Текст книги "Sycamore Row"
Автор книги: John Grisham
Соавторы: John Grisham
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Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 35 страниц)
41
In his defense of Carl Lee Hailey, Jake’s opening statement to the jury lasted only fourteen minutes. Rufus Buckley had kicked things off with a one-and-a-half-hour marathon that had put the jury to sleep, and Jake’s concise follow-up had been well received and much appreciated. The jury had listened to him and absorbed every word. “Jurors are captives,” Lucien always said. “So keep it short.”
In the matter of the last will and testament of Henry Seth Hubbard, Jake was aiming for ten minutes. He stepped to the podium, smiled to the fresh and eager faces, and began with “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your job is not to give away Seth Hubbard’s money. There’s a lot of it, and all of it was earned by Seth Hubbard himself. Not by you, not by me, not by any of the lawyers in this courtroom. He took chances, borrowed heavily at times, ignored the advice of his trusted lieutenants, mortgaged his own house and land, made deals that looked bad on paper, borrowed even more, took risks that seemed outrageous, and in the end, when Seth Hubbard was told he was dying of lung cancer, he sold out. He cashed in his chips, paid off the banks, and counted his money. He won. He was right and everybody else was wrong. You can’t help but admire Seth Hubbard. I never met the man, but I wish I had.
“How much money? You will hear testimony from Mr. Quince Lundy, the gentleman sitting right here, and the court-appointed administrator of Seth Hubbard’s estate, that the estate has a value of approximately $24 million.”
Jake was pacing slowly, and when he gave the amount he stopped and looked at some of the faces. Almost every juror smiled. Go, Seth. Attaboy. A couple were obviously shocked. Tracy McMillen, Juror Number Two, looked at Jake with wide eyes. But the moment passed quickly. No one in Ford County could grasp a number like that.
“Now, if you think a man who put together a $24 million fortune in about ten years knows what he’s doing with his money, then you’re right. Because Seth knew exactly what he was doing. The day before he hung himself he went to his office, locked his door, sat down at his desk, and wrote a new will. A handwritten will, one perfectly legal, nice and legible, easy to understand, not the least bit complicated or confusing. He knew he was going to commit suicide the following day, Sunday, October 2, and he was putting everything in order. He planned it all. He wrote a note to a man named Calvin Boggs, an employee, in which he explained he was taking his own life. You will see the original. He wrote detailed funeral and burial instructions. You will see the originals. And on that same Saturday, presumably at his office while he was writing his will, he wrote a letter to me and gave me specific instructions. Again, you will see the original. He planned it all. After he finished writing, he drove to Clanton, to the main post office, and mailed the letter to me, along with the will. He wanted me to receive the letter on Monday because his funeral was on Tuesday, at 4:00 pm., at the Irish Road Christian Church. Details, folks. Seth took care of the details. He knew exactly what he was doing. He planned it all.
“Now, as I said, it’s not your job to give away Seth’s money, or to decide who should get what or how much. However, it is your job to determine if Seth knew what he was doing. The legal term is ‘testamentary capacity.’ To make a valid will, one that is handwritten on the back of a grocery bag or one typed by five secretaries in a big law office and signed before a notary public, one has to have testamentary capacity. It’s a legal term that’s easy to understand. It means you have to know what you’re doing, and, ladies and gentlemen, Seth Hubbard knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t delusional. He wasn’t under the influence of painkillers or other meds. He was as mentally sound and sane as the twelve of you are right now.
“It might be argued that a man planning his own suicide cannot be of sound mind. You gotta be crazy to kill yourself, right? Not always. Not necessarily. As jurors you are expected to rely on your own experiences in life. Perhaps you’ve known someone, a close friend or even a family member, who came to the end of the road and chose his or her own final exit. Were they out of their minds? Perhaps, but probably not. Seth certainly was not. He knew exactly what he was doing. He’d battled lung cancer for a year, with several rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, all unsuccessful, and the tumors had finally metastasized to his ribs and spine. He was in terrible pain. At his last visit to his doctor he was given less than a month to live. When you read what he wrote the day before he died, you’ll be convinced that Seth Hubbard was in complete control of his life.”
