River Crossing

By Steve Leake

"River Crossing" is a romantic, adventure novel set in New Orleans and rural Mississippi during the early 1990s. Matt Ferguson faces an internal struggle between honor, integrity, and family versus power and materialistic success when he's placed in the middle of a Mafia war over control of a river crossing. The area is ripe for casino development, and the crossing - owned by a civil rights advocate - is essential for financial success. For some unknown reason, Matt's grandfather, an old-fashioned white Southerner who lived during the days of racial segregation, has joined forces with Dorothy Mae Swallow, a leading figure in the civil rights movement, to oppose the Las Vegas and New Orleans factions.
Matt is ordered in by his firm to quiet the opposition. His wife Julia, daughter of one of the South's most powerful businessmen, accompanies him hoping to resolve their marital difficulties. Rather than seeking information on her husband's relatives and home, she soon becomes romantically entangled with the Las Vegas mob family's enforcer. This fateful decision, fueled by the appearance of Matt's former fiancée Rachel Carr, leads to deadly betrayal. Racial tension, a grandfather's wisdom, and the strength and fire of lost love bring Matt's emotions to a boiling point. Add in a vicious war between the New Orleans and Las Vegas Mafia factions, and his true character will be forged in love and blood.
This novel highlights the grace and beauty of New Orleans and the rural South, describing the people, food, and natural beauty of the area. The emotional struggles over love, materialism, and family honor are displayed in a romantic, action setting sure to stir any reader's heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jul 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667899923

Book preview

Copyright © 2023 Steve Leake

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781667899923

I love you, Dad. Thank you for everything.

PROLOGUE

The fog rolling off the water further aggravated Tony Dimarco’s migraine. He and Angie Regusa had been ordered to this bend in the Mississippi to meet with the local head of the NAACP, and he wasn’t here. Leon wanted the name of the man causing Silver International so much trouble, and experience had taught Tony to avoid Leon’s wrath.

Where in the hell is this jerk? Tony asked.

If he don’t show what do we do? Angie replied. I sure don’t want to tell Leon we didn’t get the information he wants.

He’ll come. God help him if he doesn’t, Tony exclaimed.

At that moment a distinguished Black man in his fifties emerged from the mist. His snow white hair drew most of the attention, despite the dim lighting. The suit and accessories were expensive but conservative. Only the Rolex on his wrist with its gaudy gold nugget band and the huge diamond ring on the right ring finger violated good taste.

"I apologize for being late, gentlemen. The congregation had to pray a little longer this evening with all of the fuss about 7

riverboats." The stranger examined the men as he explained his tardiness. He had dealt with white trouble all his life, and these two personified trouble.

Reverend Joseph Williams was going to sell one of his own sisters to this trash. There was no idealistic community or religious need involved in the transaction. His motives were as old as the mighty river flowing beneath his feet. Money and power had brought him here tonight.

The act would make him wealthy, solidifying his power in the county, but his treason would extract a cost. He had lied and deceived before to obtain what he wanted but nothing like this.

Dorothy Mae had been with him from the start in the 1960s. She was the founder of the local civil rights struggle who brought him out of the pulpit, introducing him to power and prestige. He was about to repay her with deceit. The local chapter needed the money these greedy white men would pay to destroy Dorothy Mae. His wife, mistress, and kids required more money. This transaction would allow him to reign supreme in the Black community the rest of his days if he played his cards right. Still, like most men searching for salvation, his conscience was rebelling against tonight’s duplicity.

What can I do for you gentlemen? Joseph calmly asked.

Do you play the blackjack tables, sir? Tony inquired.

Following the script laid out during earlier conversations, Reverend Williams answered, Not really. Craps is my game. Of course, if you’re giving me a solid tip, I’m always open to suggestions.

Tony acknowledged the correct response by producing a black attaché` case for the reverend’s inspection. Being a man of God, and trusting in his fellow man’s ultimate good, Reverend Williams waved off the inspection, accepting the case unopened.

