An Urgent Legal Matter

by Douglas Young

Part 1 appears in this issue.

conclusion

“So how can I be of service, Mrs. Mitchell?” Johnston smiled and put a large yellow legal pad in his lap. He clicked his pen open.

“First of all, Johnston, I want to express my appreciation for your coming here today,” Mimosa pronounced. “I’m much obliged you did.”

“Glad to accommodate you, Mrs. Mitchell,” he replied as he waved a hand. “You, Doc Mitchell, Delano, and all y’all’s fine family have been so dear to me and mine, y’all’ve been wonderful clients for such a long time, and I certainly understand if you’re no longer comfortable driving—”

“I can drive very well, thank you, and anywhere I want. I’ve been driving 70 years without receiving one ticket. I’ll have you know my driver’s license was renewed last year and, Lord willing, I intend to drive many more years to come.”

“Outstanding. Congratulations, Mrs. Mitchell. I think that’s just fine,” Johnston nodded and smiled. “Now how can I be of help, ma’am?”

“I wish to change the terms of my will,” she declared in a lower voice looking straight at him without blinking.

“Yes, ma’am. Let me find it here since I brought your file.” He reached into his old black leather bag. “Here it is. All right. Now how would you like to change it?” He looked down to skim over the document.

After a pause, Mimosa continued. “Delano is to be removed from all my inheritances.”

Johnston’s smile disappeared as he blinked and stared at the will. He blinked again and slowly raised his head to look at Mrs. Mitchell whose gaze had not left him.

“You want to strike your son’s name from the will? Am I understanding you correctly, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

Johnston shifted in his seat and blinked several times before looking at the desk and then the bookshelf closest to the door. With the sun shining through the windows, he thought he saw what might be the shadows of a pair of feet under the door, but he quickly turned away and took a full swallow of lemonade.

“Now, Mrs. Mitchell, having been an attorney for thirty years and drawn up more wills than I can remember, I must say this strikes me as highly unusual, even unprecedented. Are you sure you really want to do this?”

“I’ve made my decision,” Mimosa declared while raising her head and betraying the slightest evidence of a frown.

After some hesitation, Johnston met her gaze and at last spoke. “Why?”

Blinking her eyes and now definitely frowning, Mimosa raised her voice. “And exactly what business is that of yours?”

“Well, Delano and I have been friends for ’bout near half a century, and I just have a right hard time believing this is what you’re really fixing to do.”

“Are you my attorney or not?” she asked with nostrils starting to flare.

“Yes’m. I am as long as you want me to be,” he answered slowly while nodding his head.

“Then I suggest you change your client’s will according to your client’s preference.”

“Well...” He started slowly and then sighed.

“Well, what? Are you going to do what I am paying you to do — and I daresay at probably the highest rate in Petunia Springs — or aren’t you?”

“Not without an explanation,” Johnston said. He placed his right hand on the desk and looked at her. This time he did not avert her gaze but held it as her eyes narrowed.

“Since when have attorneys insisted on their clients’ justifying a change of will?” she asked with her head slightly cocked.

“Well ... I guess since you want to cut your own son and my life-long friend and brother Baptist deacon out of it,” he answered, nodding slowly.

There was a long pause. Mrs. Mitchell realized her attorney was not backing down. She started to say something but hesitated, looked out the window, and turned back to Mr. Pettigrew.

“Very well. If you insist on knowing, Delano is about to embark on a course of action I have every reason to believe will imperil not just his future but the well-being of the entire family.”

Furrowing his brow and squinting, Johnston looked at her. “With all due respect, Mrs. Mitchell, exactly what?”

“You actually believe it’s any of your business as to the private affairs of my family?”

“If you want me to cut your only son out of the will... Then yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I do.”

Shaking her head, she now leaned forward holding her hands. “Perhaps you should have gone into the ministry, Johnston. I wasn’t aware lawyers insisted on morally approving their clients’ entirely legal requests.”

“Have you discussed this with the family?” He scratched his head.

“Again, as if that’s any of your business, counselor.”

“Ma’am, I’m right sorry for any unpleasantness, but I’m just gon’ to have to know some more information ’bout this thing before I can proceed in good conscience.”

“A member of the legal profession pronouncing about matters of conscience,” she almost spat.

“I’m real sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. I appreciate how uncomfortable this thing must be for you and I can assure you it’s not pleasant for me either.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am. But for me to go forward on this matter—”

“Very well,” she interrupted while shaking her head with a pronounced sigh. “Can I still presume to enjoy attorney-client privilege?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, absolutely. Yes, ma’am. That goes without question.”

“Well, what a considerable comfort. I was beginning to wonder.” She took a sip of lemonade, paused, and began to speak. “In complete, stubborn, and utterly irrational defiance of my many well-founded concerns, my son insists on marrying a woman completely unsuited for this family. There. Are you now satisfied? Can we finally get to the business at hand and change my will?”

“Oh,” Johnston intoned slowly before leaning back in his chair. “So you’ve got problems with Miss Zillah? That’s what this is all about?”

“No. Miss Prager would pose a massive problem for this entire family and at least one Mitchell is prepared to stand up and meet the problem head on.”

