Sycamore Row - John Grisham

27
Charley Pardue’s arrival benefited from fortunate timing. Simeon was gone again. Had
he been around the house on that late Saturday morning, he and Charley would have
locked horns immediately, and the fight would have been nasty.
As it was, though, Charley knocked on the door of the old Sappington place and found
a houseful of women and children. The kids were eating cereal out of boxes and
watching television, while the women loitered around a dirty kitchen drinking coffee
and talking in bathrobes and pajamas. Phedra answered the door and managed to get
him situated in the living room, then ran to the kitchen and gushed, “Momma, there’s a
man here to see you, and he’s soooo fine!”
“Who is he?”
“Charley Pardue and he says he thinks he’s a cousin.”
“Never heard of no Charley Pardue,” Lettie said, suddenly on the defensive.
“Well, he’s here and he’s really cute.”
“Is he worth talkin’ to?”
“Oh yes.”
The women scrambled upstairs and changed quickly. Phedra sneaked out the back
door and eased around to the front. Yellow Cadillac, late model, spotless, with Illinois
plates. Charley himself was just as presentable. Dark suit, white shirt, silk tie, a
diamond tie clasp, and at least two small, tasteful diamonds on his fingers. No wedding
band. A gold chain on his right wrist and a serious watch on his left. He exuded big-city
slickness, and Phedra knew he was from Chicago before he got through the front door.
She insisted on sitting with her mother when Lettie came back down to meet him. Portia
and Clarice would join them later. Cypress stayed in the kitchen.
Charley began by dropping a few names, none of which meant much. He said he was
from Chicago, where he worked as an entrepreneur, whatever that meant. He had a
wide, easy grin, a glib manner, and his eyes twinkled when he laughed. The women
warmed up considerably. In the past four months, many people had come to see Lettie.
Many of them, like Charley, claimed blood kinship. Given the bareness of her family
tree, it was easy to be cynical and to dismiss a lot of potential relatives. The truth was
that Lettie had been unofficially adopted by Clyde and Cypress Tayber, after she had
been abandoned more than once. She had no idea who her grandparents were. Portia
had spent hours sifting through the sparse history of their ancestry, with little to show
for her efforts. Charley rattled them when he said, “My maternal grandmother was a
Rinds, and I think you are too, Lettie.”