The Rivers Webb by Jeremy Tyler Page A

ta’ git everything together, so’s I can start cleanin’ up ’fore Miss Wilhelmina sees it.” A slight shadow of dread came across his face as he moved closer, to speak more softly, “Nobody should ever have to hear news like that. Not ever.”
    John could only nod his agreement.
    â€œIf you don’t mind, Mr. Peachtree, I’d like to talk to you for a moment while you’re waiting.”
    â€œOh, I don’t never mind a good talk. If you ask me, there ain’t enough of folks just sittin’ down and talkin’. Solve a whole mess o’ problems. But please, one thing. Ev’ry time I hear someone callin’ ‘Mr. Peachtree’ I start lookin’ for my father—and he done passed on to God eight years past! Gerald, if you please.”
    John smiled without even faking it.
    â€œAlright, Gerald. It’s the New Yorker in me. We call everyone by their last name.”
    â€œNow see, that just don’t make any sense. Your first name…that’s who ya’ are. That’s what sticks with ya’ your whole life. Take that away from a man and it’s like your just ignorin’ him.” John had to admit, this man was a good scrapper. That was all fine and good. It was always the scrappers that had the best information.
    â€œNow, there I’d disagree. A man’s first name doesn’t tell me anything about him. Your name, Gerald, that was given you by your parents, and they probably picked it out before you were even born, am I right?”
    â€œYes’sir, I was Gerald before I ever saw light o’ day.” He nodded vigorously and flashed bright white teeth at this.
    â€œExactly. They had no idea who you were or would be. They just liked the name, so there it was. You were Gerald. But your last name, that’s a different story. That goes back generations, and has its roots in some place in history. A last name has definite character and ties to who a person is. Peachtree is a perfect example. I’ve never met anyone else named Peachtree—and I’ll bet cash money you know how your family got it.”
    At this, Gerald’s smile broadened even more, letting John know that A, he’d struck on a point of pride for this man and, B, that he had successfully managed to put him off his guard…which is exactly what he needed.
    â€œMy great-grandfather. When he came across that old ocean, and he first stepped off the slave ship, he stood out. He was a big man, ya’ see. Not just a little bit, neither, but I mean big. And his colorin’ was jus’ a bit dif’rent, too. When Old Jacob Rivers, who started this here family business, saw him, he thought he looked like a big ol’ peach tree, and since it was customary to change slaves names to a Christian one instead o’ their heathen’s, he called him Peachtree. And, we been Peachtrees ever since.”
    It was a little disturbing, hearing how John’s ancestors had so affected this man’s, but John heard no bitterness in this man’s voice.
    â€œYou see what I mean. History.” John paused a moment to collect his thoughts.
    â€œBut it’s about a different kind of history that I want to talk with you, right now. I’m interested in finding out about a ring.”
    Gerald suddenly went cold, and his face took on an ashen shade that was as good as a confession.
    â€œWhat…what kind o’ ring would you be wantin’ to know about, Mr. Webb?”
    â€œWhy don’t you call me John?”
    Gerald was now looking around for some place to demand his attention, something that needed tending to, just so he could get away from this confrontation.
    â€œGerald, there was a pinkie ring that George had on his hand. I noticed it earlier, but it’s missing from the body, now.”
    â€œTerrible thing, that. Do that to a man, then take a ring right off his finger…”
    â€œI’m not convinced