Joseph swallowed his dignity and announced, Sam Ferguson is helping Dorothy Mae Swallow hold onto her old family homestead. Old man Sam’s a white man who has written proof Jefferson Davis gave Dorothy Mae’s family title to the land when he freed his slaves before moving to Beauvoir in Biloxi. Sam’s an old KKK member who’s turned. No one knows about it. That’s the problem with your casino. She doesn’t want to sell, and the county’s leading white citizen is helping her.

Why won’t she take the money? Our company is offering a hell of a lot of cash for that burned out forty acres, Reverend. Tony searched for information.

Reverend Williams lowered his head. These were white men and outsiders to boot. How could they possibly understand a woman like Dorothy Mae Swallow?

She wants to build an African American museum to honor the memory of all the Black folks who suffered, then triumphed in Wilkinson County. It’s not about money. You won’t be able to buy her. Reverend Williams stepped into the fog clutching his money and unleashing the modern powers of hell on his homeland.

1

Matt Ferguson’s morning was a huge success. Two hours earlier he had lobbied the New Orleans City Council into passing an ordinance banning the homeless from sleeping in the parks and courtyards located in the Poydras Street Business District. The Downtown Development District Police could now remove these eyesores from public view, thus preserving the orderly flow of business in the Crescent City’s financial district. As a rising star in the city’s most prestigious real estate firm, property values were of the utmost importance to Matthew Ferguson. Approaching forty-five, he was next in line for full partnership in the firm of Walker, Krasnov, Duplessis, and Stein. Matt knew his partnership rested in the hands of Alexander Walker, and Alex wanted that homeless ordinance passed. No one cared if a few homeless citizens were told to find a new haven from the rain and cold. Matt departed the Council Chambers having wisely chosen Alex Walker’s property values over the plight of a few homeless souls.

Next, Matt traveled to Commander’s Palace for lunch with Alex, dining on Oysters Bienville to celebrate the Council’s decision.

The senior partner liked Matt, especially his ambitious tenacity. Alex picked at his food while reliving Matt’s early days with the firm.

The twenty-five-year-old Matt Ferguson had been a tall six-footer with dark wavy hair, inquisitive eyes, and a smile guaranteed to attract the ladies. His strong jaw, straight nose, and tanned complexion produced a handsome man equally at home in the locker room or the trendy upscale night spots along St. Charles Avenue, and his soft, slow Mississippi accent belied his determination to succeed at any cost. Alex recognized a younger version of himself and placed Matt under his tutelage for ten years. Given time and training from the acknowledged master, Matt Ferguson had become an expert at climbing the corporate ladder. He lacked only the direct family linkage to the city’s old money to reach the pinnacle of New Orleans society. The veteran Alex Walker, having foreseen this necessity, produced Julia at just the right moment.

Julia Devereaux was a beautiful woman. Tall and athletic, Julia possessed a timeless, statuesque beauty that turned the heads of every male and female when she entered a room. Her soft blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, unusual for a Devereaux, were genetic gifts of her mother. She possessed high cheek bones and a straight nose. Years of exercise and proper training in posture combined with her facial features to create a regal appearance, enhanced when accompanied by the most elegant clothes and jewelry money could buy.

Julia was the personification of old money. The Devereaux’s had been the largest producers of sugar cane in Louisiana before the Civil War. Succeeding generations discovered oil on the land, burned the cane, restored two antebellum homes with gardens to hide the oil pumps, and launched a thriving tourism business to complement the oil and natural gas. Real estate transactions sold the remaining land, with the profits creating a successful financial consulting corporation.

Frank Devereaux, current CEO of Devereaux Enterprises, needed an heir to continue the legacy, but Julia, while calculating and ruthless, cared little for business operations. She didn’t possess the innate business sense needed to control the Devereaux fortunes. Frank required a son-in-law he could mold in the Devereaux manner. Here again Julia was no help. While she liked men, sleeping with too many for Frank’s liking, she gave no indication of being willing to settle for one. So, after waiting patiently, and watching Julia turn thirty, the senior Devereaux turned to his old friend and advisor, Alex Walker, for help. Having planted the seeds for this merger years earlier, Alex was quick to arrange an introduction for Julia and Matt Ferguson.

