Isaac’S Call

By Cynthia Kuespert

The story opens on a summer day in Annapolis when 39 year-old ISAAC DOUGLAS, a talented African American attorney and young father, is suddenly faced with two life-changing decisions. To replace his running mate who was mysteriously murdered, The Governor of Maryland asked Isaac to run for Lieutenant Governor. On the same day Isaac received a rambling letter from CAPN JIM, the scion of the wealthy Chestertown, Maryland WORTHINGTON family. Capn Jim is now serving a 25-year sentence for shooting a black boy who was playing on his dock near the family mansion on the Chester River. Capn Jim begs Isaac to help him get out of prison. Youre a big deal lawyer now, know the Governor, know the ropes.

For five generations, Isaacs family has served the wealthy Worthingtons. Most recently, Capn Jims wife, the kindly MARION WORTHINGTON, funded Isaacs education. Until recently African-Americans have had little or no power. They have survived rapes, lynchings and constant humiliations of racism. Isaacs ancestors were bought, sold, and whipped. His great-grandfather was lynched. Blacks were not allowed to vote or testify against whites, but now Isaac has the promise of new power and a dilemma. Reluctantly, Isaac visits Capn Jim in prison. He learns that perhaps Capn Jim just fired a warning shot from his veranda. Maybe the boy was pushed off the dock and drowned.

By chance, Isaac meets DILLY PRICE, a rough black mechanic, who reveals he was foreman of the jury and convinced his fellow jurors to convict Capn Jim. About time we turned the tablesour chance to get one athem. Shocked, Isaac heads for the Chestertown courthouse, where he reads the complete transcript of Capn Jims trial. Tormented by feelings of obligation Isaac wonders if he can overcome his own long buried rage and resentment? What should he do? Its Isaacs call.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 24, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543435757

Cynthia Kuespert

Racism, prison corruption, rape and lynching may seem an unlikely interest for white author, Cynthia Kuespert. But Kuespert brings to the subject her intense study of urban life, her experience working in the local African American community, and her big heart. Since the time of slavery when blacks had no power, no vote, no freedom to advance, today we sense that the tables of power are turning. As small glimpses of equality emerge, Kuespert shows us in this surprisingly tender story how two families in Chestertown, Maryland struggle to adjust. Kuespert grew up in the Midwest and became sensitized to racial inequality after moving east. She earned her Masters in Urban Affairs and Public Policy from the University of Delaware, served as executive director of an urban art center and as a fundraising consultant for numerous social service organizations. She lives in a Quaker community in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania.

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Copyright © 2017 by Cynthia Kuespert.

Cover art by Ann Wyllie Jarrett.

Author photo by Charles A. Huffman.

Images by Charles Ford.

Library of Congress Control Number:        2017910711

ISBN:                      Hardcover                978-1-5434-3577-1

                               Softcover                 978-1-5434-3576-4

                               eBook                     978-1-5434-3575-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/22/2017

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Contents

One            The Offer

Two            A Reverie—1989

Three          Storms

Four            The Thaw

Five             Reality

Six               Two-Fourths

Seven           Mama

Eight            Digging for Pearls

Nine             Then Again

Ten               Sankofa

Eleven          Stories

Twelve          Repairs

Thirteen        Blind Justice

Fourteen       Teamwork

Fifteen          Running

Sixteen         Truth to Power

Seventeen     The Encounter

Eighteen       Matters

Acknowledgments

A beautiful blue heron glides freely across the bay, graceful, powerful, and free.

But Isaac thought, it has taken more than five generations for my people’s slow flight to freedom to take wing in this environment.

Image%206.jpg

Map of Chestertown, Maryland

To my husband, Don, this is for you

for your ever-steady belief in me.

And with thanks to my muse,

Karen Somerville, whose love for

all people transcends generations

of injustice.

!mage%201.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

The Offer

I SAAC DOUGLAS SLIPPED his white Oxford cloth shirt onto his slim frame, fumbled with the top button, and tried without luck to force the tiny button through the starched buttonhole.

Shauna, he called to his wife, did the cleaners shrink this shirt?

Don’t think so, she hollered back. Could it be you’ve had too many fried chicken dinners?

Isaac winced, secretly wishing she would be a little more supportive of his interest in Maryland politics. Before selecting his tie, he checked his calendar: 8 a.m., meeting with new client; 10 a.m., conference call; 12 noon, lunch with partner.

New entry, written in red by his secretary, said, 2:30 meeting with Governor Adams.

Hurry down, Shauna said. Trey’s got a surprise for you.

Coming.

Aa, I see you’re wearing your new tie. Big day?

Big enough, Isaac said.

Three-year-old Trey impatiently tugged at his daddy’s jacket. Look, Daddy, look! It sprouted. It’s got a leaf.

Isaac gently held the little paper Dixie cup, filled with black soil, and inspected one tender stem bearing a tiny tendril.