“Now, Mrs. Mitchell,” he began with one elbow on the desk and hand raised, “I know Miss Zillah can be a little loud and Yankeefied, but I declare I truly believe she’ll grow on you, and I just can’t figure how you’d ever want to do anything so drastic that would surely hurt your son something terrible and is just liable to tear the whole family apart. No’m, I just can’t believe you’ve really thought this thing all the way through. No, ma’am. It’s my considered opinion that you need to set a spell and think real hard and... maybe pray on this thing before—”

“Johnston Pettigrew, the very idea of you talking to me in such a patronizing manner. You were always a good student and such a well-behaved and well-mannered boy growing up.”

“Well, I thank you, ma’am. I was reared in a good Christian home.”

“Yes, you were. But apparently your long years in the law have dulled your sense of etiquette.”

“With respect, ma’am—”

“Oh, of course,” she stated sarcastically.

After a pause and a sigh, he began again. “Mrs. Mitchell, I’ve seen Delano with Miss Zillah on several occasions over the last couple of years. I even had dinner with ’em at her place to discuss a school board legal matter, and I do declare I believe he’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. Now absolutely no offense to Miss Marigold. What a fine Christian lady and mother and a dear personal friend and I’m sure a wonderful daughter-in-law she was.”

“She was a beautiful blessing to this whole family, thank you.”

“Amen and God rest her sweet soul. I’ll just say this. Based on every time I’ve seen Delano and Zillah, both of ’em just seem as peachy and proud of the other as can be. My daughter Adora loved her art class, and Miss Prager really is a lovely lady. She’s educated, cultured, and just as sweet as can be. I would kind of like to think she might just be the answer to your prayers for some fine lady to come look after your boy—”

“Now I think you really did miss your calling to go into the clergy. My spiritual life is absolutely none of your affair, or that of any other lawyer. Really, Johnston. I find this most unprofessional and, frankly, insulting.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Mitchell, I promise I mean you absolutely no disrespect, ma’am. If I could just please say my piece. The fact is I’m just not comfortable proceeding any further down this path and, as your attorney, I strongly caution you against this course of action. Please trust me, ma’am. Now I really am giving you my best legal advice here. When families get into inheritance disputes, the only thing guaranteed is some mighty hurt feelings, and all around, too. And I’m just as serious as cancer ’bout this, Mimo — Mrs. Mitchell.”

“And I would like to think that, as a brother in Christ and a veteran deacon at First Baptist, you might have some appreciation for the unfortunate situation I find my family facing. You know very well this is a devout Christian family, Mr. Pettigrew —”

“Amen.”

“Thank you, and Miss Prager is not.”

Slowly leaning his head back with his mouth slightly open, he at last spoke: “And she’s a Jew.”

“Well, cheers for your remarkable appreciation of the obvious. I’m glad we finally agree on something. Hallelujah. And now that you know far more than you’re entitled to, are you going to — at last — do what I am paying you for here?”

Gradually leaning forward and placing his pen on the desk, Johnston clasped his hands, took a deep breath and began to speak. “I’m ’fraid not,” he intoned slowly. “No, ma’am, I believe I’m gon’ to have to recuse myself on this matter, Mrs. Mitchell, on account of I believe it would be highly harmful to the interests of you and your entire family for us to proceed down such a path.”

With eyes narrowed and a loud sigh, Mimosa glared at him. “Since when has your law firm ever turned down business? A couple years back you had no problem defending a murderer.”

Johnston shifted in his seat and raised his right hand again. “Well, but with all due respect, ma’am, now I was court-appointed to do so, and a man’s life was at stake.”

“Well, with all due respect, counselor, I’m firmly convinced the well-being of my family is at stake.”

“And I respect that, Mrs. Mitchell.”

“Well, this jury has plenty of reasonable doubt, and if you expect me to pay you for this charming little visit—”

“No’m, now there’s not gon’ be any charge.”

“Well, thank the Good Lord for small favors.”

“But I do strongly suggest — before you go any further with this thing — that you please talk about it with Delano and... Have you considered broaching this with the Reverend Hasty?”

“The Reverend Hasty is not the final word on matters religious or family, thank you very much, and I am in no way bound by his counsel any more than I am yours.”

“Then I figure you may have already talked with him and he respectfully has a different view of the matter,” Johnston replied and immediately regretted having done so.

“And I frankly just don’t give a hoot or holler what you figure. Mr. Pettigrew, I believe your business here is done. While you’re getting up to leave would you at least be so kind as to recommend the services of another attorney?”

“Yes’m, though I don’t reckon I know any local ones who’d do what you want, either. ’Course, if you insist, I guess I could have my gal call you with a list of some out-of-towners who don’t know y’all—”

“That will be fine. Thank you.”

Carefully putting the pen back in his shirt pocket and inserting the legal pad into his old leather bag, he gradually got up. What he had looked forward to as a delightful return to a beautiful house he had always enjoyed visiting as a boy but hadn’t been inside for many years, as well as a chance to visit with one of Petunia Springs’ last grandes dames, had quickly devolved into easily the most dispiriting disappointment of the whole week. Indeed, he noted how much less unpleasant it had been visiting the downtown jail that morning to meet the fellow who robbed the local Piggly Wiggly the week before.

Johnston hesitated before turning to leave, feeling compelled to try to end the meeting on a high note. He finally spoke with the faintest trace of a smile. “You know, Mrs. Mitchell, I really do believe if you could just sit down for a good, home-cooked meal with Miss Zillah, that might make a world of difference. If you could just try some of that lady’s homemade lox and bagels and knishes—”

“Good day, Mr. Pettigrew. Eulonia, please show Mr. Pettigrew to the door.”