Mildred Walker gave a party for her husband’s influential clients and friends at English Turn Country Club to bring Matt and Julia together. She began by conducting research on the two prospective targets. Julia was easy since she was part of the establishment, well known to Mrs. Walker’s circle of friends. Matt Ferguson, on the other hand, was an unknown quantity. He wasn’t from New Orleans, wasn’t Catholic, and had no connection to the social elite. Mildred Walker was shocked at her husband’s lack of social grace.

Mildred grilled Matt’s secretary for information, learning Matt derived his roots from a farming community near Woodville, Mississippi. While Woodville was the county seat and trading center for the region, the closest cities were Baton Rouge, seventy miles to the south, or Natchez, sixty miles north. Most of the lawyers, doctors and financial people lived in Woodville, so Alex’s wife knew whatever social skills existed would be present in Woodville. She contacted a friend with the New Orleans Times-Picayune and discovered the Woodville Republican maintained a society page in its weekly publication. Sarah Jensen was entrusted with reporting the social news. Mildred called her to check out the Ferguson credentials.

Ms. Jensen was able to somewhat alleviate Mildred’s fears. It seemed the Ferguson’s were an old family of middle class standing well versed in the social graces. One of Matt’s aunts had even dined at the White House some years back to celebrate art in America. All of Matt’s close relatives graduated from Louisiana State University or Ole Miss and could speak the English language, albeit, with a strong Southern accent. Ms. Jensen concluded by telling Mrs. Walker that Sam Ferguson, Matt’s Grandfather, was well respected in the community. Retired now, he’d never been wealthy, but was a respected advisor to the community leaders and seen as one of the patriarchs of the area.

He lives down the street from our offices, Ms. Jensen disclosed. I wave to him on my way home in the evenings as he sits on his front porch. He’s a real gentleman. The paper’s only mention of Matthew Ferguson was an engagement notice to a Ms.

Rachel Carr but no subsequent news of any nuptials.

Mildred also discovered Wilkinson County had close roots to New Orleans. Woodville was one of the upstream trading areas for the delta with access to the river. This allowed commerce and visitors to travel easily between the two areas, resulting in a sharing of cultures to a degree. The high incidence of yellow fever during the 1800’s caused many of the artists to spend their summers in the St.

Francisville and Woodville areas to escape the mosquitoes, while recording the natural beauty of the landscape on canvas. John James Audubon had painted many of his birds in this locale.

Many of the doctors in the region were Tulane Medical School alumni, and two of the Baptist Ministers were graduates of the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Armed with this reassuring information, Mildred was now ready to market Matt Ferguson to New Orleans Society and Julia Devereaux.

The soiree at English Turn went off without a hitch. Julia and Matt seemed made for each other. Both were in the prime of their lives, handsome, and blessed with total love of self. Matt was impressed with the sophisticated, beautiful woman who moved with ease through the room’s currents of power, intimately familiar with the social rankings of the guests. She was more than a prospective friend and lover; she was unique. She had Frank Devereaux. A good relationship could provide Matt with all his dreams. Julia was the most exciting woman Matt had ever known. Granted she didn’t have that spark in her eyes he once craved in Rachel, his one true love, but Ms. Devereaux could take him places Rachel would never desire.

Yes, from all points of view, the party was a huge success. The expected wedding followed in six months, honoring the mandates of the Catholic Church.

The strong taste of New Orleans blend coffee and chicory brought Alex back to the present. Alex had groomed Matthew Ferguson for this time and place. He was much more than the firm’s next partner. He was the man who would lead Walker, Krasnov, Duplessis, and Stein to national prominence. Thoughts of national expansion brought Alex to the point of this luncheon.

Matt, Alex leaned forward. The partners are ready to bring you in. We see you as our man to take us national. Krasnov and Stein were nervous until you married Julia, but they’re totally behind you now.

Burt Stein is just happy Frank Devereaux is going to die before he does, Matt answered. He told me the other day Frank’s cancer was terminal, giving him less than a year. Burt knows I may take control of the family holdings shortly, and he’s hoping for a merger. His bad heart is making him anxious for expansion. The Devereaux capital makes that possible.

