Sycamore Row - John Grisham

It’s just not the natural course of things.”
Jake nodded along, unable to add anything thoughtful or intelligent or helpful. What
do you say to a father whose two sons were now lying in caskets waiting for their
funeral? “I can’t begin to comprehend,” Jake said. His initial reaction was “What does
he want?”—and now, minutes later, Jake was still wondering.
“The service is tomorrow,” Jake said after a long heavy pause.
“That’s right. Another nightmare.” Jeff’s eyes were red and weary and proof he had
not slept in days. He could not maintain a direct stare, but chose instead to look down
at his knees. He gently tapped all ten fingers together as if in deep meditation. He
finally said, “We received a very nice note from Lettie Lang. It was hand delivered by
Sheriff Walls, who, I must say, has been wonderful. He said the two of you are friends.”
Jake nodded, listened, offered nothing. Jeff continued, “The note was heartfelt and
conveyed the family’s sense of grief and guilt. It meant a lot to Evelyn and me. We
could tell that Lettie is a fine Christian lady who’s horrified at what her husband did.
Could you please thank her for us?”
“Of course.”
He again stared at his knees, tapped his fingertips, breathed slowly as if even that
was painful, then he said, “I want you to tell them something else, Jake, if you don’t
mind, something I’d like for you to pass along to Lettie and her family, even to her
husband.”
Sure. Anything. What would Jake not do for such a grief-stricken father?
“Are you a Christian, Jake?”
“I am. Sometimes more of one than others, but I’m trying.”
“I thought so. In the sixth chapter of the Gospel of Luke, Jesus teaches the importance
of forgiveness. He knows we’re human and our natural tendency is to seek revenge, to
strike back, to condemn those who hurt us, but this is wrong. We’re supposed to forgive,
always. So I’d like for you to tell Lettie and her family, and especially her husband, that
Evelyn and I forgive Simeon for what he did. We’ve prayed about this. We’ve spent time
with our minister. And we cannot allow ourselves to live the rest of our days filled with
hatred and ill will. We forgive him, Jake. Can you tell them?”
Jake was too stunned to respond. He was aware that his jaw had dropped slightly,
that his mouth was open, and that he was looking at Jeff Roston in disbelief, but for a
few seconds he couldn’t adjust. How could you possibly, humanly forgive a drunk who
slaughtered your two sons less than seventy-two hours earlier? He thought of Hanna,
and the almost incomprehensible visual of her in a coffin. He would scream for bloody
revenge.
Finally, he managed to nod. Yes, I will tell them.
Roston said, “When we bury Kyle and Bo tomorrow, when we say good-bye, we will
do so with complete love and forgiveness. There’s no room for hatred, Jake.”
Jake swallowed hard and said, “That black girl out there is Lettie’s daughter. Simeon’s
daughter. She works for me. Why don’t you tell her?”
Without a word, Jeff Roston rose and walked to the door. He opened it, and with Jake
following he stepped into the reception area and looked at Portia. “So you’re Simeon