Camber’s hastily-appointed legal representative—the first guy in the phone book who was not otherwise busy that morning—was a slight, flustered man in a rumpled brown suit and a skinny tie, whose horn-rimmed glasses dwarfed the rest of his face. His yellowing business card, which read “Edwin Peebles,” had obviously spent many months in the lawyer’s wallet. Nothing about the man inspired confidence, but Camber didn’t see that he had many other options, and after all this was only a traffic case, in a Podunk town, so what did it matter?

Mr. Peebles had looked distinctly wary of his newly-acquired client. “Do you have any questions?”

Camber hesitated. “Well, this isn’t my primary concern, but just so I can stop wondering about it, could you tell me the name of this town? I think I must have mis-read the sign.”

Mr. Peebles allowed himself a taut smile. “People often think that,” he said. “In fact the town’s name is indeed Judas Grove.”

“You guys actually named a town for Judas?”

“Well, therein lies a tale,” said the lawyer, and, with all the patient serenity of one who charges by the hour, he settled back to tell it.

When the little east Tennessee town was founded in 1865, its residents had intended to name it Judah Grove, in honor of the Confederate Secretary of State, Judah P. Benjamin. After Appomattox, Judah Benjamin had escaped capture, and fled to England, with—according to rumors—most of the Confederate gold stashed away in his luggage. The townspeople did not hold that against him. In fact, they admired his enterprising spirit. The dissenting opinion in the community turned out to be the only one that counted: the newly-appointed postmaster, a carpetbagger who got the job because of his Union connections. He had no intention of allowing these Tennessee turncoats to name a town after a Rebel, and, as a rebuke to them for siding against the Union, he christened the town Judas Grove, after the most famous traitor of all.