What about you and Frank? Julia’s abortion isn’t going to screw things up with him, is it? Alex asked. He’s pretty hung up on the religious thing, you know.

He doesn’t know, Matt replied as he finished his coffee.

"Julia and I flew to Paris for a week. She got the abortion there.

How the hell did you know?" Matt asked defensively.

My wife is better than the CIA when it comes to news about women, Alex laughed. "She didn’t reveal her source. Never does. She and I agree it’s a dangerous move for you and Julia.

Frank’s a devout Catholic who wants grandchildren," Alex stressed.

The abortion was her idea, not mine. I told her she would infuriate Frank, but she was more concerned with her figure than Frank’s reaction. I don’t think the baby was mine. Julia’s been acting distant lately. I told her not to screw up our marriage, but the truth is I need her, and she knows it. Matt sounded bitter.

"Matt, don’t blow this now. You’ve come a long way.

You’re damn right you need Julia and her old man! Frank can set you back a hundred years if he chooses, and he loves his daughter. Don’t lose Julia. Find a girl on the side, whatever, but don’t let Julia dump you for some parking attendant. Hell, boy, we all know her need for attention. Take her on an expensive vacation. I’ll get Mildred to work on her. Swallow your pride and bed down with her."

He’s a tennis pro, not a parking attendant, Matt answered.

I know I need Julia. And I won’t let her get away. I’ll find some way to keep her contented."

Alex replied, Let her keep the tennis bum, Matt. We can get rid of him any time we want. Alex departed with those words of advice, leaving Matt with his thoughts, and the check.

Matt took a long walk in Audubon Park to gather his thoughts before returning to the office. Julia had used and humiliated him, but he’d done pretty much the same to her. Nothing new there. What was alarming to Matt, however, was this new self-questioning of his current destiny. He had abandoned a set of values, family, and a special woman to seek his fortune. On the verge of obtaining his dream, something was missing. Had he made the right decisions? Would life with Rachel have been much different? He was even questioning his relationship with Alex as he arrived at the office.

Matt’s secretary handed him a message to see Burt Stein, so he made his way down the hall thinking Burt was the medicine needed for his doldrums. Despite the bad heart, Mr. Stein was a formidable force in the firm. He wanted a national company, electing to back Matt’s partnership with this in mind. The old man also exhibited the best taste in office decor of all the partners. His office was the antithesis of old law and business. No dark mahogany paneling and shuttered windows for Burt. He loved New Orleans, with his office resembling one of the better French Quarter patio gardens. Huge windows provided an excellent view of the Superdome, home of Burt’s beloved Saints, from his twenty-first-floor suite and flooded the room with natural light. Burt often threatened to throw a chair through the windows to enjoy the sounds and smells of his beloved city. He was fun to be around, but you had to watch him. Extremely bright, Burt was every bit as ruthless as Alex Walker in his own way.

Sit down, Matt. We have a small problem, Burt yelled across the room. He got right down to business, joining Matt at the patio table. The senior partner indicated a stack of legal documents on the table.

I’ve been working on our casino project in Mississippi, Matt, and have struck a snag. We don’t have much time if we’re going to remain on schedule, and I think you can help me out, Burt stated. You’re from that part of Mississippi, so you know the people up there.

What sort of problem? I thought the folks in the delta were backing the riverboats all the way. The only thing they ever get excited over is mineral rights or letting the state get something for nothing, Matt laughed.

This situation’s a little different, Matt. Burt turned serious.

We’re trying to get the right-of-way to a river crossing on the Mississippi side of the river so our client can provide a landing for one of the floating casinos. We purchased most of the land needed for the venture as soon as the county voted to allow gambling. The boat is one in a proposed tandem of two giant, floating casino boats, capturing both Louisiana and Mississippi markets. We have a lot of money and prestige sunk into this one. The national money people are paying close attention. Burt Stein paused to allow Matt to digest the significance of the problem.

