Daughters Page 4

  “C’mon, girls. Let’s go for a ride before dinner.”

  The next day Jonathan had business in Geneva and left before Marie awoke. After having a relatively reticent breakfast with Claire, she went out to the barn and had Zach saddle up a horse for her.

  “Going out by yourself today, are you Miss Marie?”

  “Yes. I think I know my way around well enough now. What do you think?”

  “Oh, you’ll be fine. Everything is fenced. You can’t get too lost. But if you get turned around, just look for the tallest tree.” He pointed toward behind the main barn. “That’s home.”

  Marie thanked him and rode off, her mind quickly going to how she could make things better with Claire. Jonathan kept telling her to give it time, but she didn’t like the wait.

  Glad she had put on a few layers of clothing, Marie flinched at the cool breeze grazing her face, cold enough for her to see the horse’s breath shoot out of his nostrils in perfect rhythm with his stride. She headed east and watched the fading ribbons of the morning’s sunrise dissipate above the horizon. She enjoyed the peacefulness of the terrain, the strength of the horse between her legs, and the utter contentment of being where she was—home. Well, home of sorts.

  She followed a trail that led to the far corner of Jonathan’s property, up a slight rise overlooking miles of farmland. She stopped to study the expansive landscape. The configuration of each farm within her view was distinct, but they shared the same basic components: a main barn, several small outbuildings, open fields, and the main house. Some of the houses were situated near the road and others more toward the center of the fields.

  Except for the occasional sound of a bird chirping, the air was quiet and calming. Riding had a way of suspending time and place for Marie, allowing her to escape reality. Lost in thought in her own private space, she jumped when she heard a voice behind her.

  “Morning.” She turned around to see Melvin sitting high on a jet black mare.

  “Hi. You startled me.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She studied his face but didn’t know how to read his expression.

  Marie turned back around to face the vast open land. “It’s beautiful up here.”

  “That it is.” He guided his horse next to Marie’s. “This is my favorite spot on Dad’s property. That’s why the path is so worn. I come up here every chance I get.”

  Marie turned to meet his gaze. His skin appeared even lighter when illuminated by the sun. “So Melvin, did you hear about your dad’s invitation to the political roundtable discussion in Chicago next week?”

  He nodded. “You can call me Tré. Everyone else does.”

  “Okay, Tré.”

  “Yes, I heard. Dad’s pretty smart, you know. He’s well read, and he can hold his own with the best of them, so...”

  “I believe that.”

  He fidgeted in the saddle. “Marie, I didn’t just happen to ride up here this morning. Zach told me you headed up this way.”

  She waited for him to say more, expecting the worst, but hoping for something better.

  “I have to apologize for the way I acted on Sunday.”

  Marie opened her mouth to say something, but Tré held up his hand signaling he wasn’t finished. “I need for you to understand something.” His eyes focused past her face for a few seconds, into the vast open land. “I was married once before, to a woman named Anna, a white woman. Everyone in my family was against it, but I was young and pretty headstrong back then, I guess I still am, and I was going to do what I wanted to do no matter what anyone else thought or said.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “Less than six months.” He dug his hands into his jacket pockets. “One day I woke up and she was gone. Didn’t even take all her clothes.” He shrugged. “Well, I was crushed and humiliated. More humiliated than anything else. The fact that she left me for a white guy made it that much worse.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He cocked his head. “Yeah…well, the reason I bring this up is because my experience with a white girl was disastrous on so many levels. I found out later she was cheating on me during most of our short marriage. That was one thing. But just as bad were my dealings with white people in general. The only time I’m ever accepted by whites is when they think I am white.” He let out a big sigh. “Then you came along, and I said, ‘Oh, great. Now we have another one in the family.’”

  Marie laughed. “Another what?”

  “Another white. Dad told us you grew up white. Anyway, it brought back all sorts of…unpleasant memories, shall we say.” He turned to face her. “Look, I know I shouldn’t judge you by my bad experiences.”

  “So what made you have a change of heart?”

  He chuckled. “Yolanda gave me hell when we got home on Sunday. She waited ‘til the kids went to bed and let me have it but good,” he said, his smile laced with embarrassment. “I slept on the couch that night and did a lot of thinking. In the end, I just felt like a real horse’s ass and knew I had to apologize. And I have to tell Mom I’m sorry, and when Dad gets home later, I’ll tell him too.” He reached out for a handshake.

  Not completely sure if his apology was coming from his own heart or his wife’s, Marie paused before shaking his hand. “Apology accepted.”

  She turned her horse around. Tré followed suit. When they emerged from the woods, Marie scrutinized the area in all four directions before spotting it.

  “The tallest tree?” he asked.

  Her lips folded into a half smile. “How’d you know?”

  “Because we all grew up with the same advice: ‘If you get turned around, look for the tallest tree,’ Zach would say. ‘That’s home.’”

  The next day was the day before Thanksgiving, and Marie helped Claire prepare the feast. They were expecting eleven for the main midday meal, including Zach and his son. Marie and Claire talked cordially throughout the day while they prepared the food.

