I was late for breakfast, even though it had taken less than ten minutes to drive to Bella’s in downtown New Haven. I found my in-laws in a corner booth and kissed Rosa on the cheek, apologizing profusely. Rob’s smile-less face appeared angry, semi-confirming my belief he blamed me for his daughter’s death.
“Sorry, I spent too much time looking for your book.” The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a “loan” to Rachel several years ago. She’d encouraged me to read it, but I’d stuck with my law books and novels instead. The Lutheran preacher’s autographed book was given to Rosa in the late sixties by the author’s twin sister, Sabine Leibholz, at a Christian conference she had spoken to in Berlin. I don’t recall how Sabine had received signed copies of her brother’s books twenty-plus years after the Nazis hung him in 1945.
“Rachel would have prized it. And protected it. It’s there, in her library, somewhere.” I said, embarrassed, knowing my failure to find would be one more reason for Rob’s disgust.
Rosa, at eighty-five, was still attractive and elegant. Like Rachel, she had high cheekbones. Unlike my wife, Rosa wore a constant smile. Her happiness was always on display, which amplified her refined facial structure.
“I’ll keep looking, but you know you’re always welcome to visit. Why don’t you two follow me home and stay a few days? I’m sure you’ll find your book.” I said, looking at Rosa, and avoiding Rob across the table.
“We can’t. I want to be in Boston by sundown.” Rob laid aside his laminated menu, his voice unusually gruff.
The server came and took our orders. Rosa and I opted for oatmeal and fruit. Rob stuck with Southern tradition: eggs, biscuits, grits, bacon and sausage, and a large orange juice. The young girl left, and an older man appeared to refill our coffee cups. I turned mine over. “Half a cup, please.” I had already had enough caffeine.
***
Rosa didn’t contest Rob’s plans, instead stayed on safe ground. “How do you know about this place? Did you and Rachel come here?”
“No, but she would have loved it, with these booths nestled against the walls, the long counter with evenly spaced stools. Even these laminated menus.” I handed mine to Rosa for her to store with the others inside the wire rack next to the salt and pepper shakers.
“So, how did you find it?” Rob jumped in. I’d ignored Rosa’s first question.
“It’s about a twenty-minute walk to the law school. I’d parked across the street at Edgewood Park, not noticing Bella’s at first. That was before Rachel.” I paused. “Died. She was after me about exercising. Said I needed to abandon the faculty parking lot and take a long walk, both before and after my workday. I took her advice and have been parking across the street ever since. I come in here for dinner if I work late.”
Neither Rob nor Rosa responded. The silence grew stressful. Finally, the server delivered our food.
With a mouth full of food, Rob surprised me. “We need some legal advice. That’s why we’re here.” The latter statement wasn’t a surprise. The former was. Randy, their son, Rachel’s younger brother, and my brother-in-law, was also an attorney. Rob had always called on him, although the need for legal advice was rare for a missionary couple.
I shouldn’t have responded with my disinterested tone. “Where’s Randy?”
“Hiking. Again.” Rob stuffed a whole slice of bacon in his mouth. Randy had recently retired as general counsel for a large construction company in Chicago. He’d always had a passion for the outdoors.
“Appalachian Trail?” I was aware he’d made the fifteen-hundred-mile trek at least twice. Rosa offered her pineapple. “Thanks.”
Rosa held out her palm and stopped Rob from speaking. “Rob’s mad at Randy. He took Celia with him.” Celia was the twenty-five-year-old daughter of the construction company’s chairperson and majority stockholder. She’d snared the fifty-nine-year-old Randy at a company picnic three years ago. This had cost my brother-in-law his marriage. The two lovebirds were now living in the Winnebago Randy had purchased with the bonus he’d received at retirement. I guessed it paid to sleep with the King’s daughter.
“What’s your legal issue?” I asked, thinking it would detour the conversation away from a dissertation on adultery.
Rob took the bait. “You ever heard of eminent domain?” The server returned and took another order for bacon. I wondered how long it would be until my father-in-law died of a heart attack.
“I have. Studied it a little in law school forty years ago.”
“They’re going to take it unless you do something.” Rob was good at confusing statements. I’d heard him preach enough to know that.
“Who’s they and what are they taking?” I switched plates, pushing my oatmeal away and pulling my fruit forward.
Rosa offered help. “The City of Boaz is condemning our house on Thomas.”
“You mean the Hunt House?” Rob’s rich banker brother, a bachelor all his brief life, had left the historic home for Rob and Rosa. That was in the early sixties when Randall died. He had died of a heart attack at age forty-four. I wondered if he loved bacon.
“You know in our will we give that place to Rachel and Randy. I’m about ready to cut Randy out and leave him a dollar. You can have Rachel’s part, shit, the whole place. If you can save it.” Obviously, Rob opposed his son’s shacked-up lifestyle.
“Why is the city wanting your property?” I knew little about real estate law and virtually nothing about the doctrine of eminent domain. But I recalled it prevented the government from using the condemned property for private purposes.