How can I help? Matt sensed trouble. He knew this conference had something to do with him being from the Woodville area.

Are you related to, or do you know an old gentleman named Samuel Ferguson? the senior partner inquired innocently.

Matt smiled at Burt. You know damn well he’s my grandfather, sir. Why? Is he the trouble? Because if so, you can’t have much of a problem. My grandfather is eighty-five years old.

Burt finished the meeting by saying, "He may be eighty-five, but he’s causing me some sleepless nights. Study these field reports and try to resolve the issue. You’ll have to go to Woodville to assume control. Take the wife. Show her the old Ferguson roots and make a vacation out of it. Whatever it takes, get things moving.

We need this deal to go through without complications. A lot’s depending on it, Matt. Get back soon so we can celebrate your new partnership at the next board meeting. Good luck!" Burt opened the door, dismissing Matt.

What the hell is this all about? Matt muttered as he returned to his office. The last thing he wanted to do was to go to Woodville, Mississippi with his lovely wife. Still, their relationship was in need of repair, so it was a possibility. His desk contained a message to call Julia, providing the opportune time to broach the matter.

Reluctantly, Matt dialed the number. Julia, I got a message you called. What’s up? Matt asked when she answered on the third ring.

Daddy wants us to go to Cancun with the Simpsons this weekend. He says we can stay in his condo. I don’t want to lay on some beach in Mexico, but Daddy seems to think this is a great chance to close some deal with Allen Simpson. Anyway, he wants you there to meet him. Sugar, do we have to go? Julia asked in her whiny, childlike voice, saved for times like this.

Actually, I’m calling to ask you to go to Mississippi with me on business tomorrow. The firm has a major project in trouble close to my grandfather’s. Alex and Burt are hoping I can get the deal moving. It would give us a chance to spend some time together visiting my childhood home. You’ve never seen it, and I think you might find it interesting. It’s important for my partnership that I go, and I need your support. He knew the mention of the partnership would whet her appetite, while begging for help played to her vanity.

We could use some time together, Matt, Julia answered. I don’t know how daddy will feel about it, though. Do you think you could talk to him? He won’t complain if you ask him.

I’ll stop and have a drink with him this evening on the way home from work. Will you be home for dinner? Matt asked.

I should be home right after my tennis lesson, she replied.

What if I bring some hot sausage po boys home with me?

Works for me, answered Matt. I’ll make the arrangements for the trip and see your dad. See you about six. Matt smiled, remembering the tennis lesson was at four. That only left thirty minutes for Julia and the professional.

He must be as fast as his serve. Serves her right, he thought to himself.

Matt’s mind turned to the logistical problem of where to stay in Woodville. There were no decent hotels or motels closer than Baton Rouge or Natchez other than the Inn on the Lake in St.

Francisville and very few bed and breakfast hostels. They could stay at Asphodel Plantation, enjoying the fantastic ambiance and food, but that would leave an hour drive each way to Fort Adams, north of Woodville. Then there was the problem of his grandfather. Sam Ferguson would be furious if Matt and Julia failed to stay with him.

In this particular instance, however, it might not be wise to mix business and pleasure. After all, his grandfather seemed to be at the center of this problem. On the other hand, Sam loved family, making it easier to talk the old man into resolving the conflict. The real problem was Julia. Matt knew his grandfather didn’t like Julia despite having never met her. Sam had not attended the wedding, blaming age and distance, but Matt knew better. Sam demanded the Fergusons be men of character and found Matt sadly lacking. He felt Julia was living proof of Matt’s continuing refusal to accept the responsibilities of life.

Julia would hate rural Mississippi. There were few of the social niceties of life, particularly fancy teas and coming out parties.

She was arrogant and spoiled with an air of superiority, and she possessed a caustic tongue, along with a rich girl’s appetite for material things. Sam, on the other hand, was a man of simple tastes, always placing character ahead of accomplishment. Conditions would be perfect for confrontation, Matt thought as he picked up the telephone.