  “Tell me about your business, Marie,” Claire said as she chopped vegetables. Marie had just opened her own interior design business earlier that year. “You must think this place is a disaster given all your education and decorating experience.” Her even tone didn’t reveal any clue as to whether she was being sarcastic, resentful, or complimentary.

  Suddenly it occurred to Marie that perhaps Jonathan’s paying for her education had taken away from what he was able to give his other children. She prayed that wasn’t the case. “I think you’ve done a fine job with the decorating, Claire. Your house is so cozy, so inviting.” Marie proceeded to tell her about her line of work.

  “And so you left Marshall Field’s when you fled from your husband?”

  “Mm-hmm. I had to, really. Do you want me to slice all the yams?”

  “Yes. Would you hand me that bowl, please? So how did you get started in Atchison?”

  Marie told her story, including how she had worked at the local phone company in Atchison before starting up her own business, and how she had developed the strong friendship with Karen.

  “Maybe someday you can bring her here for a visit. We’d love to meet her.”

  Marie wasn’t sure that Claire’s interest in meeting Karen was genuine or something else. She gave her a weak smile and said, “Thank you. I’d like that. But you know, you already have met her.”

  Claire gave her a puzzled look.

  Months earlier, when Marie had begun to suspect her father lived in St. Charles, she and Karen had driven there to check him out. Karen pretended to be interested in buying a horse from him. She was also the one who told Marie that Jonathan Brooks was a Negro. Marie had to see him for herself, so Karen drove to his ranch for the second time, this time with Marie in the passenger seat. When Jonathan had emerged from his home, she had instinctively known he was her father.

  Marie relayed the story to Claire, who shook her head. “Getting back to your business, I’m curious as to how you ended up where you are. Let’s face it, most women are lik
e me—devoted to housekeeping, raising families, and being a dutiful wife. And most women don’t leave their husbands, no matter how difficult the situation is.”

  Marie wasn’t sure if Claire was criticizing her for leaving Richard or thinking about her own set of circumstances. “When I was in college, I studied a woman interior designer named Frances Elkins. You probably never heard of her, but you may have heard of her brother, David Adler, the famous architect.” Claire nodded. “Well, she’s my hero, my inspiration.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She started out being that typical housewife that you described, married to a man from a very prominent family who made a lot of money and kept her in fine clothes and jewelry. While she wasn’t in love with him, she did have three children with him. But that’s not what she wanted in life, at least that’s not all she wanted in life. She wanted a fulfilling career like her husband, but she knew he would never let her do that, so she left him, divorced him actually, and without any college or training pursued what she loved to do, interior decorating.”

  “She left her children?”

  “No, apparently she took her children with her.”

  “What time period was that, Marie? Is she still alive?”

  “She peaked in her career during the twenties and thirties. Made quite a name for herself. And she did other things she thought could be done, should be done, when others called her crazy. Like establishing her own workshop for the craftsmen who worked on her projects. No woman back then, or even now, would do that. As far as I know she’s still alive and living in California.”

  “Sounds like quite the pioneer.”

  “She was the first interior designer to incorporate matching her designs with the personalities of her customers. That’s something we designers take for granted today, but we owe it to her.”

  “It’s nice to have someone in your life who inspires you to do what you really want to do.” Claire looked away for a moment, as if in a distant thought. “I don’t think you’ve said just how you ended up in Atchison. Why Kansas of all places?”

  “Five days after I left Richard, I went to Union Station in Chicago trying to figure out where to go, thinking it should be as far away as possible. I was leaning toward Denver when I saw this man lurking around the station. I was pretty sure he was one of Richard’s cohorts, and I panicked. I looked at the train schedule posted on the wall and asked the agent for a one-way ticket to Kansas City. It was the town at the top of the list, the next train leaving the station.”

  “So what you’re saying is that had Denver been the next train leaving, you would have settled there? Or Philadelphia, or anywhere else?”

  “Probably.”

  “Funny how fate works, isn’t it?”

  Marie wished more than anything she could read her. “Yes, it is.”

  Family members started arriving late morning, each with their contribution to the holiday meal. Claire cooked an eighteen-pound turkey, a ham, apple-walnut stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, beans, candied crabapples, and cornbread. For dessert, apple pie, chocolate cake, and the cookies Tré’s daughters had baked.

  Jonathan asked to say the blessing before the meal. “Please join hands,” he began. “Our Father in heaven, we give thanks for the pleasure of our gathering together for this occasion. We give thanks for life, the freedom to enjoy it, and all other blessings. As we partake of this food, we pray for health and strength to carry on and try to live as you would have us live. This we ask, heavenly Father, in the name of Christ.

  “On this particular Thanksgiving, we thank you for giving Marie the wisdom and courage to find me, as I didn’t have the wisdom and courage to bring her home on my own. We thank you for the mixture of our cultures, blending us into one people under God.

  “Please guide us to help those who are less fortunate. We lift up in prayer the victims of poverty and racism, and all others who suffer.

  “And finally, we pray that you will bless all those who gather here, and keep us safe. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  Once the effect of Jonathan’s heartfelt prayer dissipated, energetic dinner conversation commenced. In between bites, Marie sat back, taking it all in.