As a prop, Jake was holding a legal pad but he wasn’t using it. He didn’t need it. He walked back and forth before the jurors, making eye contact with every one of them, speaking slowly and clearly as if they were sitting in his den and chatting about their favorite movies. But every word was written somewhere. Every sentence had been rehearsed. Every pause was calculated. The timing, cadence, rhythm—all memorized to near perfection.
Even the busiest of trial lawyers spend only a fraction of their time in front of juries. These moments were rare, and Jake relished them. He was an actor on a stage, in the midst of a monologue he created, speaking words of wisdom to his chosen audience. His pulse was spiking; his stomach was flipping; his knees were weak. But those internal battles were all under control and Jake calmly lectured his new friends.
Five minutes in, and he had not missed a word. Five minutes to go, with the roughest part just ahead.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, there is an unpleasant part of this story, and that’s why we’re all here. Seth Hubbard was survived by a son and a daughter and four grandchildren. In his will, he left them nothing. In language that is plain and clear, but also painful to read, Seth specifically excluded his family from inheriting under his will. The obvious question is, Why? It is our natural tendency to ask, ‘Why would a man do this?’ However, it is not your responsibility to ask that question. Seth did what he did for reasons known only to him. Again, he made the money—it all belonged to him. He could have given every penny to the Red Cross, or to some slick televangelist, or to the Communist Party. That’s his business, not yours, not mine, not this court’s.
“Instead of leaving his money to his family, Seth left 5 percent to his church, 5 percent to a long-lost brother, and the remaining 90 percent was given to a woman by the name of Lettie Lang. Ms. Lang is sitting right here between me and Mr. Lundy. She worked for Seth Hubbard for three years as his housekeeper, his cook, and sometimes his nurse. Again, the obvious question is, Why? Why did Seth cut out his family and leave almost everything to a woman he’d known for such a short period of time? Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, that is the greatest question I’ve ever confronted as a lawyer. That question has been asked by me, by the other lawyers, by the Hubbard family, by Lettie Lang herself, by friends and neighbors, and by virtually everyone in this county who’s heard the story. Why?
“The truth is that we’ll never know. Only Seth knew and he’s no longer with us. The truth, folks, is that it’s none of our business. We—the lawyers, the judge, you the jurors—are not supposed to concern ourselves with why Seth did what he did. Your job, as I’ve said, is to decide only one important issue, and that is simply this: At the time Seth wrote his last will, was he thinking clearly and did he know what he was doing?
“He was, and he did. The evidence will be clear and convincing.”
Jake paused and picked up a glass of water. He took a quick sip, and as he did so he scanned the crowded courtroom. On the second row, Harry Rex stared at him. He nodded quickly. You’re doing fine so far. You have their attention. Wrap it up.
Jake returned to the podium, glanced at his notes, and continued: “Now, with this much money on the line, we can expect things to get somewhat tense over the next few days. The family of Seth Hubbard is contesting the handwritten will, and they are not to be faulted for this. They sincerely believe the money should have been given to them, and they’ve hired a bunch of good lawyers to attack the handwritten will. They claim that Seth lacked testamentary capacity. They claim his judgment was clouded. They claim he was unduly influenced by Lettie Lang. The term ‘undue influence’ is a legal term and will be crucial in this case. They will attempt to convince you that Lettie Lang used her position as a caregiver to become intimate with Seth Hubbard. Intimacy can mean many things. She cared for Seth, at times bathed him, changed his clothes, cleaned up behind him, did all the things that caregivers are supposed to do in those delicate and awful situations. Seth was a dying old man, hit with a debilitating and deadly cancer that left him weak and feeble.”
Jake turned and looked at Wade Lanier and the gang of lawyers at the other table. “They will imply a lot, ladies and gentlemen, but they can prove nothing. There were no physical relations between Seth Hubbard and Lettie Lang. Only hints, and suggestions, and implications, but no proof because it never happened.”
Jake tossed his legal pad on his table and wrapped it up. “This will be a short trial with a lot of witnesses. As in every trial, the issues at times might become confusing. This is often done on purpose by the lawyers, but don’t be led astray. Remember, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not your job to distribute Seth Hubbard’s money. It’s your job to determine if he knew what he was doing when he wrote his last will. Nothing more, nothing less. Thank you.”
