Sycamore Row

County. The white teachers earned less than those in any other state, and the black teachers earned only a fraction of that. Combined, there wasn’t enough money for a single good school system, but for decades the county, like all the rest, tried to maintain two. Separate but equal was a cruel farce. But in spite of its sizable disadvantages, Burley was a place of pride for those lucky enough to study there. The teachers were tough anddedicated. The odds were against them, so their successes were even sweeter. Occasionally, an alum made it through college, and he or she became a model for the younger generations.
    “You say you’ve been here,” Portia said as they walked up the steps to what was once the administration building.
    “Yes, once, during my rookie year with Lucien. He sent me on a goose chase to find some ancient court records. I struck out.”
    They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Portia knew exactly where to go and Jake followed along. The classrooms were now packed with recycled Army file cabinets filled with old tax records and property assessments. Nothing but junk, Jake thought to himself as he read the index placards on the doors. One room held car registration records, another archived ancient editions of the local newspapers. And so on. What a waste of space and manpower.
    Portia flipped on the light to a dark, windowless room, also lined with file cabinets. From a shelf she carefully lifted a heavy tome and placed it gently on a table. It was bound in dark green leather, cracked now after decades of aging and neglect. In the center was one word: “Docket.” She said, “This is a docket book from the 1920s, specifically August of 1927 through October of 1928.” She opened it slowly and with great care began turning the yellow and fragile, almost flaky pages. “Chancery Court,” she said, much like a curator in command of her subject matter.
    “How much time have you spent here?” Jake asked.
    “I don’t know. Hours. I’m fascinated by this stuff, Jake. The history of the county is right here in the history of its legal system.” She turned more pages, then stopped. “Here it is. June of 1928, sixty years ago.” Jake leaned down for a closer look. All entries were by hand and the ink had faded significantly. With an index finger she went down one column and said, “On June 4, 1928.” She moved to the right, to the next column. “The plaintiff, a man named Cleon Hubbard, filed a lawsuit against the defendant.” She moved to the next column. “A man named Sylvester Rinds.” She moved to the next column. “The lawsuit was described simply as a property dispute. Next column shows the attorney. Cleon Hubbard was represented by Robert E. Lee Wilbanks.”
    “That’s Lucien’s grandfather,” Jake said. Both were hunched over the docket book, shoulder to shoulder. She said, “And the defendant was represented by Lamar Thisdale.”
    “An old guy, dead for thirty years. You still see his name on willsand deeds. Where’s the file?” Jake asked, taking a step back. She stood straight and said, “I can’t find it.” She waved an arm around the room. “If it exists, it should be in here, but I’ve looked everywhere. There are gaps in everything and I guess it’s because of the courthouse burning down.”
    Jake leaned on a file cabinet and pondered things. “So, they were fighting over some land in 1928.”
    “Yes, and it’s safe to say it’s the eighty acres Seth owned when he died. We know from Lucien’s research that Sylvester owned no other land at that time. Cleon Hubbard took title to the property in 1930 and it’s been in the Hubbard family ever since.”
    “And the fact that Sylvester still owned the land in 1930 is pretty clear evidence he won this lawsuit in 1928. Otherwise, Cleon Hubbard would have owned it.”
    “That’s what I was going to ask you. You’re the lawyer. I’m just the lowly secretary.”
    “You’re becoming a lawyer, Portia. I’m not sure you even need law school. Are you assuming Sylvester was your great-grandfather?”
    “Well, my mother is pretty sure these days that he was her grandfather, that his only child was Lois, and that Lois was her mother. That would make the old guy my great-grandfather, not that we’re that close or anything.”
    “Have you told Lucien what his ancestors were up to?”
    “No. Should I? I mean, why bother? It’s not his fault. He wasn’t alive.”
    “I would do it just to torment him.