“Damn Ray Archer and one of his mega-centers.” I almost blew out a mouthful of cantaloupe. Sweat spread across my forehead. Ray Archer was the only person in the world I hated. It was impossible not to blame him for Rachel’s death half-a-century after he got her pregnant.
Rosa noticed how upset I was. “See, I told you this was a bad idea.” Rob stared while Rosa talked. I didn’t hear her last three statements.
“Can we stop it?” Rob kept going as though Rosa wasn’t present. “I’d love to kill the son-of-a-bitch but I’m afraid of prison. He took Rachel from us. He’s not taking the only home in the states she knew.” I’d never heard him cuss.
“While she was growing up.” Rosa was always clarifying Rob’s broad statements.
I took a sip of water. “How would I know?” I said, staring at Rob.
“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?” I had forgotten what an asshole Rob could be, even if he didn’t normally cuss. In my world, it didn’t seem to fit a Southern Baptist Missionary.
“Sorry to not be clairvoyant. I need more facts, and a lot of time to research, but my guess is that the City’s attorneys have fully explored this.”
“You better hurry. There’s not a lot of time. Word is the city has already asked a court to sanctify its offer. From what I hear, the bulldozers will start before Christmas.” I could have asked Rob a dozen questions. But I didn’t. Instead, I pondered Rob’s reasoning to reject the City’s offer. It could be the money, but I’d bet it was simple revenge.
“We’re the only holdouts.” Rosa added, offering her pears and kiwi slices. I declined, wishing for Pepto Bismol instead. “They’re taking the entire block, from Thomas to Sparks, from Brown to Darnell.”
I could picture the entire block, surrounded by these four streets. “Dang, aren’t there a dozen or more houses, and what about the church?”
“Julie Street Methodist. It’s already in need of extensive repairs. It’s a blessing to the members. They’re going to build a new facility.” Rosa always looked for the good.
“How much is the city offering for your place?” The amount should be a sizable sum. The giant home was a landmark, included in the Historic Register. A man named Whitman built it in the 1920s, I believe. His family sold it to a Dr. Hunt, maybe in the late forties or early fifties. I recalled Rachel saying her Uncle Randall had bought it at an auction and she, Randy and her parents, had first lived there in the late sixties when they returned from China on furlough.
“Half a million.” Rob interjected, having finished his food, and was now devouring the rest of Rosa’s fruit. It couldn’t be the money. Rob was out for revenge.
“That seems like a fair price, maybe above market, but I’m just guessing.” I figured Ray Archer could afford twice that amount. After Rachel died, I did a little research. I had hoped to discover the son-of-a-bitch had terminal cancer, or a shark had eaten him. My findings were the opposite. In his thirties and forties, Ray had built a profitable chain of stores that served triple duty: pharmacies, groceries, and housewares. He’d later bought out his brother and then sold the entire chain to Walgreen’s, for somewhere around a billion dollars. Since the late nineties, Archer’s focus was on a development known as Rylan’s. It’s a chain of farm and ranch stores structured like Tractor Supply. The only difference is that Ray includes them in a much larger development of stores, none of which are owned by him. Obviously, Rachel’s abortion had affected her much worse than her teenage lover.
After the server and Rob exchanged paper and credit card, my attention waned. My in-laws reported in much detail what Rylan’s was all about. Thursday, they visited one while passing through Knoxville, Tennessee. My thoughts turned to Boaz, Alabama, when Rob began describing Ruth’s Christ, a Christian bookstore idea Ray was trying.
I hadn’t returned to Boaz since 2002 when Rachel insisted we attend my thirty year high school reunion. It was her graduating class too, if she’d stayed past Christmas of her tenth-grade year. Instead, she and her family were in China for the May 1972 ceremonies.
That 2002 weekend was also the first time I’d ever been inside the Hunt House. It was Rachel’s idea. She had only lived there a year and a half but felt the need to visit her upstairs bedroom. The Kern’s had long leased the place to a woman named Barbara. I forgot her last name. She had converted the place to a bed-and-breakfast.
The place was magnificent, unmatched architecture for Boaz, anywhere really. It was a brick Craftsman-style home. I particularly liked its tiled roof and porch with heavy brick columns. I think I recall exposed rafter ends, and rectilinear fireplace mantles. Inside, I recalled three floors with a ton of built-ins and even a secret passageway or two.
“Lee, Lee Harding, are you listening?” Rob had raised his voice. I don’t know why he said my full name. Rosa was patting me on my right hand.
“Huh? Sorry, I was daydreaming, I guess. What’d you say?” My listening skills were declining.
“You’ll help us?” Rob’s question was mostly command.
I hesitated, but felt I had little choice. It really wouldn’t be that difficult. And I could do it from here, the law school, assuming Alabama was like every other state. Now, they all keep court records online. “I’ll investigate it. At least check out the City’s court filing. Maybe talk to the city attorney.” Rob sat straighter, leaning a little more towards me, maybe expecting me to assure him of a coming victory. It was important that I keep him grounded. “Rob, there’s probably little I can do to stop the demolition.”
Without framing his thoughts, Rob blurted: “Give’em hell, that’s all I ask.” I didn’t respond. So much for keeping Rob grounded.
The Pencil Driven Life 