At Judge Atlee’s heavy-handed direction, the contestants had agreed to streamline their opening and closing remarks by allowing Wade Lanier to handle them. He strode to the podium in a wrinkled blazer, a tie too short, and a shirttail barely tucked in. The few patches of hair around his ears shot out in all directions. He gave the impression of a scatterbrained plodder who might forget to show up tomorrow. It was all an act to disarm the jury. Jake knew better.
He began with “Thank you, Mr. Brigance. I’ve been trying lawsuits for thirty years, and I’ve yet to meet a young lawyer with as much talent as Jake Brigance. You folks here in Ford County are lucky to have such a fine young lawyer among you. It’s an honor to be here doing battle with him, and also to be in this grand old courtroom.” He paused to look at his notes as Jake stewed over all the fake praise. When he wasn’t in front of a jury, Lanier was smooth and articulate. Now, though, onstage, he was folksy, down-to-earth, and immensely likable.
“Now, this is just an opening statement and nothing I say or nothing Mr. Brigance just said is evidence. The evidence comes from only one place, and that’s this witness chair right here. Lawyers sometimes get carried away and say things they cannot later prove at trial, and they also tend to leave out important facts the jury should know about. For example, Mr. Brigance did not mention the fact that when Seth Hubbard wrote his last will, the only person in the building with him was Lettie Lang. It was a Saturday morning, and she never worked on Saturdays. She went to his house, and from there she drove him in his nice new Cadillac over to his office. He unlocked it. They went in. She says she was there to clean his office, but she had never done this before. They were alone. For some two hours they were alone in the offices of the Berring Lumber Company, Seth Hubbard’s main headquarters. When they arrived there on that Saturday morning, Seth Hubbard had a last will and testament prepared a year earlier by a fine firm of lawyers in Tupelo, lawyers he had trusted for years, and that will gave almost everything to his two adult children and four grandchildren. A typical will. A standard will. A sensible will. The kind of will virtually every American signs at one time or another. Ninety percent of all property that passes through wills passes to the family of the deceased. That’s the way it should be.”
Lanier was now pacing too, his stocky body lumbering back and forth, bowed somewhat at the waist. “But after spending two hours in his office that morning, alone with no one but Lettie Lang, when he left he had another will, one he’d written himself, one cutting out his children and cutting out his grandchildren and leaving 90 percent of his fortune to his housekeeper. Does that sound reasonable, folks? Let’s put things in perspective. Seth Hubbard had been battling cancer for a year—a terrible struggle, a fight he was losing and he knew it. The closest person in the world to Seth Hubbard during his last days on this earth was Lettie Lang. On good days she cooked and cleaned and took care of his house and things, and on bad days she fed him, bathed him, dressed him, cleaned up after him. She knew he was dying—it was no secret. She also knew he was rich, and she also knew his relationship with his adult children was somewhat strained.”
Lanier paused near the witness chair, spread his arms wide in mock disbelief, and asked loudly, “Are we to believe she was not thinking about money? Come on, let’s get realistic here! Ms. Lang will tell you herself that she’d spent her career as a housekeeper, that her husband, Mr. Simeon Lang, who’s now in jail, had a spotty work record and could not be depended on for a paycheck, and that she’d raised five kids under difficult financial circumstances. Life was tough! There had never been a spare dime anywhere. Like a lot of folks, Lettie Lang was broke. She’d always been broke. And as she watched her boss inch closer and closer to death, you know she was thinking about money. It’s human nature. It’s not her fault. I’m not suggesting she was evil or greedy. Who among us would not have been thinking about the money?
“And on that Saturday morning last October, Lettie drove her boss to his office where they were alone for two hours. And while they were alone, one of the greatest fortunes in the history of this state changed hands. Twenty-four million dollars was transferred from the Hubbard family to a housekeeper Seth Hubbard had known for only three years.”
Brilliantly, Lanier paused as his last sentence rattled around the courtroom. Damn he’s good, Jake thought, glancing at the jury as if all was well. Frank Doley was glaring at him with a look that said, “I despise you.”
Lanier lowered his voice and continued: “We will attempt to prove Seth Hubbard was unduly influenced by Ms. Lang. The key to this case is the issue of undue influence, and there are several ways to prove it. One sign of undue influence is the making of a gift that is unusual or unreasonable. The gift Seth Hubbard made to Ms. Lang is grossly, unbelievably unusual and unreasonable. Forgive me. I can’t think of the right adjectives to describe it. Ninety percent of twenty-four million? And nothing for his family? That’s pretty unusual, folks. In my book, that’s pretty unreasonable. That screams of undue influence. If he wanted to do something nice for his housekeeper, he could’ve given her a million bucks. That’s a pretty generous gift. Two million? How about five? Actually, in my humble opinion, anything over a million dollars would be considered unusual and unreasonable, given the brief nature of their relationship.”