Julia’s day progressed according to plan. She had smoothed things over with Matt and arranged for her husband to handle Dad, so she could get on with her life. Men were so easy. Frank would give her anything she wanted as long as she acted the innocent little girl. She’d have to spend some time in bed with Matt, talking more about children. He was still mad about the abortion. She wondered what his reaction would have been if he’d seen a child with blond hair and blue eyes. Phil, the tennis pro at English Turn, could be quite attentive at times; so easy to control in everything but bed. He was simply too fast for his own good when it came to sex. There was danger, though. Frank would disown her if he learned of an abortion, and Matt was capable of extreme anger. Julia wasn’t anxious to alter her lifestyle. She simply wanted a young man’s attention and vitality. Matt, however, was her future. Maybe a baby wasn’t such a bad idea. It would gain her entrance to some of the currently banned social functions, and she could afford nannies and maids so she wouldn’t have to care for the brat. Matt would get his child and Dad his grandchild. All in all, a pretty good bargain.

This trip seemed the perfect opportunity to discuss it with Matt. A sort of second honeymoon. Where could they stay? She knew nothing about Mississippi and less about Woodville. She thought his relatives were from some place called Fort Adams. Julia decided to learn a few facts about the area she was about to visit.

Alex’s wife had always been an authority on Matt and his family, so Julia dialed her number, wondering as she did so, if the trip was a mistake. She and Matt didn’t get along very well when forced to spend a lot of time in close proximity. Of course, they might be invited to some parties with new faces for her to charm. Julia felt much better as she waited for Mildred to answer.

Matt was also listening to a phone ring, dreading his conversation. His grandfather would answer the old black rotary telephone after the long walk down the cypress hall and play the perfect loving grandfather. Sam was a man who loved all of his grandchildren, keeping track of the events in each of their lives. That was the problem. He didn’t approve of some of Matt’s decisions, and he wasn’t one to hide his opinions. Matt continued to allow the phone to ring, knowing it took Grandad a long time to answer these days. Sam’s overall health remained fair, but he couldn’t move very fast anymore. Rumor had it his eyesight was deteriorating; however, the mind that first introduced Matt to an inflexible set of principles would be as alert and rigid as ever.

Hello, Sam’s familiar voice crackled in the receiver.

Hi, Grandad, it’s Matt. He gave his grandfather a few seconds to absorb the identification, then continued, "How are you?

I haven’t seen you in quite a while."

Matt! Is that you? Good to hear your voice, son. No problem, is there? the worried grandfather asked.

Nothing’s wrong, Grandad. I thought I’d call and see if Julia and I could spend a few days visiting with you. That’s all. The words sounded hollow to Matt. Nonetheless, he felt a sincere desire to spend some time with the old man.

Come on up, son. I’ll be glad to see you and the wife. I’ve never met her, have I?

No, I don’t believe so, Grandad. You were sick when we got married, and we haven’t had the opportunity to visit. I hope the two of you get along, Matt answered.

We’ll get along fine, Matt. When are you coming? Sam inquired.

I thought we’d come this weekend and get settled, if that’s all right with you? I have business in Woodville next week, so that would give us some time to visit, and you can get to know Julia,

Matt answered. "Do you want me to get some help in for the week?

You know, to cook and clean up. I hate to mess up your house."

Don’t you worry, Matt. With the three of us it’ll be a piece of cake. If Julia can’t help, I’ll ask Thelma to come for a couple of days. She cleans for me once a week as is. And Rachel still cooks me a meal on Sundays. Maybe she’ll help with another meal. You all just get here. I’ll be ready for you.

Fine, Grandad. We should leave New Orleans about nine so we can eat lunch at Asphodel and get to your house at four or five. Maybe we can all have supper together, Matt offered.

Have a good drive and be careful, son. Goodbye. Sam replaced the receiver on the old black phone.

As Sam made his way back down the long hall to the dining room, he pondered Matt’s call. Why was he coming? His grandson had not visited in years. It probably had something to do with those damn riverboats. That was it. Matt worked in real estate, and the big hoopla up here was about land. Those crooks were trying to get to Sam through his grandson. They were in for quite a surprise.

He had not seen Matt since the boy broke up with Rachel.

