Poor Old Grandma 2 of 3 [3,800]

Grandma Ethel got her money by murder and conning both Federal Governor and Southern planters after the American Civil War.

Synopsis: The Simmons family inherited a mansion in rural Ohio and moved into it. Their kids eventually searched the attic. Among other things, Jimmy the son found two old handguns and an ancient diary. Young Katy has possession of Grandma’s diary and is reading it.  Sharon, the mother is bored, missing big city life. Now for Tom, the father….
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Tom had been born poor. He managed to get through business college while working for "Stan's Hardware," a chain of stores in upper Ohio. With the degree, he had worked his way up to manager status. Although he never had the time, he longed to be a writer of fiction. It had been a lifelong ambition.

When he met Sharon, she had come in for a new microwave and had agreed to an old-fashioned date. That was before Tom acquired a beer gut and was more suave-looking. They hit it off and married. In his spare time he had written a novel, "Peter's Delight," which he managed to sell to Randlic House, a large publisher. It became a best-seller, greatly enhancing their income.

Two kids in three years wasn't a record, but still pretty damned fast. With all his wife's social functions, he had to spend his own free time looking after the children, cutting into his writing time.

Sharon wasn't the motherly type, leaving most of that to Tom and a part-time nanny. She was active in the PTA and other school social groups, but seemed to have little time for the kids themselves.

When her mother died and the family assets greatly increased, he had seen a chance to continue as a writer. The house seemed perfect for his needs.

***

The next afternoon, Katy took out the old book, seemingly a diary, and continued reading....

My plans roughly formulated, I went over to visit Joseph at his law office. He wasn't very busy -- or at least not too much so to see me.

"Well, hi there, Ethel. I had about given up on you." He greeted me with an arm over my shoulder, escorting me to a couch where we both sat. "I'd offer you a drink but I'm all out at the moment. How do you like the new Atlanta?"

After a little small talk, I got down to business. First, to prove my point, I took a few minutes to show him a sampling of highly personal correspondence between myself and Freddy. He was impressed by my apparent power over such an influential Yankee.

"I came here for a reason, Joseph. Not that I'm not glad to see you anyway. The new Military Governor for this district is a friend of mine. As you can see, a very, very close friend. I think I know a way for both of us, you and I, to acquire a little money. If you're interested, of course?"

"I'm always interested in money. It's why I'm in business."

"Well, he told me he's, now don't spread it around, but that he's planning on confiscating the large plantations -- taking their land, and with no compensation. That they're responsible for the 'Rebellion' as he calls it. The President himself is behind the plan to simply give it, free and clear, to the Negras.

"He also told me that the Federal government can do that, and that he's anxious to start the process. It could put you out of a job. Your clients won't be able to afford you if they're bankrupt."

"Jesus! It certainly would cramp my style," Joseph agreed. "Are you certain? Dead certain?"

"It's a fact. He's told me more than once. Several times and in great detail."

"I don't think they can do it. I’ve studied law and have been practicing for over ten years. We have certain rights."

"But do you? The war's over and we lost. We might not have the same rights as before. After all, Georgia isn't officially in the Union any longer," I reminded him. "We're under Military Law at the moment, not Congressional Law."

Joseph looked worried, as well he should. What rights did they have as losers? Conditions had changed. What had been a comfortable society for him was now Topsy-turvy.

"Wh -- What's your idea?" he asked, slumped over his end of the couch, long legs extended, mind in obvious confusion.

"Well, my idea is that ... since I'm a northerner and a dear friend of his, I can buy their property first -- for a nominal sum, of course. If I, a northern citizen, already own the land he can't or won't be able to confiscate it."

I outlined my plan, or at least as much of it as he needed to know. "The plantations will remain intact and I'll sign a secret, written and duly witnessed, agreement to give it back in a few years for the same price -- once this stuff has blown over.  I'd expect a profit for myself, of course." I sat up and straightened my hair, moving closer to him in the process -- to look him in the eye.

I continued, "As my -- according to the paperwork you formulate -- employees, the present owners will have to rent, I do mean rent, to freed Negras. It will have to be a part of the secret agreement and will help keep Freddie from confiscating the land. 

