Sycamore Row - John Grisham

county who owned their own land, and that they had somehow taken it from the Hubbards.
Seth and I knew we were supposed to dislike the Rinds kids, but we usually had no one else to
play with. We’d sneak off and go fishing and swimming with them. Toby Rinds was my age
and he was my buddy. Cleon caught Seth and me swimming once with the Rindses and beat
us until we couldn’t walk. He was a violent man, Cleon. Vengeful, mean, filled with hatred
and with a quick temper. We were terrified of him.”
Because it was his third viewing that morning, Jake didn’t focus as hard. Instead, he
watched the jurors. They were frozen, mesmerized, absorbing every word, as if in
disbelief. Even Frank Doley, Jake’s worst juror, was leaning forward with an index
finger tapping his lips, thoroughly captivated.
“What happened to Sylvester?” Lucien asked.
“Oh yes. That’s what you want to hear. The feud got worse when some trees got cut near
the property line. Cleon thought they were his trees. Sylvester was sure they were his. Because
the boundary line had been disputed for so long, everybody knew exactly where it was. Cleon
was ready to blow a gasket. I remember him saying he’d put up with their crap for far too long,
that it was time to do something. One night some men came over and drank whiskey behind
the barn. Seth and I sneaked out and tried to listen. They were planning something against the
Rinds bunch. We couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but it was obvious a plot was being hatched.
Then one Saturday afternoon, we went to town. It was hot, August I think, 1930, and
everybody went to town on Saturday afternoon, blacks and whites. Everybody had to shop and
stock up for the week. Palmyra in those days was nothing but a farming village, but on
Saturdays it was packed, the stores and sidewalks were crowded. Seth and I didn’t see
anything, but later that night we heard some kids talking about a black man who had said
something smart to a white woman, and this had everybody upset. Then we heard that the
black man was Sylvester Rinds. We rode home in the back of the truck with my parents in the
front, and we knew something was about to happen. You could just tell. When we got home,
Cleon ordered us to go to our rooms and not to come out until he said so. Then we heard him
arguing with our mother, a bad argument. I think he hit her. We heard him drive away in his
truck. We pretended to be asleep, but we were outside in a flash. We saw the taillights of his
truck headed west, toward Sycamore Row.”
“Where was Sycamore Row?”
“It’s not there anymore, but in 1930 it was a small settlement on the Rinds land, near a
creek. Just a few old houses scattered around, leftover slave stuff. That’s where Sylvester
lived. Anyway, Seth and I put a bridle on Daisy, our pony, and took off bareback. Seth had the
reins, I was holding on for dear life, but we rode bareback all the time and we knew what we
were doing. When we got close to Sycamore Row, we saw the lights from some trucks. We got
off and led Daisy through the woods, then we tied her to a tree and left her. We went on,
closer and closer, until we heard voices. We were on the side of a hill, and looking down we
could see three or four white men beating a black man with sticks. His shirt was off and his
pants were torn. It was Sylvester Rinds. His wife, Esther, was in front of their house, fifty yards