That was a shame. Sam really liked the girl. She still came by a couple of days each week to visit, always bringing food. Since his wife died and his eyes had failed, Sam had to rely on relatives, Thelma, and Rachel for help.

Thelma, the family maid for over thirty years, was too old to do much anymore. Still, she needed the money, so Sam gave her a little out of his Social Security check each month. No one knew, but he was helping send her daughter to Jackson State, just as he had sent five of his own children to college. Granted, this was Mississippi and Thelma was Black, but she was a longtime friend and helper who had been there for him when things were rough. Tomorrow, he’d ask her to get the extra bedrooms ready for company. He didn’t worry about most of the house since his wife had died. He lived in four of the rooms, preferring to spend most of his time in the large dining room.

It was really a sun porch added to the home years before to provide natural light for family functions. His wife had decorated in a light, airy fashion, eventually adding the huge oak dining table and refrigerator. Being only one step away from both the kitchen and the bathroom made things convenient for everyone. Now, these were essential ingredients for an old man with failing sight. Sam could sit on the old sofa along the wall, under the windows basking in the warmth of the sun. He could picture his beautiful yard with the fruit trees, rose garden, and colorful azaleas blooming brightly. Sam knew they didn’t really bloom anymore, but the memories were pleasant ones.

The old man wasn’t certain he wanted to see his grandson.

Oh, he loved Matt and always would, but Sam didn’t like what he’d become. The boy had been a good decent kid with a sense of competitiveness and fair play until his father died. Sam was proud of this, as it was the Ferguson way. Not anymore, however. Matt now fell in the succeed whatever the cost category and the hell with who got hurt. Thinking about it made Sam mad, reminding him of the way Woodville and Fort Adams were becoming. People didn’t matter anymore. Things, money, and power were the staples of modern-day life. Gone was the day-to-day struggle for survival against nature and hard times Sam had known. Friends and neighbors were an asset to be cultivated and appreciated in his day.

People watched out for each other because it was the only way to survive, allowing a man in his old age to look at his community and friends with pride. There was no need to be embarrassed by past memories of deceit and backstabbing. Sam wasn’t about to let his grandson come here and change his beliefs.

Sam did admit failure in his handling of the Black issue in Mississippi. He had vehemently opposed integration, seeing it as a cancer to his way of life. Like many white, middle-class southerners, he had felt threatened, retaliating with threats and force. He was an old, prideful man who realized he’d been very wrong about many things, forcing his conscience to work overtime, perhaps a form of mental purgatory. An honest man, Sam admitted he didn’t like the changes in his society, still preferring the feeling of the old South.

But when all was said and done, he was a fair man who recognized change was necessary for everyone to have a decent chance at life.

Leaders in the Civil Rights movement would still consider Sam a racist and bigot, but local Black citizens would point to changes in behavior and wonder if it was the mellowing that accompanies old age or newfound wisdom. He pondered these mysteries of life as the warm sun lulled him to sleep. How many more warm days would he have?

Matt found their conversation pleasant, but troublesome.

Nothing had changed. Grandad was the personification of the Ferguson legacy, and that was good. Talking to him made Matt feel better about life in general, for Sam was an anchor in a stormy sea.

You always knew where you stood with him. Thoughts of summer evenings on the raised front porch with Grandad mingled with the memories of hot, homemade biscuits and cane syrup early in the morning. Matt’s summer days at his grandfather’s house always started promptly at four o’clock, helping Sam bake the biscuits from scratch in an old iron skillet. It seemed like that breakfast would last all day, and indeed it had to on some days.

Evenings were another matter. His grandmother would prepare a simple meal of vegetables from the garden with meat or fish if you were lucky. Fresh homemade bread and sweet milk or fresh iced tea with mint was standard. The meal was great, but memories of sitting on the front porch with Sam, surveying the Ferguson domain while Grandma fixed supper were the foods that fed the soul. Matt and his grandfather would pull up two high backed, white rockers, leaning back with their feet placed as high as possible on the front columns of the house. This resulted in a precarious position, while giving you the feeling of being the cock on the walk. At least that’s what his grandfather would say whenever asked why they sat that way. There was a suspended swing at the end of the porch reserved for the women and children, but no self-respecting man would sit in a swing when he could position himself in one of those rockers and speak to the neighbors passing in front of the house. There wasn’t a soul in town who didn’t know Mr.