Lanier stepped back to the podium and glanced at his notes, then he looked at his watch. Eight minutes, and he was in no hurry. “We will attempt to prove undue influence by discussing a prior will made by Seth Hubbard. This will was prepared by a leading law firm in Tupelo a year before Seth died, and it left about 95 percent of his estate to his family. It’s a complicated will with a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo that only tax lawyers understand. I don’t understand it and we’ll try not to bore you with it. The purpose of discussing this earlier will is to illustrate the point that Seth was not thinking clearly. The earlier will, because it was prepared by tax lawyers who knew their stuff and not by a man on the verge of hanging himself, takes full advantage of the IRS code. In doing so, it saves over $3 million in taxes. Under Mr. Hubbard’s handwritten will, the IRS gets 51 percent, over $12 million. Under the earlier will, the IRS gets $9 million. Now, Mr. Brigance likes to say that Seth Hubbard knew exactly what he was doing. I doubt it. Think about it, folks. A man shrewd enough and clever enough to amass such a fortune in ten years does not throw together a handwritten document that will cost his estate $3 million. That’s absurd! That’s unusual and unreasonable!”
With his elbows he leaned on the podium and tapped his fingers together. He looked into the eyes of the jurors as they waited. He finally said, “Let me wrap things up here, and I must say you’re pretty lucky because neither Jake Brigance nor I believe in long speeches. Nor does Judge Atlee for that matter.” There were some smiles. It was almost funny. “I’d like to leave you with my opening thought, my first visual for this trial. Think of Seth Hubbard on October 1 of last year, facing certain death and already determined to speed it up, racked with pain and heavily medicated with painkillers, sad, lonely, single, estranged from his children and grandchildren, a dying, bitter old man who’d given up, and the only person near enough to hear him and console him was Lettie Lang. We’ll never know how close they really were. We’ll never know what went on between them. But we do know the outcome. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a clear case of a man making a terrible mistake while under the influence of someone after his money.”
When Lanier sat down, Judge Atlee said, “Call your first witness, Mr. Brigance.”
“The proponents call Sheriff Ozzie Walls.” From the second row, Ozzie hurried to the witness chair and was sworn in. Quince Lundy was seated at the table to Jake’s right, and though he had practiced law for almost forty years he had aggressively avoided courtrooms. Jake instructed him to glance at the jurors occasionally and make observations. As Ozzie was getting situated, Lundy slid over a note that read, “You were very good. So was Lanier. The jury is split. We’re screwed.”
Thanks, Jake thought. Portia shoved forward a legal pad. On it, her note read, “Frank Doley is pure evil.”
What a team, Jake thought. All he needed was Lucien whispering bad advice and irritating everyone else in the courtroom.
With Jake asking the questions, Ozzie laid out the scene of the suicide. He used four large color photographs of Seth Hubbard swinging from the rope. These were passed through the jury box for shock value. Jake had objected to the photos because of their gruesomeness. Lanier had objected to the photos because they might evoke sympathy for Seth. In the end, Judge Atlee said the jury needed to see them. Once they were gathered up and admitted into evidence, Ozzie produced the suicide note Seth left behind on his kitchen table for Calvin Boggs. The note was magnified on a large screen set up across from the jury, and each juror was given a copy. It read, “To Calvin. Please inform the authorities I’ve taken my own life, with no help from anyone. On the attached sheet of paper I have left specific instructions for my funeral and burial. No autopsy! S.H. Dated, October 2, 1988.”
Jake produced the originals of the funeral and burial instructions, got them admitted without objection, and displayed them on the big screen. Each juror was handed a copy. They read:
Funeral Instructions:
I want a simple service at the Irish Road Christian Church on Tuesday, October 4, at 4 p.m. with Rev. Don McElwain presiding. I’d like for Mrs. Nora Baines to sing The Old Rugged Cross. I do not want anyone to attempt a eulogy. Can’t imagine anyone wanting to. Other than that, Rev. McElwain can say whatever he wants. Thirty minutes max.
