In Re Who Needs a Lawyer?

• Citation: Vol. 30 No. 4 Pg. 0034
• Year: 2025
• Pages: 0034

Who Needs a Lawyer? Vol. 30 No. 4 Pg. 34 Georgia Bar Journal May 2025

GBJ / Fiction

The Editorial Board of the Georgia Bar Journal is proud to present "Who Needs a Lawyer?" by Tim White of Atlanta, as the winner of the Journal's 34th Annual Fiction Writing Competition.

BY JAMES TIMOTHY WHITE

The purposes of the Fiction Writing Competition are to enhance interest in the Journal, to encourage excellence in writing by members of the Bar and to provide an innovative vehicle for the illustration of the life and work of lawyers. As in years past, this year's entries reflected a wide range of topics and literary styles. In accordance with the competition's rules, the Editorial Board selected the winning story through a process of reading each story without knowledge of the author's identity and then scoring each entry. The story with the highest cumulative score was selected as the winner. The Editorial Board congratulates White and all of the other entrants for their participation and excellent writing.

"Sandra tells me you've only known each other a couple of weeks," Mrs. Marjorie Crosby said to Robert Hinton after meeting him on the front porch of her home 10 miles south of Macon.

"Fourteen days and four hours," corrected her daughter, "and we've seen each other every one of those 14 days."

"And you want to get married? Isn't that a little hasty?"

"No, Mother, it's not," Sandra exclaimed. "We've spent hours and hours together in the last two weeks and have fallen deeply in love. Robert reports to the Army Monday. We don't have time to wait."

"Well, Robert, you have certainly won my daughter's heart. She was so excited when she called me this morning, I could hardly understand her. Tell me about yourself. I understand you want to go to college and law school when the war's over."

"Oh, Mother, you can grill Robert later. I want to show him the farm."

"Yes, I am counting on the GI Bill to pay for my education," Robert said, "but I'll still need a job to take care of Sandra, and ... and ... kids."

"That's ambitious," Mrs. Crosby said. "Sandra, why don't you show Robert the barn now, and save the rest of the farm till after we eat? Can you be back in 30 minutes?"

Sandra led Robert across the road, through the gate and down a narrow cow path to the small pond near a dilapidated barn that stood in the middle of a five-acre pasture about a hundred yards from the road. Its listing roof and unpainted, weathered boards emphasized its age. What was left of the winter's supply of hay was stored in the loft. A huge bin of corn with a hand-cranked sheller to strip the kernels from the cobs was visible near the entrance. It was a scene totally foreign to Robert.

"How does your mother manage a 160-acre farm and chickens, cows and pigs white she teaches school?"

"She has an arrangement with Mr. Parks who lives up the road. He supplies the labor and equipment for 45% of the profits. She supplies the land, fertilizer and seed. Because she must gather the eggs and milk the cows, morning and night, every day of the year, she can't take a trip unless one of Mr. Parks' sons agrees to do the chores. It is a hard life, and not for me. That's why I wouldn't consider marrying any boy from here. Not when I can have a handsome lawyer like you."

Sandra pulled down the 10-foot wooden ladder hanging from a hook near the back of the barn, propped it against the loft floor with sufficient angle to ensure a safe ascent and said, "Follow me and I'll show you my favorite hiding place. This ladder looks rickety but it's safe."

At die top of the ladder Robert accepted Sandra's help onto the bare, dusty floor made of 10-inch-wide oak boards, which showed the marks from the crosscut saw that had produced them in the late 1800s. Beginning about 10 feet from the front edge of the loft, bates of hay were stacked four high all the way to the back. The mound of loose hay ready to be tossed to the cattle below provided a hidden, cozy spot to read, steep or just think.

"Here we are," Sandra said. "Don't you love it?"

Robert reached for his cigarettes. "Not here," she said. "This hay is dry as dust and would catch fire from any spark. Have a stick of Juicy Fruit instead."

Sandra unwrapped the gum and pushed a stick into his mouth. Robert stretched out on the hay and listened to the clucking of the chickens in the distance and the soft mooing of the cows that had wandered into the barn, expecting a feeding at an unusual hour. Sandra laid down beside him with her head on his shoulder and began to stroke his cheek.

