Nellie put her finger on the sheet of paper for emphasis. “Apparently, this motherfucka Wilton is not convinced. He’s claiming that he bought a share from Abraham Stone—whoever the hell that is.”

  In complete disbelief, we three sisters exchanged glances, our voices rising, each speaking over the other now, not in anger, but in urgency—to get our points across, as if the volume directly correlated with the others’ understanding of the words.

  Jordan said, “Daddy ain’t had but two brothers and one died when he was one year old. Direct descendants? Make that make sense.”

  “Shit, Jordan! It doesn’t have to. Wilton is just a name.” Nellie nudged my shoulder.

  I interjected, my voice overpowering theirs, “Nellie’s right. Somebody who claims to be a descendant sold his interest to this Wilton.”

  “But what the fuck, Mary? You pay the taxes! You’ve paid them every year since Mama died.” Jordan swiped the paper off the table. She looked like she was about to cry.

  “It’s not enough that I pay the taxes. Not if he’s an heir.”

  “He’s lying, though.” Nellie grabbed the sheet of paper off the floor and slid it across the table at me, like I needed to see it again. “He’s obviously a crook. Look at the dollar amount in this letter. No way his claim could possibly be worth that kind of money. One hundred and ninety thousand, for his one-fourth share? That would make the farm worth over three-quarters of a million dollars.” She broke into a rusty laugh. “Damn, girls! We’re millionaires!”

  I snickered, couldn’t help myself. “I feel better already. Now that I know I’m so rich.”

  Nellie slapped the tabletop. “I’m gonna go buy me a Lexus!”

  We laughed together. It felt like Nellie and I were schoolgirls again, trying to put on a brave face and shrug off something that was bringing us down.

  Jordan stared at both of us like we were crazy. Well, she was the baby. Our little Saint Jordan. The relationship dynamic was different with her.

  Our laughing got the kids’ attention. They came running into the kitchen. “What’s funny?” Stella asked. She was the youngest. Jordan’s first daughter was named Rose, for our mama.

  Jordan turned into strict Mama. “Out into the backyard, you two. I told you we were talking about grown-up business in here.”

  “But y’all was laughing, Mama.”

  “You gonna make me tell you again?”

  That did it. We waited until they slipped out the patio door into the back. Watched while they ran across the yard and climbed onto the swing set. Jordan lingered by the window, then turned to me. “What do we do, Mary?”

  I’d already started to map it out. “We’ll be prepared to go to court. We get all of the documentation we can put together. I’ll get the deed from the safe-deposit box at the bank. Jordan, you’ve still got the family Bible?”

  She sputtered, indignant. “Of course I’ve still got it!”

  “I’ll do a title search. Nellie, did you ever find anything when you were going onto that ancestry website?”

  She shook her head. “Girl, there wasn’t much I could find. It’s hard to document our family history, even after our people were free. We just didn’t have many official papers. No birth certificates or death certificates. No government documents.”

  “I think I’ve got Mama’s and Daddy’s death certificates. There are some old obituaries somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I think I’ve got those,” Nellie said.

  “We’ll put it all together. You know, another name for heirs’ property is ‘tangled property.’ We need to straighten it out.”

  We fell silent for a long minute. Jordan reached across the table, clutched both our hands. I gave hers a squeeze.

  My baby sister’s voice wavered when she asked, “We won’t let them take the farm, will we?”

  “No!” I answered. I didn’t repeat my vow to Arch Pearce: that we’d dig up Luke Stone, if need be. Sounded gruesome.

  Nellie wasn’t put off. “I told you, Mary. They’re coming after you.” She shook off Jordan’s hand, walked away from the table. Her voice sounded bitter when she spoke.

  “That goddamn court case.”

  I didn’t deny it.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  PART

  TWO

  CHAPTER

  30

  Nova Jones

  BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  It was around eleven o’clock on a hot Monday morning in late August, and Nova Jones was wishing she was somewhere else.

  Whenever Nova had a rare opportunity for alone time, she would walk to the nearby pond.

