PART 10 – I Met Margaret Ellis at the Courthouse, and Her Photograph Showed Me What the Sheriff Had Taken From Her

Margaret Ellis came to the courthouse in early spring.

She was small.

Her hair was white.

She wore a green coat and carried a brown handbag.

She asked the clerk whether she could speak with someone about her property.

The clerk directed her to the public information office.

I happened to be walking through the lobby.

I recognized her from the photograph.

"Mrs. Ellis?"

She turned.

"Yes?"

"I'm Amara Whitlock."

She looked at me.

Then she smiled.

"I know who you are."

I nodded.

"I received your letter."

Her smile faded.

"I wasn't sure anyone would read it."

"I did."

She looked down at her handbag.

"I don't know what to do now."

I told her that I could not advise her about her case.

But I could explain how to find legal assistance.

She nodded.

"I don't need special treatment."

"I understand."

"I just want my house back."

I looked at her.

"Then you need someone who can review the property records and explain your options."

She nodded again.

I gave her the name of a legal aid organization.

I told her to bring every document she had.

The photograph.

The deed.

The tax receipts.

The arrest paperwork.

She thanked me.

Then she asked whether I had ever seen her farmhouse.

I shook my head.

She opened her handbag.

Inside was another photograph.

This one showed the house from the road.

A white farmhouse.

A wooden porch.

A large oak tree beside the driveway.

She pointed to the tree.

"My husband planted that when we got married."

I looked at the photograph.

"It must have been beautiful."

"It was."

She smiled.

"Every spring, the branches filled with flowers."

She put the photograph away.

Then she looked at me.

"Do you think I'll get it back?"

I took a breath.

"I don't know."

She nodded.

"That's what everybody says."

I understood why she was disappointed.

But I could not promise her something I did not control.

I walked her to the legal aid office.

A lawyer named Daniel Reeves agreed to review her documents.

He asked her to return the following week.

Margaret thanked him.

Then she turned toward me.

"I hope you know what you did."

I looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"You listened."

She smiled.

"That's more than anybody else did."

I watched her leave.

The brown handbag rested against her side.

The photograph was inside.

The house was still gone.

But she had someone who could help her fight for it.

And sometimes, that was the first thing a person needed.

Source: kaylestore.net

Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The New Sheriff Asked Me What Justice Should Look Like, and I Told Him It Had to Begin With the People Who Were Afraid