When the lawyer from Fredericktown tied up his horse to Newton’s porch, appearing on a day when they had no appointment, Newton knew the news was bad. The lawyer’s sour expression confirmed it. Once inside Newton’s house, he didn’t bother to take off his coat before he started to talk.
“Judge denied our request for an injunction, which means you’ll have to pay taxes at the new rate while the case is being heard,” he said. “If we win, they’ll appeal, so you’re looking at a lot of months, maybe more than a year.”
“We don’t have that kind of money.”
“Maybe you could take out a loan? Your property would make excellent collateral.”
“And if we lose the case, we lose both the money and the land. Not much of a bargain in that.” Newton could see from the lawyer’s expression that he had already considered this possibility. “All right,” Newton said. “Thanks for coming out. We have a community meeting coming up. I’ll let you know.”
He waited until the man had left, then donned his coat to walk the village, knocking on each door. “Don’t forget the meeting tonight after supper,” he said at each one, not pausing to elaborate. Everyone knew the topic already.
The last house to visit was Braswell’s, and though Newton knew he was unwelcome, he had no choice. Fortunately, Masterson answered the door. “Don’t forget the meeting tonight after supper,” Newton repeated. “Pass the word.”
Before the meeting, Newton ate in silence, out of the mood for talking, although every other group in the Temple was murmuring. He knew all eyes were on him, and inwardly he felt the weight of their expectations. The Daybreak community had existed in its present form for thirty years, and now he saw nothing to do as its leader but preside over its dissolution. His father and mother had fought rebels, bushwhackers, vigilantes, and their own prejudiced neighbors. What they had never had to overcome was the simple, sheer power of money.
After the meal had been cleared and the dishes washed, Newton stepped to the front of the room to speak. He outlined the situation as their lawyer had explained it, the crushing amount of taxes they would owe, the uncertainty of the future, the paucity of their treasury. He took a deep breath.
“So all I can recommend to you is that we revoke our charter and dissolve the community,” he said. “Each family would keep its own house. We could divide up the tillable land, family by family, into equal portions and let each family choose its parcel based on who’s been here the longest. And then to be fair, we could divide up the timberland and let families choose in reverse order.”
A collective groan came up from the group after he finished, but it was not a groan of disagreement, but rather the sound of people who knew the dismal truth of what he was saying. He waited as discussion made the rounds, everyone repeating the basic facts as if saying them aloud was necessary to make them real. Finally the talk died down.
“Before we decide on this idea,” Newton said. “There is the question of membership. As you know, we have applications for membership from Barton Braswell and his wife Mattie, and from Rose Rain and Lily Breeze Jessup, and from John Masterson. Their membership status needs to be settled before we proceed.” Necks craned to see the Braswell group, seated in the back row of chairs.
“And I need to disclose my interest in the matter,” he continued. He saw the hum of curiosity go around the room.
“A few months ago, I became involved with Lily Breeze,” he said, “and by ‘involved’ I mean that we began a relationship that by any standard would be called improper. I don’t know whether I seduced her or she seduced me, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” He paused to let the loud murmuring subside. “I might have kept that to myself, not wanting to expose myself—and her—to public humiliation. But a couple of weeks ago, Mr. Braswell took me aside to tell me that he would expose me if I didn’t use my influence to get them admitted to full membership. Turns out he knew of our affair all along, and perhaps even was directing it.”
The citizens had all grown silent as Newton told his story. He looked out over the group but could not meet anyone’s eyes until his glance reached his mother, who was sitting upright with her hands folded in her lap. He met her gaze. Her calm, alert, infinitely deep expression reassured him somehow, and he gathered himself to continue.
“So. I have let you down, and I apologize for that. I let my personal entanglements get in the way of my judgment. I’m afraid I have harmed our beloved community by this, and I know I’ve ruined my own reputation. I’m sorry. I’m sorry from the bottom of my heart. I think someone else should conduct this meeting now.”
Newton stumbled from the platform, looking for a place to sit down. He felt short of breath but at the same time unburdened and ready for whatever came next. He guessed he would have to leave the community. Surely his presence would be intolerable, the man who let his gap-stopper rule his brain and brought down himself and the whole enterprise in the process. Where would he go? He had no idea. He had no desire to go anywhere.
Heads turned and voices murmured as he plopped into a chair. For a long minute no one stood up to take over the meeting. Finally Josephine Mercadier, seated beside her mother as always, walked to the front of the room.
“In the interest of fairness, we should give Reverend Braswell, or Lily Breeze, a chance to respond,” she said. “What do you say, Mr. Braswell? Would you like to speak?”
Everyone swiveled in their seats to see if Braswell would take up the invitation. But the row of chairs in the back of the Temple was empty.