  Nova once read that trees and plants benefit from being spoken or sung to, so one day she tried it with the ones surrounding the still water. It was a relief for her to lay her soul bare to these beautiful beings. She found peace in their presence. She felt them listening to her confidences with patience and love, which was something she hadn’t experienced with people since Granny died.

  Nova missed her granny dearly. She missed her wrinkled hands. Her favorite days were when she wore her blue cotton dress with the yellow daisies. Her granny had embroidered the flowers for her when she was alive. The dress was tight on her now, but she didn’t care.

  Her love of nature and the library was born from her granny, who had read to her at night and guided Nova’s hands in the dirt to search for roly-poly bugs and pick cherry tomatoes in the summer.

  Nova felt closest to her granny when she was at the library or sitting in the grass reading the books she’d checked out about gardening, herbs, and other natural phenomena. Nova’s favorite books were about Indigenous practices in plants and healing. She learned to propagate and identify different varieties of hibiscus. She read about the Creek people who once roamed the lands she walked on. They cared for the earth and nurtured it with their mind, body, and soul. How beautiful to love and be loved in this way, she thought.

  Nova felt alone all the time—at school, with her family, and at church. When she walked into a room, she could feel everyone’s eyes on her, like a caged animal at the zoo. She heard their whispers, saw them furrow their brows and shake their heads in disapproval. This small pond was the only place where Nova felt truly seen, away from the people who called her names like heifer and slut, away from the parental responsibilities that came with being the oldest child.

  She’d rather be with the wind and the trees than where she was now. Waiting on a hard wooden bench in the courthouse, right in the middle of town, where everyone could see her.

  Nova could tell that people walking by her in the courthouse knew who she was. They gave her nosy looks and nudged each other as they passed by. She slid down in her seat, ducked her head, wouldn’t look at them.

  They all thought she was a heifer—that’s what her mama would say. A whorish heifer. Nova wanted to hide, but she didn’t have a chance of going unnoticed. Not a prayer. Not here.

  On top of that, her baby brother was screaming his head off.

  Her sisters, Arbonne and Reba, and her other brother, Tre, were all over at the elementary school right behind the courthouse. But Mama couldn’t find anyone to watch Caden. She’d called a few women from church, but not one stepped up. That didn’t seem very Christian to Nova.

  And now Caden was pitching a fit. Big tears rolled down his chubby cheeks, snot running from his nose.

  “You get him to hush up,” Mama said. “Or I’m going to give him something to cry about.”

  Nova bounced her brother on her knees. She wiped his nose and whispered, “You better be good, you hear?”

  Caden stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked on it, looking around him with those big wet eyes. They sat that way for a while. Nova could tell that her mama was nervous, jiggling her foot like she always did when she was edgy.

  The door at the end of the hallway opened up and a man in a suit walked out. Nova recognized him right away. It was Mr. Reeves, the man who told her she’d need to be part of the trial—the one about the abortion. Nova had been scared when he said it. And Mama had flipped out. “Are they gonna put my child in jail?”

  Mr. Reeves said no, nobody was trying to put Nova in prison. She wasn’t in any trouble, he said. So long as she cooperated.

  He said the only person who was going to prison was Dr. Gaines. That scared Nova, too. Because it didn’t seem right.

  How could they put a doctor in jail for helping somebody?

  As Nova twitched on the hard bench, Mr. Reeves walked right up to where they were sitting. “Morning, Nova.” Then he looked at her mama. “Ms. Jones, thanks so much for bringing Nova in today.”

  Mama gave him a bright smile, the smile she gave to people who were in charge—school principals, cops, welfare investigators. Especially if they were men.

  “Glad to help out. Me and Nova, we available anytime, anything you need us to do.”

  Nova jiggled Caden on her knee as a woman walked up and stood beside Mr. Reeves. White woman. Pretty. Wearing a nice blue outfit. Nova had never seen her before.

  “Morning, y’all,” she said.

