The meal began with a lengthy grace, perhaps inspired, Anna thought, by the family’s very long morning at church. Jesse’s father had some of the preacher in him. He sat at the head of the table and thanked the Lord for everything under the sun, including Anna, which surprised and touched her. Then they began passing the food. Fried chicken, whipped potatoes, a bowl of some sort of greens, corn, and canned tomatoes. Every bit of it came right from the farm, Jesse told her.
“Really!” Anna said. She wondered if the chicken she was eating had been running around the Williams’s yard a few hours earlier. “That’s amazing.”
“What’s so ’mazin’ ’bout that?” Nellie asked, looking up from her plate where she’d been playing with her food more than she’d been eating it. She was a tiny, adorable child who looked closer to six than eight. Her hair was in short braids, so many of them that they nearly formed a halo around her head. She had absolutely no knowledge of how to behave with company, which led her to say funny and inappropriate things that made Anna laugh. Except for Jesse, Anna felt more at ease with the little girl than with anyone else at the table.
“Don’t be so rude,” Dodie said to the child in response to her question. Dodie struck Anna as sullen and quiet, and Anna wondered if she was always that way or if it was her presence that brought out that side of the girl. Was it as odd for them to have a white woman at their table as it was for her to be there? It felt strange to be the different one in the group, she thought. Being different could lead to paranoia. She kept wondering, Are they saying that or acting that way because I’m white or is this the way they always are? Silly thinking, she decided, and not very useful.
“Not many farms up north, I guess?” Jesse’s mother asked.
“Oh, yes, there are plenty of farms up north,” Anna said. “As a matter of fact, New Jersey, where I live, is called the ‘Garden State.’ But I live in a town not too far from New York City. We get our food from the grocery store.”
“You’re a city girl for sure,” Aunt Jewel said with a smile. She struck Anna as the sharp blade in the family. The smart one. Well, perhaps they were all smart, but Anna thought Jewel must be better educated than Jesse’s parents. She spoke better English and there was something more worldly about her. Anna remembered Jesse telling her that his aunt was a midwife for the colored community. She’d probably been educated as a nurse, then. Maybe Aunt Jewel would be the one to understand why Jesse’s talent needed to be nurtured.
Anna felt Nellie’s gaze riveted on her and she caught the girl’s eye and smiled.
“You so pretty,” Nellie said. “I wish I had hair like that. And your eyelashes.” She touched her own lashes. “Yours is so thick.”
“Well, I think your hair is adorable in all those little braids,” Anna said.
“You got a piece of collard in your teeth,” Nellie said, pointing to her own two front teeth.
“Don’t be so rude!” Dodie said again.
“No, that’s fine.” Anna laughed, then worked the offending piece of collard free with her tongue. She regretted taking so many collards onto her plate. She’d never eaten them before and hoped never to eat them again. “Thank you for telling me, Nellie,” she said.
“And you know what else?” Nellie asked.
“Nellie…” her mother warned.
Nellie ignored her. “Dodie stealed some of Mama’s toilet water when she went out last night.”
“Did not,” Dodie said. “I borrowed it.”
“How you gonna give it back?” Nellie sniped.
Jesse put his arm around his little sister. “Why you wanna stir things up?” he asked her, his voice soft, and the little girl’s eyes instantly filled.
“I dunno.” She sounded suddenly remorseful, and Jesse gave her shoulders a squeeze. The tenderness in his gesture moved Anna. She had the feeling Jesse looked out for this little girl who didn’t seem to have the self-control to look out for herself.
Anna decided to shift the conversation with what she hoped was a neutral question. “How long has this land been in your family?” she asked, which set Mrs. Williams and Aunt Jewel off on a long story of the family’s history. For the most part, Mr. Williams stayed out of it, continuing his quiet observation of the goings-on, even though it was his lineage being discussed. Anna learned that Mr. Williams’s grandfather had been promised land when he was freed from slavery, but that land had been taken away from him, and he and his family had had to work as sharecroppers for many years before they could afford to buy a small parcel of land for themselves. They faced all kinds of hardships—some of them the same sort that white farmers would face, like drought, but they also faced hatred and prejudice that made it hard for them to hang on to the farm. Now, though, Mr. Williams and his whole extended family—sisters and brothers and cousins and the list of relatives went on and on—all owned bits and pieces of the fields surrounding the house. Jesse pointed this way and that as they described land belonging to their many cousins. It sounded like holding on to the land was an ongoing battle for all of them. Anna got the feeling that while Jesse’s family was not poor, they had to work very hard to hang on to everything they had.
“I’m sorry it’s been such a rough road for your families,” she said.
“Oh, we fine now,” Jesse’s mother said. She looked at Anna and drew in a long breath that signaled a serious change of topic. “Jesse tol’ us you was a old lady,” she said. “He say we don’t have nothin’ to worry about, him workin’ with you, but you ain’t no ol’ lady.”