"I'll lie to the governor that it has already been split up and being sold by myself to the Negroes. That, when paid for, they’ll have clear title. Since the ex-slaves can't read or understand they, too, will believe that lie. That the land actually belongs to them -- though actually only rented by the month.

"The planters will know which slaves are trustworthy and who to rent to. We'll have to wait until the next harvest sales for our profit. You know all that legal wrangling and can handle it."

A huge smile showed he was interested, already thinking lawyer thoughts.

"The planters will actually be managing the land for us, you and I, and collecting the rents," I continued. "You'll oversee the process and keep a percentage of the rent money and later sales. The planters, and I of course, will get the rest.

"Everyone will be happy. The Military Governor will have his land reform, the planters'll keep their land and make a little money from yearly rents, the Negras'll have land to plant and money to live on, and both you and I'll make a large profit. See what I mean, honey?"

I moved even closer, grasping his hand and smiling. I could see by a frown that he was working over the details in his head. "And the planters would get title back from me later, all in notarized legal contracts," I finished, sitting back.

"But the Negroes we rent to will need seeds, equipment, and that sort of thing to get started?" Joseph brought up.

"I'll bet I can get some of that from the Feds. If not, the planters have much of it lying around unused.  Maybe enough for at least one season." I was glad Joseph had thought of that point. It had slipped my mind -- another profit if I played it right. Maybe I could get cash from Freddy to buy the supplies and then use what the planters already had stored away or could buy locally with their own money?

*** 

The next morning, Joseph and I used his carriage to visit a sampling of local planters. I found myself bouncing over a dusty gravel road. It seemed to go on forever.

"This is the Jefferson plantation," Joseph told me -- he was driving. "We've been on it for the last half-hour, and the house is much farther yet."

"How big is it, honey?" I called him that because we had spent the night together, my seeing no need to go back to that lonely rooming house.

"I don't know for sure. Ten ... twenty-thousand acres or so, I think. Peter Jefferson bought out his neighbor a few years ago, so I have no real idea of the present size. Peter's one of my clients already and should be easy to handle. He's also a member of my group, you know, the one I told you about on the way here to Atlanta."

"Good, that'll help. If we get him to agree and the others hear, it'll make the job easier." I sat back and smiled to myself.

We finally came to the end of the road.  Well, not the end exactly, since it went past a large white mansion to a jumble of much smaller buildings farther on. That house was massive, with four wide columns holding up a second floor, two other stories rising above that.

An old man was waiting on the porch. He sported a long white beard and wore an expensive suit. I could see several white children looking out a window behind him. They disappeared as we plodded up the steps to the porch.

"Hi, Peter.  How you doing lately?  Your rheumatism getting better?"

"Joseph. What's this sh ... crap I hear about the Yankees taking my place?"

He had obviously gotten the word, as I trusted they all had, and wished to waste no time in small talk.

"I fear it's true, Peter. Official. The Federal Governor holds you and the other planters responsible for the war," Joseph told him. "This young lady has a solution, if you care to listen. She's a personal friend of the governor himself, and has no little influence on him."

He nodded at me, standing beside him. I outlined my plan to Mr. Jefferson.

"And why can't I simply find me another northerner and do the same with him?"

"I guess you can if you want, but can you trust him and is he a friend of the military governor?" Joseph asked him. "And you know me, and what I represent?"

"Yeah, I've known you since you were a kid, and you're part of that what-you-call-it bunch, Kluxers or something." He looked back and forth between us, "And it don't cost me nothing, is that it?  I studied those papers you sent me.  I don't know, though."

"Probably not much. You no doubt have the farming equipment already. Only some time and effort, and you can keep half the rent money. I know, not as much as you made before, but then you're not getting anything right now and probably wouldn't for awhile," I reminded him, keeping a sad look on my face. "At least you'd still be viable."

"I'll have to think it over. I'd see my lawyer except that you're my lawyer. I'll let you know in a few days. Alright with you?"

"Sure. Take your time. But don't be surprised if you decide too late. That carpetbagging b*****d in charge is anxious to start confiscating," Joseph reminded him. "He's only waiting for congressional approval. With the president on his side, a mere formality."

"I'll hold him off as long as I can, Mr. Jefferson," I told him.

We said goodbye and started the long trip to the next customer.

"Do you think he'll go along with it?" I asked Joseph on the way to the next plantation. "He didn't sound too convinced to me?"