  Mr. Reeves nudged her forward. “Eleanor, I’d like you to meet Nova Jones and her mother, Starla. Ladies, this is Miss Eleanor Lindquist. Eleanor is an assistant attorney general with the office in Montgomery.”

  Nova stared at the two fancy-pants lawyers while she tugged on her worn T-shirt, a hand-me-down from her mama. Mr. Reeves was nice-looking in an ordinary way, but Miss Lindquist looked like she’d walked right out of a TV show. She sure as hell didn’t look like anyone Nova knew in Union Springs.

  As Nova was staring up at her, Miss Lindquist bent down. “I’m looking forward to getting acquainted, Nova. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Nova wondered what she meant. For sure, everybody was talking about her. But they weren’t saying anything good.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Nova whispered. “Nice to meet you.”

  The baby pulled his thumb from his mouth with a pop and started talking. Just nonsense sounds, mostly.

  While he babbled, the pretty lawyer looked at him real close, like she was examining a flower. “What a pretty baby!” she exclaimed with a smile on her face. She smiled at Caden. She smiled at Nova.

  But Nova saw something else on Miss Lindquist’s face. She knew what the lawyer really thought. She thought Nova was dirty. Nova kept telling herself that wasn’t true and could no longer tell what was real anymore.

  Her mama tried to settle Caden down, but his patience was all used up. He started up crying again.

  Nova watched her mama bend him over her shoulder and swat his bottom. “You stop that!”

  That made Caden cry even louder. Nova could’ve told her that would happen, but nobody was asking for her opinion.

  Miss Lindquist turned to Mr. Reeves. “Robert, tell your clerk she needs to take this mama and her baby to a restaurant. Somewhere they can get something for the baby to eat.”

  Nova’s mama didn’t argue. “He eats McDonald’s. Love those nuggets and fries.”

  “Perfect. What is it now, eleven thirty? You go have a nice lunch and come back in about an hour. We’ll be all done by then.”

  Mr. Reeves made a quick call on his cell phone. A few seconds later, Nova saw a young woman coming down the hallway. She walked right up to her mama and Caden. Ignored the fact that the baby was wailing like crazy. Just patted him on the head like he was a puppy. “Hi! I’m LuAnne. You two ready to go?”

  Nova watched as her mother walked out with the baby and the clerk.

  When she looked up, Miss Lindquist winked at her. “Nova, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re thinking. You’re wishing that you were going to McDonald’s, too.”

  Nova ducked her head and looked down at the floor, embarrassed. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she nodded because it seemed like something she should do. Nova hadn’t eaten all morning. She knew she should be hungry. But she hadn’t been able to keep anything down since what happened to her.

  The silence in the room was heavy as they all stood there and waited for Nova to give her order.

  “Chicken nuggets and fries?” Nova Jones said.

  Nova kept waiting for someone to notice that she wasn’t really there. She felt off balance, like she’d stepped out of her body and forgot where she put it.

  She still remembered the pain in her stomach, and the chunks of blood that came after. She remembered it so often, it was like the pain never went away. The pain stole all the breath from Nova’s body. She was still waiting to get it back, so she could breathe again.

  “Come with me,” Miss Lindquist said. Nova stood up and followed her through the door into a big office. Mr. Reeves came in right behind them.

  “Don’t you worry, Nova,” said Miss Lindquist. “I’m going to take care of everything you need.” And then came out with a little laugh. “What kind of lawyer do you think I am, starving my star witness? Do you think I’d do that?”

  Did she expect an answer to the question? She had no idea what a star witness was. She’d never felt like the star of anything.

  “Nova, you’re a VIP in this courthouse—a very important person—are you aware of that?”

  Nova didn’t feel important. She often felt like a rabbit being chased by a coyote. Her heart was pounding through her chest so hard, she thought surely people could see it thump-thumping through her T-shirt.

  Nova shook her head. “No, ma’am. Never thought I was important.”