Mr. Williams tilted his head in his wife’s direction at the change of topic, but still said nothing, and Anna tried to set her mind at ease. “I’m twenty-two,” she said. “Jesse is very talented and I want to help him grow to be a good artist. But I’m concerned—”
“Don’t matter what your intent or his intent be,” his mother said. “People see things where there ain’t nothin’ to see.”
Maybe Mrs. Williams had seen Mr. Wayman’s letter, after all. Anna understood her worry. Miss Myrtle told her colored men—and boys—had been beaten and even lynched for getting a bit too close to white women. “That’s all in the past, though,” Miss Myrtle had said. “That hardly ever happens at all anymore, and certainly not in Edenton.”
Anna imagined Jesse’s parents didn’t want their son to be Edenton’s first.
After dinner, Nellie wanted to show Anna around the farm. They put on their coats and walked together—Anna being careful where she stepped—and Nellie held her hand the whole time. They visited the barn and the mules and the kittens—all of whom Nellie had named—and the chicken coop. As they headed back to the house, Nellie said, “Can you come every Sunday?”, endearing her to Anna forever. She was a lovable child.
When they returned to the house, they were greeted by Jesse, his parents, and Aunt Jewel, who asked Anna to join them in the living room.
Finally! They would get down to the business of her visit.
The living room was large and homey, filled with handmade quilts folded neatly on the arm of nearly every chair, a braided rug in the center of the floor, and a large gray sofa. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and photographs of Jesse and his sisters, as well as children Anna didn’t recognize, covered one of the walls. She took a seat on the sofa, the cushion nearly swallowing her, it was so soft. She could tell from the atmosphere in the room that they were about to get down to brass tacks.
Jesse’s father finally spoke, taking the lead. “Jesse says you worried about him not stayin’ in school,” he said, “but I tell you, ain’t nobody gone all the way through high school in this family.”
Without thinking, Anna glanced at Aunt Jewel, who smiled.
“Not even me,” Aunt Jewel said, surprising her.
“Jesse got farther’n anybody,” his father said, “and we’re right proud of him. But we can use him on the farm, so if he’s ready to leave school, that’s fine by us.”
“But I’d like to see him go to art school somewhere,” Anna
said, keeping her voice even. “And it will be easier for him to get in if he has a high school diploma.”
“Art school?” Mr. Williams smiled as though she’d amused him. “That’s some mighty high thinkin’ for a farm boy. The farm’s where he belong.”
“I don’t want to see his talent—” She was about to say “wasted,” but caught herself. It would be the same as telling this family their farm work had no value. “I want him to be able to develop his artistic skills,” she said instead. The thought of Jesse being stuck on the farm for the rest of his life distressed her terribly. “He’s immensely talented,” she said. “Far more talented than I am.” She looked across the room to see Jesse studying his hands in his lap. She knew him well enough, though, that she could tell he was holding back a smile at her words.
“We know he’s talented.” Jesse’s mother spoke up. “But Daddy’s right. We need him at home. He the only boy. And if he ain’t in school, he should be here helpin’ and not workin’ on that picture of yours, either.”
Oh, dear, Anna thought. Not only was Jesse going to quit school but she was about to lose him in the warehouse as well.
“Let the boy keep workin’ with Miz Anna on the picture.” Aunt Jewel spoke up, and she said it forcefully, as if she were the one to have the final say on the subject. “It’s not doing any harm and it’ll come to an end soon enough, right?” She looked at Anna for confirmation.
“In a few months, yes,” Anna said, relieved by her support.
So, that was that. Thanks to Aunt Jewel, Jesse would continue working with her, but he was finished with school.
That night, Anna got down on her knees to pray, the first prayer she could remember uttering in a long time.
Dear Lord, she said, don’t let this young man’s talent go to waste.
Chapter 35
MORGAN
July 11, 2018
“It’s a stretch.” Oliver frowned as he studied the framed medallion in my hands. “Why would Jesse tie the opening of the gallery to the date he received the National Medal of Arts? I mean, why tie it so … obstinately to that date?”
“That’s what Lisa said,” I admitted, setting the frame down on Oliver’s table in the foyer. Lisa had been unimpressed with my discovery. “Do you think the date is just a coincidence, then?” I asked Oliver. “Do you think he just pulled August fifth out of the air?”
“That’s as good a guess as any.”
I looked down at the medallion. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re stuck with August fifth, one way or another. Lisa already sent out the invitations, so that’s that.”
I looked over at the mural, wondering how far I’d be able to get on it today. One thing was certain: I wasn’t getting anywhere on it by standing there talking to Oliver, so I gave up thinking about the medallion and walked toward the mural, my gaze on the lumberjack’s wrinkled pants, my task for the day.
I was working alone in the foyer shortly after lunch when Oliver came into the room from the hallway, lowering his phone from his ear. I could tell with one glance at his face that something was wrong. His jaw was tight, his eyes staring unseeing into the distance.
I set down my palette. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
He looked over at me, a surprised expression on his face as though he’d forgotten I was there. “Nothing,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Your face,” I said. “You look … worried. Upset.”