"We have a few minutes," Sandra said. "What shall we talk about?"

Robert laid back and said, "There is something I have tried to tell you several times but kept getting interrupted."

"That you ran off and joined the circus when you were 10," Sandra chuckled, "and that's why you are so mature."

"Nothing that exciting, sweetheart. It's that I've been married before."

Sandra bolted upright and glared at him.

"Don't tell me you're divorced!"

Robert sat up to face her and pulled his knees tightly to his chest.

"No, I'm not divorced. I'm a widower."

Sandra pulled away. "What was her name? How long were you married? How did she die?"

"Molly and I were married a little over a year," Robert said. "She and her father were kilted instantly when a truck ran into us at an intersection near Sikeston, Missouri. I was driving."

"You were driving? Were you hurt?"

"Miraculously, no—only a few scratches and bruises."

"What did she look like?" Sandra stammered. "Why haven't you told me about her before?"

"Because it's painful to talk about," Robert said, "and until yesterday when we decided to get married, I didn't think there was any reason to tell you. What difference does it make what she looked like or how old she was? You will never see her."

"Because you are my first love," Sandra sobbed, "and I wanted to be your first. I can't stand to think there was someone before me who may have been prettier or smarter than me. And I need to know whether you're over her. Do you still love her?"

Robert wiped Sandra's eyes. "I loved Molly," he said, "and it took me a long time to get over losing her, but I am over her. You are the woman I love and am going to marry. Nothing else matters."

Sandra found his lips, kissed them, then buried her head in his chest and stifled her tears. The couple stood silently for a moment before Sandra raised her head and said, "I love you so much, Robert. If I can't be your first wife, I'll be your best wife. As you said, she's gone, so let's not talk about her or your life with her anymore."

Carefully they descended the ladder and walked back to the house hand in hand.

"Did Robert meet Elsie and Bossie?" Mrs. Crosby asked without looking up from the knife she was washing. "They always show up looking for an ear of corn when anyone comes to the barn before milking time."

"They are such a nuisance," Sandra said. "We went up to the loft to avoid them. Did you save some tomatoes for me to take back?"

"I put as many as I could in that sack for you. And a dozen eggs as well." As Mrs. Crosby turned toward the table with a plate of peeled and sliced tomatoes, she noticed Sandra's puffy eyes.

"Have you been crying?"

"No, I just got some dust in my eyes. Let's eat."

Iced tea, a plate loaded with ham and a basket of hot biscuits were already on the table. After Mrs. Crosby said a quick grace, the trio ate silently barely a yard away from the wood-burning stove Mrs. Crosby used every day to cook food and heat the flat irons she used to press clothes. Robert looked at the "Farmer's Almanac" turned to the month of May 1942, which shared a nail on the wall behind the stove with a fly swatter. Directly across from him, above and behind Mrs. Crosby's diminutive head, hung a painting of the head of Christ.

Mrs. Crosby was barely five feet tall and could not weigh more than 100 pounds. Her graying hair was pulled up in a bun, and rimless spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose. She was a quiet person with a serenity Robert admired. She seemed at peace with herself, accepting of, but not resigned to, the life fate had dealt her.

"I told Judge Stanton we'd be at his house at 1:30 tomorrow," Sandra said, interrupting Robert's thoughts, "to give everybody time to have lunch after church. I'm sorry Gail won't be able to make it. Do you think Aunt Espa and Uncle Sammy would like to come?"

"I think your wedding is so sudden you'd better keep the ceremony private," Mrs. Crosby said. "You would tell me if you were expecting, wouldn't you?"

"Mother!" Sandra gasped. "Of course I would. Do you think I am?"

"You are in such a rush to get married; most people will think you are."

"Well," Sandra said, "I do have to get married quickly, but not for that reason. It's because if I don't get married now, I won't be able to for at least two months, and maybe not till after the war. Robert reports for duty Monday, and he might not be able to come home to marry me before he's shipped out. Can't people understand...