Sam sat on the porch to watch the sun set, talking to his friends and neighbors. Blacks, whites, men, women, and children were welcome to stop and visit.

Frank Devereaux looked at his daughter with a combination of love and disgust. She was the apple of his eye, enabling Julia to get whatever she wanted, but God, she was such a con artist.

Tell me again why you and Matt can’t come to Cancun, Frank requested.

Matt has to go to Woodville, Mississippi for a few days to straighten out some project of Burt Stein’s, Julia replied. He wants me to go so we can spend time together, and I’ll get to see where he grew up. You know I like Cancun and the Simpsons, but Matt and I could use the time. Besides, you’re always telling me I should learn more about the business Matt’s in. This is supposed to be an important deal of some kind that’s in trouble, so I’ll get to see my husband in action. She ran her fingers through his thinning hair.

Frank had loved this since she was a little girl, and she wanted him happy and wistful.

I know you should go with him. I just wanted us to be together. I like Matt, and I don’t get to see enough of him. Frank was disappointed but considered the information he’d received. He knew Burt Stein was the lead on the massive gaming project south of Natchez. The real estate firm’s reputation was on the line. There were some heavy hitters from Vegas and New York risking millions on the advice Burt was providing. Recently, rumors of trouble had surfaced. Frank had quietly invested some of his capital in a bed and breakfast complex to be located down the road from the two riverboat casinos. His banker called two days ago with news there were clouds on the horizon. Local residents were protesting some of the land deals, and the local politicians were threatening to become involved. Frank had been debating whether to seek Matt’s counsel since he was from the area, possessing an insider’s knowledge of the local problems. Now that Matt was assigned to the project, he decided to adopt a wait and see attitude. He hoped to learn the extent of control over the project by the Las Vegas group. Years before he’d lost a bundle risking federal prison over a deal on the Mississippi Gulf Coast with the New Orleans Mafia family. He made it a point not to become involved in any enterprise affiliated with organized crime. It was also a welcomed opportunity to watch Matt in action, seeing if he could cut the mustard. He wanted his son-in-law to run his empire one day, but not until he had proof Matt was man enough for the job.

It’s best if you go with Matt, Frank decided. We’ll do the Cancun trip another time. A wave of relief over not having to spend an extended period of time with his daughter washed over Frank. It hurt to know that while he loved Julia deeply, he didn’t like her very much. She was so damn shallow. He kissed her cheek, reaching for the telephone as she left the room. Even her departure reminded him of some phony screen star making a grand exit.

Frank chided himself for not being tougher on his daughter when she was a child as he dialed his banker’s private line. The cancer was killing him slowly and painfully, but Frank doubted if it could cause the type of lasting pain Julia could create. She didn’t even go to church anymore.

Matt arrived home to a dark and lifeless home. The house adorned with expensive New Orleans art and antiques had never felt like home to Matt. It seemed more of a symbol of his mistakes.

There wasn’t even a dog to pet or fish to feed. He walked toward the coldest room in the house, the bedroom, where he packed conservatively with a mixture of jeans and suits. The area of his youth was peculiar. You had to wear a suit for the bankers and the ministers and a pair of jeans and loafers or boots for everyone else.

He had to avoid resembling the city slicker coming to fleece the country bumpkins look while appearing to be the successful landsman for the boys from Vegas. He made a note to remind Julia of this also, but she would dress inappropriately for the locale deliberately. When Matt finished packing, he drove to Frank’s house.

He enjoyed Frank’s company, so it should be fun spending an hour or so easing out of the trip to Cancun.

Julia’s dad stood in greeting as Matt entered his office den combination in the back of the house. Frank worked a lot at home, enjoying the intimacy and privacy of the huge room, complete with fireplace, pool table, and sports