"I think so. Old Peter's cantankerous but not a fool. He'll think about it, ask some of the others, and eventually come around."

Next, I had to talk to Freddy. He had been there for a couple of weeks and should be getting anxious to see me. I knew him, and the more pressure he had on his hands the more he needed my sexual services to release it....

In expectation of school in the morning, Katy put the diary down.  Turning off the light, she was soon asleep.

***

"Damn it, Sharon, will you stop sulking around?  It's annoying?" Tom admonished her. His wife’s depression was getting to him. "Why don't you take a break and visit friends for a while? Get it out of your system?"

"So now you want to get rid of me, is that it? You're so in love with this damned place. I suppose I get in your way? All you do all day is sit in that room, pecking away at that frickin' typewriter."

"Now, honey, I have to. It's my life. If I want to make it as a writer, I have to write."

"I used to be your life -- not that damned ... machine," she complained, sobbing.  "Maybe I will ... spend a couple of weeks in Toledo? You can take care of the kids for awhile."

"Fine. Go ahead. With your attitude, I'm doing it all anyway."

Sharon was soon on her way back to the city for two weeks that extended to indefinitely. She moved in with her lover, Alfred. For all practical purposes she left the kids and house to Tom.

*** 

"When's Mommy coming home?" Katy asked her father. "It's been over two weeks already."  

He wasn't certain about what to tell her. Sharon had called a couple of nights before. They had argued over the telephone and she'd said she was staying there as long as she wanted -- might never be back.

"Something important came up and she has to stay for awhile. Maybe another week or two?" he told his daughter. "I know you miss her. I do too."

"What kinda thing? With the police? Did they arrest her for something?" Jimmy asked eagerly.

"No, nothing like that. Adult stuff is all. You wouldn't understand."

***

That evening, Katy returned to the diary....

Freddy stood in my bedroom, naked.  A wash basin in front of him, he held a wet pair of my drawers in his hand as tears flowed liberally down both cheeks.

"You worthless piece of s**t. You can't even wash my underpants without screwing up." I stood in front of him, hands on my hips and looking up at a steep angle. "I ... told ... you ... to ... clean ... them. I ... told ... you ... to ... get ... out ... all ... the ... filth."  I punctuated every word with a slap to his cheek. "So why is that s**t stain still there? You know what to do, you stupid b*****d.  Lick it out."

While the Military Governor of two states licked s**t, I stood laughing and belittling his efforts.

"Show me, butthole," I ordered.

He showed me the stain -- still there, of course.

"Go get the whip, and I mean the big one this time. You need a sound beating." I reached up, grabbed him by the ear, and threw him toward the other side of the room. With no wife to worry about anymore, he didn't mind marks and bruises -- as long as they didn't show when he was dressed.

On hands and knees, Freddy frantically searched the chest of drawers until he found it, crawling back with the whip between his teeth.

I made him lie across the arm of a couch while beating his butt with it until I grew tired from the effort.

"Now get your sorry a*s dressed,” I ordered, then changed tone for, “That's all for now. Fred. We have to talk."

Dressed, he cautiously sat his sore bottom on the couch next to me.

"How are things going with your job, baby? You know I miss you?" I asked, pouring the traditional wine for us both.

"Damn, you're getting stronger these days." He wiggled his bottom, feeling the pain he loved. "Not too well, Ethel. I received word just yesterday. I'm not allowed to simply confiscate the land. That damned congressional committee said 'no.'

"Those b*****d slavers are going to get away with it. The President says he feels like I do, but the courts also say I can't. I'm to give away public land to the poor, but can't take any from the planters. My problem is that without their land I don't have near enough to give away. To try to stop this chaotic wandering. If those people have land, both wandering and crime will settle down.

"I think there's bribe money involved in Washington. Those b******s must have paid congressmen to stop harassing them."

"What would you say if I told you I can get you that property from the plantations, at least much of it?" I asked.

"I'd say you were crazy." He laughed. "And how would you get it?"

"From the planters, themselves. They're scared that you'll take it from them. One offered to sell me his for a pittance.  He thinks you’ll take it anyway.  Thousands of acres for a cheap rate."