I planted it myself. Trey glowed, bouncing his dark curls.

Good job, Trey. Now don’t forget to water it.

Shauna closed the dishwasher door and picked up her car keys and Trey’s costume. Isaac, I hope you can get away this afternoon to see Trey’s program at school.

I’m going to be the sunflower, Daddy!

C’mon, Trey. We’ve gotta go! she said, blowing a kiss somewhere in Isaac’s direction.

It’s spring, so I guess they must be having a unit on growing things, Isaac thought.

Isaac’s day went on schedule until 2:15 p.m. when an opposing attorney called, demanding access to a deposition by 5:00 p.m. today. His rant continued for several minutes as Isaac explained that the transcript was being prepared now and the courier would deliver it on time.

Isaac looked at his watch. It was 2:25. His throat tightened in a brief moment of panic. With only five minutes to spare, Isaac’s thoughts spun around. I must show respect and not be late for this meeting with the governor. He raced across the brick-paved street that separated his law office from the statehouse in Annapolis, remembering his other races on the Chestertown High track team, running the 440 with crowds in the bleachers cheering and hollering from the stands for him to run, run, run! He heard applause but knew there were the whispers, the murmurs, and the nodding behind hand-covered lips. That black boy can really run!

Today he slowed his pace, climbed the steep steps to the rotunda, nodded to the doorman, ignored the ancient elevator, and vaulted up the marble steps, two at a time. He paused outside the governor’s office, caught his breath, straightened his tie, and greeted the receptionist.

I have a two thirty appointment with Governor Adams.

Yes, he’s expecting you. Come with me, she said.

Governor Marshall Adams stood by his oversize mahogany desk with his back to the door, shouting into his speakerphone.

Well, find him, dammit! It’s been three weeks! Frustrated and hot with anger, the governor slammed the phone down and punched the phone’s Off button hard. He was sweating, and his face was still flushed as he turned to greet Isaac.

Pardon me, Isaac, sorry you heard my frustration, but I’m desperate for the police to find Bradley’s killer. We simply must find him.

Adams didn’t need to explain much more. Everyone in Maryland knew about the recent tragedy, the mysterious death of Bradley Reynolds, the announced candidate for lieutenant governor and Adams’ black running mate. He was last seen alive, carrying a picnic basket, while boarding his eighteen-foot American daysailer. Two weeks later, just south of the Severn River, Reynolds’s skull was found, caught in the tongs of a skipjack drudging for oysters, and dumped unceremoniously onto the culling board. The coroner ruled that he had died from a large gunshot wound to his head, possibly self-inflicted. Last week they found his unmanned sailboat floating downstream.

Recovering a bit, Adams turned to Isaac, shook his hand, and said, I didn’t mean to greet you that way. I thank you for coming over. But you might as well know that my hide’s on the line—the hide of the party’s on the line if we can’t get our so-called efficient state police force to catch the killer. Put our best men on the case, but I have no more clues. I’m convinced he didn’t commit suicide. Had no reason, just a happy guy out sailing his sailboat. Someone must’ve had a reason to wipe him out. Did you know him?

Yes. He was a good man. Do you think he invited some of those union guys out for a sail? Isaac asked.

More likely it was one of the racist goons fighting to block his parole reform bill.

Isaac knew the goons. Now forty years since the last reported lynching, many assumed the cowards in white sheets and pointed hats had disappeared. Isaac knew their venom was still potent and suspected they didn’t want a black man in a powerful office.

Could have been the rockfish poachers getting even, Adams said.

Or might have been something personal, Isaac said. He’d been seen out with a white woman.

Both men may have been thinking that it could have been that Maryland was not, as some liked to say, ready for a black man to hold a powerful office. Both men paused and looked at the floor, afraid to speculate any more.

For just a moment, the two men stood side by side, the fifty-ish Adams and the not-yet-forty-year-old Douglas. Both were energetically handsome. Both were just over six feet, slim, fit, and erect; they were remarkably similar except for their age, their race, and the color of their eyes—Governor Adams’s English gray, Isaac Douglas’s nearly black in contrast to his light honey-colored skin.

Motioning to two leather chairs in front of large windows overlooking the bay, Adams said, C’mon over here, more comfortable. Here, sit down, sit down. We need to talk about something more pleasant. Again, thanks for coming on such short notice. Say, I was watching you out on the club’s course last week. Long straight shot. Lookin’ real good, Isaac. Lookin’ on the top of your game. Shootin’ par?

Well, not quite, Governor. It’s only about the third time I’ve played and never on that course.

The club is happy to have you. You’re a natural athlete.

Feeling embarrassed, Isaac knew he must be the only African American in that club. He remembered that his high school prom was held there twenty years ago and that his friends were not allowed to attend.

