Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Ripley beat us fifty to nothing my junior year.”
“How bad was it at halftime?”
“Thirty-six to nothing.”
“And did you quit?”
“No, I was the quarterback.”
“Okay, you knew at halftime that you were not going to win, but you led the team
back onto the field for the second half, and you kept playing. You didn’t quit then and
you can’t quit now. A win looks pretty doubtful at this point, but you gotta drag your
ass back onto the field. Right now you look thoroughly defeated, and the jury is
watching every move you make. Eat your vegetables like a good boy, and let’s go.”
The jurors scattered for lunch and reconvened in the jury room at 1:15. In little
pockets of whispered conversations, they talked about the case. They were surprised and
confused. Surprised that the trial had turned so abruptly against Lettie Lang. Before
Fritz Pickering showed up, the evidence was mounting and it was becoming clear that
Seth Hubbard was a man who did whatever he wanted, and knew exactly what he was
doing. That changed suddenly, and Lettie was now viewed with great suspicion. Even
the two black jurors, Michele Still and Barb Gaston, appeared to be jumping ship. The
confusion was about what was next. Who would Jake put on the stand to undo the
damage? Could it be undone? And if they, the jurors, rejected the handwritten will, what
would happen to all that money? There were many unanswered questions.
There was so much chatter about the case that the foreman, Nevin Dark, felt
compelled to remind them that His Honor frowned on what they were doing. “Let’s talk
about something else,” he said politely, not wanting to offend. He was not, after all,
their boss.
At 1:30, the bailiff entered the room, counted heads, and said, “Let’s go.” They
followed him into the courtroom. When they were seated, all twelve looked at Lettie
Lang, who was not looking up from her note-taking. Nor did her lawyer glance over at
the jury box for one of his cute little smiles. Instead, he sat low in his chair, chewing on
a pencil, trying to appear relaxed.
Judge Atlee said, “Mr. Lanier, you may call your next witness.”
“Yes sir. The contestants call Mr. Herschel Hubbard.” He took the stand, smiled
goofily at the jury, swore to tell the truth, then began answering a lot of mundane
questions. Wade Lanier had groomed him well. Back and forth they went, covering all
aspects of Herschel’s uneventful life. As always, the spin was in and Herschel recalled
with great fondness his childhood, his parents, his sister, and the grand times they’d all
had together. Yes, the divorce was quite painful, but the family struggled through it and
persevered. He and his old man were very close: talked all the time, saw each other
whenever they could, but, hey, both were living busy lives. Both were big fans of the
Atlanta Braves. They followed the team religiously and talked about the games all the
time.