If any black people wish to attend my funeral, then they are to be admitted. If they are not admitted, then forget the whole service and put me in the ground.
My pallbearers are: Harvey Moss, Duane Thomas, Steve Holland, Billy Bowles, Mike Mills, and Walter Robinson.
Burial Instructions:
I just bought a plot in the Irish Road Cemetery behind the church. I’ve spoken with Mr. Magargel at the funeral home and he’s been paid for the casket. No vault. Immediately after the church service, I want a quick interment—five minutes max—then lower the casket.
So long. See you on the other side.
Seth Hubbard
Jake addressed the witness and said, “And Sheriff Walls, this suicide note and these instructions were found by you and your deputies in the home of Seth Hubbard shortly after you found his body, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you do with them?”
“We took them into our possession, made copies, then the following day gave them to Mr. Hubbard’s family at his home.”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
“Any cross-examination, Mr. Lanier?”
“None.”
“You are excused, Sheriff Walls. Thank you. Mr. Brigance?”
“Yes, Your Honor, at this time I would like for the jury to be instructed that it has been stipulated by all parties that the documents just admitted into evidence were indeed written by Mr. Seth Hubbard.”
“Mr. Lanier?”
“So stipulated, Your Honor.”
“Very well, there is no dispute as to the authorship of these documents. Proceed, Mr. Brigance.”
Jake said, “The proponents call Mr. Calvin Boggs.” They waited until Calvin was summoned from a witness room. He was a large country boy who’d never owned a necktie, and it was obvious he had not even considered buying one for the occasion. He wore a frayed plaid shirt with patches on the elbows, dirty khakis, dirty boots, and looked as though he just wandered into the courtroom from a pulpwood-cutting expedition. He was thoroughly intimidated and overwhelmed by the surroundings, and within seconds began to choke up as he described his horror at finding his boss hanging from a sycamore tree.
“What time did he call you that Sunday morning?” Jake asked.
“Around nine, said to meet him at the bridge at two.”
“And you arrived at two on the dot, right?”
“Yes sir, I did.”
Jake’s plan was to use Boggs to illustrate how Seth took care of the details. He would later argue to the jury that Seth left the note on the table, packed up his rope and ladder, drove to the site, and made sure he was good and dead when Calvin arrived at 2:00 p.m. He wanted to be found not long after he died. Otherwise, it could have been days.
Lanier had nothing to ask. The witness was dismissed.
“Call your next witness, Mr. Brigance,” Judge Atlee said.
Jake said, “The proponents call the county coroner, Finn Plunkett.”
Finn Plunkett was a rural mail carrier when he was first elected county coroner thirteen years earlier. At the time, he had no experience in medicine; none was required in Mississippi. He had never visited a crime scene. The fact that the state still elected its county coroners was odd enough; it was one of the last states to do so. Indeed, it was one of the few to ever initiate the ritual to begin with. For the past thirteen years, Finn had been called at all hours of the day and night to such locations as nursing homes, hospitals, accident scenes, honky-tonks, rivers and lakes, and homes wrecked by violence. His typical routine was to hover over a corpse and solemnly pronounce, “Yep, he’s dead.” Then he would speculate on the cause of death and sign a certificate.
He had been present when Seth was lowered to the ground. He’d said, “Yep, he’s dead.” Death by hanging, a suicide. Asphyxiation and a broken neck. With Jake leading him through his testimony, he quickly explained to the jury what was already painfully obvious. Wade Lanier had no cross-examination.
Jake called to the stand his ex-secretary, Roxy Brisco, who, since she’d left the office with bad blood, had initially refused to testify. So Jake issued a subpoena and explained she might go to jail if she ignored it. She quickly came around, and took the stand dressed fashionably for the moment. Tag-teaming, they walked through the events of the morning of October 3, when she arrived at the office with the mail. She identified the envelope, letter, and two-page will from Seth Hubbard, and Judge Atlee admitted them into evidence as exhibits for the proponents. There was no objection from the other side. Following a script that had been suggested by His Honor, Jake projected on the screen an enlarged version of the letter to him from Seth. He also handed a copy to each juror. Judge Atlee said, “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to pause for a moment while each of you carefully reads this letter.”
The courtroom was instantly silent as the jurors read their copies and the spectators studied the screen.