Isaac didn’t want to think about that, so he glanced around the room, noting the gallery of portraits of four former governors and the painting of George Washington. Was that the painting by Rembrandt Peale? It didn’t seem the right time to ask. Two flags—the red, white, and blue of the nation and the blue and gold of Maryland—stood at attention behind the governor’s desk, bracketing a large seal of the Commonwealth of Maryland on the wall. Any other day, Isaac would have been interested in studying the artifacts enclosed in the display cases, but today he was curious to learn why he had been summoned and could see that, after these formalities, the governor was ready to get on with their meeting. Mustering his self-control, he tried to remain calm.

Isaac watched as Adams leaned forward and pressed the tips of his fingers together like a church steeple. In other meetings, Isaac had noticed this habit, which usually meant that the governor was about to deliver his compelling, irrefutable opinion. Usually, no one escaped from that sanctuary because the subject, whatever it was, was not debatable.

Isaac, I confess I’ve watched you, not just on the golf course but in your testimony before the House of Delegates and before the court. I’ve got a tough election coming up in just five months. Frankly, we’re in a tough spot. Reynolds’s death leaves a big void on the ticket. What’s even worse, it exposes our sloppy state police work and crooked prison system since there is a rumor that they may be involved.

Isaac cleared his throat and paused before interrupting Adam’s monologue. Yes, I understand, he said.

Adams rushed on. We’ve got work to do. Got lots of work to do. I want a strong, new face on my team. Someone who can head the Governor’s Small Business Commission, someone who can help us regulate pollution, someone who can stand up against the lobby protecting high health costs.

Then looking directly at Isaac, he said, Isaac, you’re the man for the job. I want you to be on my team, running with me. I want you to be Maryland’s next lieutenant governor.

It was a statement more than a request. People did not say no to Governor Adams.

Isaac’s hand flew up to cover his mouth. For a second, his eyes closed. Regaining some composure, Isaac repeated with amazement, Lieutenant governor? Lieutenant governor?

That’s what I said! To cushion Isaac’s shock, Adams stood up and walked toward his trophy case. Maybe this will help you.

Adams picked up a small bronze statue of a naval seaman. Dressed in a navy pea jacket and flat plebe’s cap, the figure’s hands were thrust deep into his pockets.

This is what I do when I need to make a big decision, he said as he placed the miniature sculpture lovingly on the table facing Isaac. The legs of the seaman were planted forcefully on the ground, seeming to brace the plebe against a strong wind.

"Have you ever seen the The Lone Sailor, the sculpture outside the Navy Memorial in Washington? Adams asked. He’s a bluejacket who represents all the past, present, and future seamen. He stands alone, duffel bag and gear beside him, ready to report for duty. Braced for turbulent seas. My dad was the model for the seaman, so the sculptor gave him this small bronze replica of the larger sculpture. When I need strength, Isaac, I just consult this likeness of my father. I ask him if I’m doing the right thing." He handed the seaman to Isaac.

Isaac turned it around and studied the faraway look of stubborn determination on the replica’s face. He seemed young yet a seagoing veteran. Isaac wondered, Could my father have looked like this? Before the boating accident, was my father tough or gentle, wise or a coward? Was he white or black? Why have I never asked Mama? Did I think it would make her too sad? How odd I never knew him. Carefully, he gave it back to Adams.

Seeing Isaac’s faraway look, Adams wrapped his linen pocket-handkerchief loosely around the bronze figure, gave it a few polishing strokes, and put back in the case.

Thinking that Adams was very lucky to have such a father, Isaac finally asked, What would your father say?

He always asked, ‘Is your compass pointed due north?’ I never saw my dad steer away from his course.

Tell me more.

He was asking, ‘Are you doing something you believe in?’ Adam’s gray eyes stared directly at Isaac. Doing what’s right, regardless of the risk. You know, Isaac, in this job, many times, I need to stand alone. Being at the top is a lonely course. I’d like to have you stand with me.

Isaac wished he had a father he could ask. But he liked Marshall Adams, knew of his passion for reform, knew him to be honest and sensed that the governor’s favorite phrase, Doing what’s right, regardless of the risk, was more than a campaign slogan. I like that, sir. What thorny issues are you expecting?

Some of my ideas are not popular, so it won’t be an easy ride. We’ve always got the budget issues, pollution regulation, pressure to build casinos, and now the drastic need for prison reform.

Since I’ve never held elective office, why did you pick me? Looks like you want to replace one African American with another black candidate. Sounds risky.

I will not cave in to racists. Would you?

Before Isaac could answer, Adams went on. Like I said, I want a fresh face, someone without baggage.

Isaac was skeptical. A fresh black face? Someone, as the fans in the bleachers used to say, someone who runs like the wind.

I’ll have t’give this a lot of thought. Taking time away from my practice will have a big effect on my three partners, although we have hired two more associates recently. And frankly, I’m not sure what Shauna will think.

"I hope you’ll think fast. I know I’m asking a lot from you. But