"It galls me to give the b******s money, but maybe the government WOULD let me buy it from them." He was thinking. "A large part of my job is to stabilize all these people running around causing trouble. Giving them land is a good way to do that. But I hate to hand money to the planters. What would the President say? He'd be all over me, my political career ruined."

"Not if you gave ME the money and I handed it to them for you. Under the table, with no one knowing. The President and your party would never have to know."

"Uh, how much land are we talking about here?" he asked, seeming to calm a bit.

I could almost hear his little brain clicking away.

"As much as you want. I know for a fact that I could get you, say, twenty-thousand acres within the week. And, once the word gets around, much more later."

He made a momentous decision. Maybe his S&M session and our relationship had something to do with it -- who knows?

"You get me the land and I'll pay a fair price for it." Frederic the Governor made his decision.

"Can't. I don't have that much money, Freddy. You know that." I laughed. "You get me the money to work with, and then I'll use it to buy land."

"Oh, I forgot, Ethel. In my job, money flows like water. I forget real people don't have it lying around like I do."

"Which reminds me, Freddy. You owe me some. I'm a business woman, you know?"

He gave me money for the rent and some more for myself before he left.

***

The next morning I went to Joseph's office. Delicate negotiations were progressing. Two of the planters had already agreed to sign their land over to me for a symbolic one Federal Greenback each 160 acre section.

The papers were signed and notarized, the land mine as soon as I paid them and signed the paperwork. I'd affirmed to sell it back to them at the same rate within ten years and we had agreed that they would use it in the ways specified earlier.

Of course, I would hardly be around there in ten years -- or even ten weeks, for that matter. I planned to stay only long enough to get my stake and out before any Federal investigators got around to checking on their money.

A couple of days and planters later, I went to see Freddy again. That time at his office.

"I need $100,000 to start, Freddy," I told him. "I've got the deals set up already. For your money, I can even find local Negras to farm it, saving you the trouble. All you have to do is give me the currency. I’m prepared to sign the titles over to you, the new farmers, or the government," I told him. “Whichever you prefer. I can have the titles for you by tomorrow night.

"You'll have to have part of it surveyed yourself, but they'll already be working it before then. In most cases, all you'll need to do is okay existing boundaries set up by the rebel government."  

"I don't know if that's legal, Ethel?" He looked a little perplexed. "I mean letting them have it before it's even surveyed by us."

"Don't forget, dear. You're the one who can make it legal. You're the Military Governor. A stroke of the pen and it will be so. It isn't as though it has to be approved by anyone. Your friend, the President, will back you up, won't he? He did tell you that you're the boss here?"

"Yeah, guess you're right, Ethel. I'm the boss." He grinned widely. Fred offered me a check, which I refused.

"You know the banks down here have either gone under or can't be trusted. I better have cash, Federal notes or gold. Gold is better because everyone trusts it. It'll make it easier for me to buy the land for you. Some of these rebels will balk at even accepting Federal dollars."

"That'll take several days. We don't have a lot of gold lying around here in Atlanta."

"That's all right, Fredric, I can wait," I told him. Damned right I could wait.

A few days later, the gold and currency started rolling in from Washington banks, so fast I wasn't ready for it. I didn't even know what to do with it all. I couldn't put it in my two-room rented living quarters. The gold alone might cave in the flooring. Ha-ha.

With most of the land costing only a symbolic dollar a section, the rest of the gold for its payment was all mine, something like a 1,000 percent profit.

And, to cap it off, Joseph didn't know about the major scam. He thought our profits were to be taken out of upcoming crop sales.

I rented an empty building near the main police station and paid an honest-looking police sergeant to keep an eye on it. Then, I sent the money and gold over at night and stored it behind shelving in the basement. I didn't really trust the place but figured it would do for awhile. Later I would split it up into multiple caches, not completely trusting one hiding place.

Joseph was busy, too much so to keep an eye on my activities. He had to supervise over a dozen planters and their renting to former slaves. Those efforts would  eventually lead to even more profit for our benefit. Ha-ha.

At least the planters still thought of it as their property, not knowing it was already -- despite that worthless promise -- signed over to the Federal Government.  

When things seemed to be going well, I took time for a trip to New York City.

End of section two of three. Next, the conclusion. Ethel’s escape with the money, leaving many enemies. Also another murder … and suicide.

Charlie  hvysmker.