing another candidate, but Wilbanks and Governor Wright had never been on the same team.
Out of respect for the family, Dunlap waited a month after Liza’s burial before swinging into action. He convinced Shenault to convene a meeting in Clanton with John Wilbanks and Joel Banning, who was home for the holiday break and had been appointed substitute trustee for his father’s estate. They met in the judge’s chamber behind the courtroom, a place Joel would always detest.
On the docket was Dunlap’s lawsuit seeking a judicial foreclosure of the land now held by Pete Banning’s estate, the last remaining salvo in the lengthy war over the property, and it was readily apparent that the new chancellor planned to move with haste.
By reputation, Shenault was an office practitioner and not a trial lawyer, and was generally well thought of. He was certainly prepared for the meeting, and John Wilbanks suspected he had been well rehearsed by Burch Dunlap.
According to His Honor, and Shenault even wore a black robe for the occasion, the scenario was straightforward. The hearing on the foreclosure would last only an hour or