Nonetheless, I screwed up my courage to the sticking point, as somebody somewhere had described it, and called Madge Taylor.
“Madge?” I asked when she answered her phone. “It’s Julia Murdoch. Are you busy? I can call back later if you are.”
“Oh, no, don’t do that. I mean, I’m always busy, but I have time to talk.”
“Well, good,” I said, trying to order what I wanted to say without giving in completely. “Well, Madge, it seems to me that the two of us should try to come up with something that would accomplish what both of us want. You want a place to house homeless boys, and, even if I haven’t acted like it, I want you to know that I do, too. The problem arises with the location you’ve chosen. I mean, doesn’t it bother you that your neighbors dislike your being next door to them?”
“They’ll get over it. We intend to be good neighbors ourselves, so they’ll come around. Or,” she said, and I could almost see her shrug her shoulders, “they’ll move.”
I was stunned at her complete disregard of the legitimate concerns of her neighbors. And this was the woman who cared so deeply for the dispossessed and the disadvantaged.
Keeping a tight rein on my temper, I continued in a modulated tone. “Madge, you know that the Cochran property isn’t zoned for a group home, which is what you are in spite of what you call it. And your determination to stay there is what’s causing so much upset. If you would consider moving to a more appropriate location, I will do whatever I can to help, and I mean help in any way possible. Couldn’t we discuss the matter and come to some kind of an agreement?”
“What’s to discuss?” she said in a dismissive tone. “There’ll always be people who have no concern for the have-nots. We recognize that, so we know we’ll always have that attitude to contend with. We’ve learned to live with it and go on doing what we’re called to do.”
“Regardless of who it hurts?”
“Hurts how?” Madge demanded.
“Well, it hurts the neighbors by devaluing the investment they have in their homes, and—”
“Well, see, that’s your problem, Julia. You’re always thinking in terms of financial gain. You don’t think of those who don’t even have a bed, much less an investment in anything.”
A half dozen retorts ran through my mind, but I steeled myself to keep them unsaid. “That’s really not true, Madge. I’m as concerned for the homeless as you are, but it seems to me that whatever we do for them should be within the bounds of the law. Doing something—no matter how beneficial—that’s illegal doesn’t set a good example for those young boys you want to help. What’s going to happen to them when the commissioners deny you a variance? How will you explain to them—especially to those who might’ve already run afoul of the law—that you’ve done the same thing?”
Madge didn’t respond right away, and I let my question hang in the air between us.
“Let me just assure you,” she finally said, “that we are well within our rights to be there. Do you really think that we would have expended so much time and effort and, yes, money as well, if there was a possibility that we’d be forced to move?” She stopped and let her question hang in the air. Then she answered herself. “I don’t think so.”
In the white noise that rushed into my brain, one thought stood out: Rigged! It’s been rigged all along!
“Does that mean . . .” I started and stopped, then managed to say, “Are you telling me that you already have a zoning variance?”
“I am not without friends, Julia, and I’m not so stupid as to do anything without guarding against all contingencies. I’ve come up against people like you before, so I’ve adopted the boy scout motto—‘Be prepared.’” And with a soft laugh, she said, “I’m not only prepared now, I’ve been prepared for whatever roadblocks you or anybody else decide to throw up.”
“Then,” I managed to say, “I guess we have nothing to discuss. But,” I went on with a little more strength, “just remember that I tried to work with you. I tried so that we’d both get what we want. I’m sorry that only one of us will.”
I hung up, discouraged and dismayed, but also more determined than ever that I would be that one.
—
I replayed that conversation over and over in my mind and concluded that it was Madge’s sense of smugness that most troubled me. She had not been interested in even hearing my side, much less in working something out to our mutual benefit. My offer to help in any way possible, which she would have correctly interpreted as financial help, had been completely ignored. Which meant to me that she had all the monetary help she needed.
So where was it coming from? If Madge had bought the Cochran house, where had she gotten the money in the first place? Even if each board member had contributed a thousand dollars, there wouldn’t have been enough for a 10 percent down payment, which meant that they wouldn’t have qualified for a bank loan. And they’d had no public fund-raisers before buying the property, so where had the money come from?
I called Binkie and asked if she knew or at least if she knew how we could find out.
She was silent for a few seconds, then said, “Miss Julia, I apologize to you. I went to the Register of Deeds office when you first brought this to my attention, but the sale hadn’t been recorded. Since then I’ve been so tied up with a court case that I’ve not checked it again. I’ll look into it as soon as I can, but it may be awhile.” She paused again, then went on, “It’s unlikely, though, that the owner’s name will tell you much, especially if the board of directors