… herein you will find my last will and testament, every word written by me and signed and dated by me. I’ve checked the law of Mississippi and am satisfied that it is a proper holographic will, thus entitled to full enforcement under the law. No one witnessed me signing this will because, as you know, witnesses are not required for holographic wills. A year ago I signed a thicker version in the offices of the Rush law firm in Tupelo, but I have renounced that document.
This one is likely to start some trouble and that’s why I want you as the attorney for my estate. I want this will defended at all costs and I know you can do it. I specifically cut out my two adult children, their children, and my two ex-wives. These are not nice people and they will fight, so get ready. My estate is substantial—they have no idea of its size—and when this is made known they will attack. Fight them, Mr. Brigance, to the bitter end. We must prevail.
With my suicide note I left instructions for my funeral and burial. Do not mention my last will and testament until after the funeral. I want my family to be forced to go through all the rituals of mourning before they realize they get nothing. Watch them fake it—they’re very good at it. They have no love for me.
I thank you in advance for your zealous representation. It will not be easy. I am comforted in knowing I will not be there to suffer through such an agonizing ordeal.
Sincerely, Seth Hubbard
October 1, 1988
Slowly, as each juror finished, they could not help but glance into the audience and take a look at Herschel Hubbard and Ramona Dafoe. She wanted to cry, but at that moment she correctly assumed anyone looking would think she was only faking it. So she stared at the floor, along with her brother and husband, and waited for this awkward and awful time to pass.
Finally, after an eternity, Judge Atlee said, “Let’s take a fifteen-minute recess.”
In spite of Seth’s warnings about the hazards of smoking, at least half of the jurors needed a cigarette. The nonsmokers stayed in the jury room and had coffee while the rest followed a bailiff to a small patio overlooking the north side of the courthouse lawn. They quickly fired up and began puffing away. Nevin Dark was trying to quit and had whittled his habit down to half a pack a day, but at the moment he was craving nicotine. Jim Whitehurst eased beside him, took a puff, and said, “What do you think, Mr. Foreman?”
Judge Atlee had been explicit in his warnings: Do not discuss this case. But jurors in every trial couldn’t wait to discuss what they had just seen and heard. Almost under his breath, Nevin said, “Looks like the old boy knew exactly what he was doing. You?”
“No doubt about it,” whispered Jim.
Just above them, in the county law library, Jake gathered with Portia, Lettie, Quince Lundy, and Harry Rex, and there was no shortage of observations and opinions. Portia was unnerved because Frank Doley, Number Twelve, kept staring at her, frowning with his lips moving as if he were cursing. Lettie thought Debbie Lacker, Number Ten, had fallen asleep, while Harry Rex was certain Number Two, Tracy McMillen, had already developed a crush on Jake. Quince Lundy still maintained the jury was already split, but Harry Rex said they’d be lucky to get four votes. Jake politely asked him to shut up and reminded him of his dire predictions during the trial of Carl Lee Hailey.
After ten minutes of mindless chatter, Jake vowed to eat lunch alone.
Back in the courtroom, he called Quince Lundy to the stand and led him through a series of bland but necessary questions about his involvement in the estate, his appointment as the administrator, and his substitution for Russell Amburgh, who wanted out. Lundy dryly explained the duties of the administrator and did a superb job of making it sound as dull as it really was. Jake handed him the original handwritten will and asked him to identify it.
Lundy said, “This is the holographic will that was admitted to probate on October 4 of last year. Signed by Mr. Seth Hubbard on the first day of October.”
“Let’s have a look,” Jake said, and once again projected the document onto the screen as he passed out copies to the jurors.
Judge Atlee said, “Again, ladies and gentlemen, take your time and read it carefully. You will be allowed to take all documents and exhibits back to the jury room when you begin your deliberations.”
Jake stood by the podium, held a copy of the will, and pretended to read it as he carefully watched the jurors. Most seemed to frown at one point or another, and he assumed the “perish in pain” phrase made them cringe. He had read the will a hundred times and still had the same two reactions. One, it was mean-spirited, harsh, cruel, and unreasonable. Two, it made him wonder what Lettie was doing to make the old boy so fond of her. But, as always, another reading convinced him Seth knew precisely what he was doing. If a person has testamentary capacity, then that person can make all the wild and unreasonable bequests he or she wants.
