Sycamore Row - John Grisham

17
The usual white-collar crowd gathered at the Tea Shoppe for breakfast and coffee, never
tea, not at such an early hour. At one round table there was a lawyer, a banker, a
merchant, and an insurance agent, and at another there was a select group of older,
retired gentlemen. Retired, but not dull, slow, or quiet. It was called the Geezer Table.
The conversation was picking up steam as it rolled through the feeble efforts of the Ole
Miss football team—last Saturday’s loss to Tulane at homecoming was unforgivable—
and the even feebler efforts down at Mississippi State. It was gaining momentum as the
geezers finished trashing Dukakis, who’d just been thrashed by Bush, when the banker
said, loudly, “Say, I heard that woman has rented the old Sappington place and is
moving to town, with her horde, of course. They say she’s got kinfolks moving in by the
carload and needs a bigger place.”
“The Sappington place?”
“You know, up north of town, off Martin Road, just down from the auction yard. Old
farmhouse you can barely see from the road. They’ve been trying to sell it ever since
Yank Sappington died, what, ten years ago?”
“At least. Seems like it’s been rented a few times.”
“But they’ve never rented to blacks before, have they?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“I thought it was in pretty good shape.”
“It is. They painted it last year.”
This was considered for a moment and was the cause of great consternation. Even
though the Sappington place was on the edge of town, it was in an area still considered
white.
“Why would they rent to blacks?” asked one of the geezers.
“Money. None of the Sappingtons live here anymore, so why should they care? If they
can’t sell it, might as well rent it. The money’s green regardless of who sends it over.” As
soon as the banker said this, he waited for it to be challenged. His bank was notorious
for avoiding black customers.
A realtor walked in, took his seat at the white-collar table, and was immediately hit
with “We were just talking about that woman renting the Sappington place. Any truth
to it?”
“Damned right,” he replied smugly. He took pride in hearing the hot gossip first, or at
least appearing to. “They moved in yesterday, from what I hear. Seven hundred dollars
a month.”