The day of the court hearing dawned early for all of us. As agreed, Jackie picked me up at my cottage at six o’clock and we drove straight to Mrs. Bailey White’s. Jackie was nervous. She was dressed to the nines—still in mourning black but with a few extra flourishes like a heavy gold brooch and matching earrings that I’d never seen before. “My mother’s,” she said, tugging gently on her earlobes when she saw me staring. “I want to look like I’m richer than I am,” she added with a laugh. “We need to impress the judge.” I was wearing a light-gray suit with a lavender blouse. At least I had found some shoe polish and improved the appearance of my loafers. Well, if I could never pull off looking glamorous, at least I looked neat and presentable, but I made a silent promise that if I ever had any money to spare I would ask Jackie to take me shopping. Maybe even go to Miami or Palm Beach, though that was really dreaming on my part. We arrived at the old house to find Mrs. Bailey White fluttering around like a bird that is trapped and trying to find its way out. Upstairs in her crib, Dream was hollering in a certain shrill, hysterical way which meant she wasn’t calming down anytime soon. Plain Jane came down the stairs more quickly than I’d ever seen her move. Bunny, Plain Jane said, was not in her room. Nor was she in the bathroom, the parlor, the kitchen . . . It was Jackie who found Bunny sound asle ep in a hammock on a screened-in porch on the north side of the house which no one ever used. Bunny woke up when she sensed that we were staring at her. “What y’all lookin’ at?” she barked. “And what’s all that racket? Oh . . . the baby. Forgot where I was for a moment.” She stretched. “Nice hammock,” she said to Mrs. Bailey White, who collapsed into an ancient wicker chair. “Oh, I see,” Bunny said, dragging herself out of the hammock. “Y’all thought I ran off. Thought I let you down, huh.” I heard a twinge of resentment in her voice. “Well, we didn’t know what to think,” said Mrs. Bailey White. I went upstairs to comfort the baby while Jackie looked after Mrs. Bailey White, who looked a little peaked from all the excitement. Plain Jane, who believed in the adage “If all else fails, there’s always food,” announced that she was going to make pancakes for everyone. And, of course, it worked. There are times when pancakes are not just pancakes, they are problem solvers. Sitting down together to share a meal is part of it. The other, as Mama used to say, is that a full belly solves most of the troubles of the world. Plain Jane dearly wanted to go with us to the courthouse but agreed that she would stay home and take care of the baby. That way, Mrs. Bailey White could go. This was a deliberate strategy on our part: Mrs. Bailey White r epresented old money. People knew who she was—for better or worse—and that her father had been a big somebody way back when. The new courthouse in East Naples was a short ride away, but Jackie wanted us to be the first to arrive. I’d never been inside and was curious. Until Hurricane Donna clobbered Collier County in 1960, the county seat was in the town of Everglades City, not Naples. Going to court (or conducting any county business) meant a long drive to the south. The courthouse in Everglades City was one of the few buildings that survived, and as the only two-story building in town, many folks rode out the storm there. However, it was badly damaged, the town was a shambles (even more so than Naples), and the powers that be relocated the whole kit and caboodle. We now had a newly constructed county government building on the Tamiami Trail that was—hang onto your hat—air conditioned. Silently, I wished Priscilla was with us but that was a foolish thought. Even if she’d been home from college, she could hardly have gone with us to the courthouse. She wouldn’t be allowed to sit with us, on account of her being Negro. Ironic, I thought, that they could build a courthouse with all of the modern amenities but the attitudes about race were still a hundred years out of date.
Besides—and this made me flush with shame to think it—having Priscilla with us would hurt our case, despite her talent for making a good impression. There were judges who would rule against us simply because we were seen with a black person. And so it was just the four of us—Jackie, Mrs. Bailey White, me, and also, of course, Bunny. Our attorney, Mr. Yonce, was to meet us there; he had borrowed a car and was staying at the Naples Beach Club Hotel. As for Robbie-Lee, we had no idea where he was. Maybe he would arrive on the Trailways bus in time to get himself over to the courthouse. If not, he would miss all the fireworks. But, I thought privately, at least he will be here to help pick up the pieces if we lose. When we arrived at the courthouse we discovered the building wasn’t open. Fortunately, it wasn’t hideously hot yet. Jackie k ept the convertible top up for shade or we would have roasted even at that early hour of the day. Mrs. Bailey White broke the silence. “I know this is a modern building and all, but frankly I’m nostalgic for the old days when the courthouse was down in Everglades City,” she announced. “Now that was a grand old building, with the columns and all up front. I have many memories—” “It’s still there,” I interrupted, hoping to derail her from talking about her trial. I’d always wanted to hear all the details, but this was not the time. “They’re going to fix it up and turn it into offices or some kind of museum, I think.” “Well, that’s good, because that place is filled with rich history,” Mrs. Bailey White said. “Including my trial. Or, I might say, especially my trial. I was the most famous defendant they ever had, you know. Oh, those were the days.” Jackie and I glanced at each other. We were sitting up front, with Mrs. Bailey White and Bunny sharing the backseat. “Oh, yeah,” Bunny said to Mrs. Bailey White cheerfully, as if they were exchanging a recipe for fried catfish. “I do remember hearing about that . . . mess. Back when I was a child.” “Oh, indeed, a mess it was! I can still hear the jury foreman saying, ‘Guilty on one count of murder.’ They sent me off to Lowell. Never mind that my lawyer said we had a good chance of proving self-defense. But not in Florida, not in my day. Not for a woman.” “No surprise there,” Bunny said sympathetically. “It was a man’s world. Still is.” “Yes-siree,” Mrs. Bailey White said. “Can I ask you a question?” Bunny asked. “How come they didn’t hang you?” “I suspect it was on account of my coming from an affluent family,” Mrs. Bailey White said. “But I don’t honestly know.” “Why’d they let you out early?” Bunny persisted. “Good behavior,” Mrs. Bailey White said. “This is fascinating, ladies, but I’m a nervous wreck at the moment,” Jackie said irritably. “Let’s focus on today, please. I want to go over the particulars again. Now, remember, this is a hearing. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to go to trial. I mean, if the judge decides in our favor.” “I sure hope I don’t have to talk,” Bunny said. “I don’t think we’re supposed to say anything,” Jackie said. “Last night Ted called me long distance from Tallahassee to wish us luck, and he said, ‘Let your lawyer do the talking,’ and I think he’s right. It fits with what Mr. Yonce advised, too. He said that’s what we’re paying him for.” “Okay,” Bunny said. “We let the lawyer do the talking. How do I look?” “You look as good as Mrs. Astor’s pet mule!” Mrs. Bailey White said, and at first I thought it was an insult. “Why, thank you!” Bunny r eplied playfully. Jackie and I exchanged glances. Neither of us knew what they were talking about. “Would anyone mind if I put the radio on?” Jackie asked suddenly. Without waiting for an answer, she switched it on. The wailing sound of Eric Burdon singing the Animals’ rendition of “The House of the Rising Sun” wafted through the air. “Gee!” Jackie exclaimed. “What a d epressing song! How did that get to be a hit?” “Oh, I know that song!” Bunny said, surprising us. “It’s a folk song. Heard it a long time ago.” “Me, too,” said Mrs. Bailey White. The song finished and the next up was “Everybody Loves Somebody,” a Dean Martin hit that Jackie seemed to find more palatable. “Now that’s more like it,” she said. “At least that man can sing.” “That’s for sure,” Mrs. Bailey White said. “Sounds kind of sexy.”
“What we need around here is another radio station,” I said, trying to be pleasant and conversational. “You are not kidding!” Jackie snapped. “Even a country radio station would be better than having just old WNOG!” “Why, Jackie, you are a Yankee snob,” I said, trying to joke. “What—just because I don’t love country music? I like some of it,” she said defensively. “I like Loretta Lynn and Johnny Cash.” “Maybe you should go back to doing your own show on WNOG and then you can pick your own music again,” Mrs. Bailey White said, trying to be helpful. “I’ve told you, it wasn’t as much fun once everyone found out who I am,” Jackie said. “The fun part was doing it incognito.” She started to say more but the next song distracted her. “Oh, there’s that song my daughters were talking about! ‘You Don’t Own Me.’” “That’s Lesley Gore,” I said. We listened to the words. “Sounds like that gal is standing up for herself,” Bunny said approvingly. “Tellin’ her man to back off.” “Now this is the message young girls need to hear!” Jackie exclaimed. “Your boyfriend or husband doesn’t ‘own’ you! You are free to make your own choices!” A d eputy sheriff pulled into the parking lot, ending our conversation. He opened his car door with a swift, furious kick of his left foot, treating us to a flash of spit-polished cowboy boot reflected in the morning sun. Whether this was intended to impress or intimidate, I had no idea. Or maybe he was a show-off all the time. My nerves were so jittery I was probably reading into it. Without looking at us, he sauntered to the courthouse door and unlocked it. Just when I thought he was avoiding eye contact with us, he turned and grinned menacingly and made a mock bow of welcome. Then he went inside. “What in the world was that all about,” Jackie complained. “I don’t know,” I said, “but let’s get out of this heat and go into the courthouse.” Jackie agreed. “Yes, and it would behoove us to figure out where we’re supposed to sit,” she said. “And locate the ladies’ room,” Mrs. Bailey White added. Jackie smiled despite herself. “Yes,” she said, “and that, too.” “I wish Mr. Yonce was here already,” I said, my voice bordering on whiny. I could no longer disguise my anxiety. Unlike Jackie and the others, I also had to contend with the fact that Darryl was likely to be attending. He might even be testifying. Of course, he might just send his attorneys on his behalf. But I had no way of knowing in advance. • • • THE COURTROOM WAS DIVIDED IN half by an aisle, a bit like a church. Jackie insisted we settle into the first row on the left side. Darryl and his lawyers could sit on the front row on the right. “That’s the way they do it on Perry Mason,” she said. “Well, where are the lawyers going to sit?” I asked, confused. “I think they’ll be standing,” Jackie r eplied. “There’s no defendant, per se, and no jury. So they’ll be arguing before the judge.” About twenty minutes later, Mr. Yonce arrived, nervously mopping his brow with a handkerchief despite the arctic blast coming from the central air conditioner. But when he saw us, he grinned and gave us a thumbs-up. He darted over to us and whispered, “Everything is under control.” Hopefully this meant the fingerprints had been a match. Then he and Jackie discussed the seating arrangements. “I need to sit on the aisle,” he said, “and y’all can sit right here. But save a seat or two.” Save a seat or two? I wondered why. The courtroom was empty exc ept for us. As if reading my mind Mr. Yonce said, “A huge crowd has started gathering outside. They’re making them wait to come in until after the judge arrives.” My heart fluttered. A huge crowd. This was surprising, considering that there had been little in the newspaper—despite Jackie’s best efforts—about the hearing. But I had underestimated the power of the grapevine and the determination of both sides. This wasn’t a fight about one development. It was a fight over dreams. Darryl and his supporters longed for buildings and roads, for new jobs, and fat bank accounts. People
like me wanted just the opposite; our dream was for the land and river to stay the same, the way God made it. As for Bunny, she was protecting something she had fought for her entire life: a place where she could be left alone, which was the only dream she’d ever had. At least Bunny and I were on the same side. To us, it had always been Dreamsville.