  After dinner, the men migrated to the living room for what started out as sports talk but quickly turned into naps. The women spent the next two hours washing dishes and wrapping up leftovers.

  Too young to fully understand, Tré’s daughters apparently hadn’t been told the whole story about Marie, and they were curious, especially after Jonathan’s prayer. Denise, the older of the two, wasn’t shy about asking questions. Her arms were folded across her chest when she asked the first one. “So, Marie, how can you be our aunt?” Yolanda opened her mouth to say something to her daughter, but then let her continue.

  “Because your grandfather is my father,” Marie explained.

  Denise crinkled her brow. “But you’re white.”

  “Denise!” Yolanda scolded.

  “It’s okay, Yolanda. I don’t mind,” Marie said. “Negroes come in all shades, Denise. I’m just very light-skinned.” She couldn’t believe those words had come out of her mouth. Except for Karen and now the Brookses, she hadn’t had a conversation with anyone about her ethnicity or her skin color.

  Denise’s hands were on her hips. “So we’re to call you Aunt Marie?”

  “If you want.”

  “How come you’ve never been here before?”

  “Well, I’ve been separated from your family for a long time…and now we’ve found each other.”

  She shifted her weight. “Is your husband white?”

  “Denise!”

  “It’s okay,” Marie said to Yolanda. “I’m married, but I’m not with my husband anymore.”

  “Why not?” With that, Yolanda took her daughter’s arm and guided her out of the kitchen.

  Marie’s gaze met Claire’s, and both women laughed. Claire said, “She’ll find out someday. I would have let her continue.” She threw up her hands in surrender. “But she’s not my child, so I stay out of it.” Claire appeared to be letting her guard down a bit, allowing what Marie suspected was her true personality to emerge. It felt good.

  The last thing planned for the day was to pick names out of a hat for Christmas presents. Claire explained once the boys were grown and out of the house, they had established the one-gift rule. Marie smiled at the sight of Jonathan’s name on her slip of paper.

  After everyone had gone, Marie, Claire, and Jonathan sat in the living room relaxing over a glass of wine. “Well, what do you think?” he asked Marie.

  “About?”

  “About today. How does it feel to be part of this family?” He laughed and looked nervously at Claire before asking Marie, “Have we scared you enough yet?”

  Marie smiled while she thought about how to respond. “Quite the opposite. I have dreamt my whole life for a holiday get-together like this…with a family. A family I never had until now. You can’t know how good it makes me feel.”

  “Marie, dear,” Claire chimed in, her voice slightly stilted. “I’m not sure just how to put this, but I watched you interact with everyone here today, and I saw someone who felt very relaxed…even when little Denise was asking you all those indelicate questions. I’m not sure most people who were raised in a white family would feel that comfortable around colored people.”

  “Well, I feel totally comfortable around you.” She wondered how Claire would interpret what she had just said.

  “And why do you think that is?”

  Marie shook her head. “I don’t know. Skin color just doesn’t matter to me, and as far as I can see, that’s the only difference between us.” There I go again. Wrong thing to say.

  Jonathan looked at Marie, then his wife. “On that note, let’s go to bed,” he said.

  CHAPTER 4

  To Thine Own Self

  Be True

  Marie jumped at the chance when Jonathan asked her if she wanted to accompany him to the public library the next
day to research back issues of newspapers for Truman’s political platforms, Seeing the outside of the library brought back memories of when she and Karen had combed through phonebooks looking for Marie’s father. Jonathan touched her arm. “Before we go in, Marie, can you tell me just how you found me?”

  They sat in Jonathan’s car while she told the story. “After Mrs. Hollingsworth called me…that name, I went to the public library to look at pictures of Negroes. I know that sounds dumb, but I didn’t know very much back then. Anyway, I found this book, What Really Went on in the Big House. Are you familiar with it?”

  Jonathan shook his head.

  “Well, in there I saw pictures of mulatto children who looked just like me. And that’s when it occurred to me that Mrs. Hollingsworth may have been right. Because remember, I knew nothing about you, and the more I thought about it, the more I wondered just why Mom was so secretive. So after that, every chance I got, I looked for clues. I went to the hospital where I was born, to my schools. I contacted people who knew my mother. But I got nowhere. Then, years later, when Karen and I became friends, I confided in her what I suspected.

  “Well, Karen has a keen sense of curiosity, and she went to my college in New York and somehow found out that Gregory Feinstein had something to do with whoever was paying my college tuition. We wanted to know where he lived, so we pored over Chicago and suburban phonebooks.”

  “Okay. Back up. Why did you do that?”

  “Why did we want to know where he lived?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because there was this notation on one of the bank records Karen found at my school referring to a barbecue at Jon’s and a date and time, and we thought there might be a connection between Jon and, well, you.”

  His eyebrows rose. “The note about the barbeque was written on a bank record?”

  “Well, not exactly. Karen rubbed a pencil over an imprint that was on the bank document and was able to decipher it.”

  Jonathan smiled. “I think I want to meet this Karen.”

  “You already did, remember?”