  “Well, you are. You’re making history, Nova. And so we’re going to take very good care of you. Okay? Starting with McDonald’s. Anything you want.” She turned to Mr. Reeves.

  “Hey, Robert? Can you do a McDonald’s run? Just hit the drive-through.”

  Nova sucked in a breath. Mr. Reeves looked busy. And he seemed like he was the boss around here. Nova expected him to come back at Miss Lindquist with a smackdown. Instead, he just pulled out his car keys. He looked at Nova.

  “Nuggets and fries.”

  Nova nodded.

  “And maybe a Diet Coke?” said Miss Lindquist.

  As Mr. Reeves walked out, Miss Lindquist called down the hallway to him. “Bring it to the war room, we’ll be in there.”

  War room? Nova felt a chill run through her. “War?”

  Miss Lindquist smiled. “It’s just an expression. But I’m glad you asked. Anything you want to know, anything you get confused about, any question you have, you come straight to me.”

  Did she mean it? Because Nova did have a question, one that kept her awake at night.

  “Can I ask a question about Dr. Gaines?”

  “Sure you can.”

  “Is she gonna be okay?”

  Miss Lindquist got a funny look on her face. “What do you mean, Nova?”

  Nova was frozen in place, like she was short-circuiting. Staring into space. It seemed impossible to answer. What did Nova mean? She was searching for words but instead heard herself repeat.

  “Is she gonna be okay?”

  She saw Miss Lindquist’s eyes widen. “What a strange thing to ask.” Miss Lindquist searched the room, looking for an answer to Nova’s question. After a moment passed, she smiled and replied, “Bria Gaines will get a fair trial.”

  Nova didn’t trust Miss Lindquist, but she really, really wanted to believe her.

  She felt the strongest urge to run out of that room and straight to her pond. She needed to ask the trees and plants for guidance. If she closed her eyes real tight and listened to the wind in the leaves, she could hear their answer.

  CHAPTER

  31

  Mary Stone

  BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  On the third Monday in September, I was struggling to get matters under control.

  Monday is generally the toughest day of my workweek. Whether that holds true for every member of the bench, I can’t say. Maybe the judges who sit on appellate courts, or federal courts, or judges in courts of limited jurisdiction, like bankruptcy and probate, have a different experience. Those folks may cruise through Monday with ease. Privately, I suspect that’s possible, and I can explain the reason why. They don’t work as hard as the circuit judges who preside over state court. That’s just a fact.

  Even though I didn’t have a criminal or civil jury week, just a normal Monday docket, I was scrambling. Apparently, it had been a wild weekend in Bullock County. Too many people drinking to excess. And invariably, the intoxication resulted in ugly behavior. Which led to women showing up at the courthouse on Monday to seek protection orders under the Alabama Protection from Abuse Act.

  On that particular Monday, I heard from a young woman who’d just filed for an ex parte protection order against her fiancé in the case of King v. Stuart. Ms. King needed that order entered, without delay. I could see that before she uttered a word. Her eye was swollen shut, and her lip was split, still oozing. She kept dabbing at it with her finger.

  I had a box of tissues on the bench. When I held the box out to her, she approached the bench and pulled one out.

  “Take some more,” I said. When she reached again, I handed it off. “Take the box.”

  I held the form she’d filled out in the circuit clerk’s office. Walked her through it.

  “Ms. King, you state on this form that you live with the defendant, LeRoy Stuart. That y’all have been living together for over a year.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She corrected herself. “I mean, yes, Judge.”

  “And you indicated that when the defendant inflicted harm upon you, the weapon used was his fists and feet.”

  She hung her head—as if the beating was cause for her to feel shame and chagrin. “That’s right. He punched me. Kicked me, when I was down on the floor. Got me in the stomach and the ribs. When I rolled over, pulled up my knees to protect my gut? He kicked my back, kicked me in the butt.”

  Her skin tone was as dark as mine. Bruising is harder to see, and it shows up red or purple, instead of blue. But even from the distance of the bench, I could see it. On her face, arms, neck. He’d whaled on that woman without mercy.