He took in a breath and blew it out, no longer looking at me. “Just my son,” he said finally, holding up his phone as if Nathan were inside it.
“What about him?” I asked, although I was afraid I knew.
He hesitated. Looked at his phone. Then he leaned back against the folding table, arms folded across his chest.
“He just told me he doesn’t want to go to Smith Mountain Lake with me this year,” he said. “He’d rather spend the time with his mother and stepfather in Disney World.”
I heard the hurt in his voice. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, surprised by the twist of pain I felt in my own chest, seeing his disappointment. He’d been so looking forward to the time with his son. “But I don’t think you have it exactly right,” I added.
He raised his eyebrows. “No?”
“Nathan talked to me about it that day you sent us to get lunch.”
“He did?” He looked puzzled. Maybe a little hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I sat down on the chair next to the mural. I felt guilty. Maybe I should have told him. “He wasn’t sure of his decision then,” I said. “I was hoping he’d end up going with you. And it didn’t feel like my place to say anything. I thought he needed to tell you himself.”
Oliver hesitated, then nodded. “True,” he finally agreed. “So how don’t I have it exactly right?”
“Because you think he’s picking his mother and stepfather over you, but that’s not it at all, Oliver. He’s picking Disney World over the lake.” I smiled at him with sympathy. “Any kid would. I would have given anything to go to Disney World when I was Nathan’s age.”
Oliver unfolded his arms and looked down at the phone in his hand as if he could see Nathan’s image there. He let out a heavy sigh. “You know, I’m glad for Stephanie. Nathan’s mother,” he said. “She deserves a happy marriage. But … and I feel small about this … her husband makes about ten times what I make, and Nathan’s at an age where that matters. His stepdad can give him anything he wants.” He gave me a weak smile. “I know on the deepest level that shouldn’t matter, but it does.”
I was touched that he was confiding in me and I hurt for him. “I think he’s so lucky to have you as a dad,” I said.
He let out a small laugh. “Well, thanks for saying that,” he said. “And I’m sorry to lay my problems on you,” he said. “You just caught me at a weak moment.”
“A human moment,” I said. “You seem so perfect all the time that I’m glad to see you’re mortal like everybody else.”
“Oh, I’m mortal all right.” He slipped his phone into the pocket of his jeans and stepped away from the table. “And I guess we’d better get back to work.”
I nodded, but as I stood up to reach for my palette, he spoke again.
“Were your parents divorced, Morgan?” he asked.
I looked at my palette but didn’t pick it up. “No,” I said, raising my gaze to him again. He looked sincerely interested in my answer, blue eyes serious. “But they should have been.”
“That bad, huh?”
I let out a breath. “You have no idea.” I felt danger creeping in. A tightness in my throat that told me I was going to fall apart if I talked about the past. I was too tired. Too vulnerable. And yet, Oliver stood there with those kind blue eyes, and he looked so ready to listen. “My parents were alcoholics,” I said.
“Ah,” he said. “You learned from the masters?”
I nodded. “Not just that. They … I was their only child and they didn’t know how to be parents. They sucked at it, frankly. They were madly, sloppily, drunkenly, disgustingly in love with each other and had nothing left over for—” Oh, shit. I was going to lose it.
“Hey,” he said, a worried expression on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was such a touchy subject.”
I sat down again, the muscles in my legs starting to quiver. I was surprised I was telling him about my growing-up years. I rarely spoke to anyone about my family. “The only attention I ever got from them was negative attention,” I said. “’You want to be an artist? You don’t have the talent to be any good at it, and you’ll never make any money at it, and don’t come running to us when you’re broke and living on the street.’” I looked down at my hands where they were locked together in my lap, my knuckles white. “They’d forget to pick me up after school sometimes, and they’d have these screaming, crying fights with each other. When I was little, I tried to get between them. Get them to stop fighting. When I was older, I just hid in my room.” I shivered with the m
emory. Sometimes I thought one of them might kill the other. Sometimes I actually wished that would happen. “They’d have friends over and everyone would get puking drunk and they’d expect me to clean up after them,” I said. I remembered my mother calling to me from her bedroom, asking me in her fake sweet voice to bring her the basin. I couldn’t have been any older than Nathan. I pretended not to hear her, burying my head beneath my pillow. “My parents never told me they loved me, Oliver,” I said. “Not ever. Not once. You tell Nathan, don’t you?”
“Of course. All the time.”
“He’s a lucky kid,” I said. “He’s surrounded by grown-ups who love him.”
Oliver stood up and walked over to me, pulling a handkerchief from his pants pocket. He handed it to me, and I burst out laughing as I got to my feet.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You actually carry a handkerchief?” I asked. “I think you’re the only guy I know under fifty who carries a handkerchief.” I blotted my eyes, and when I handed the handkerchief back to him, he was smiling at me.
“Aren’t you glad I had it?” he asked.
I nodded. Rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “You know,” I said, “Nathan’s a kid. Maybe he shouldn’t get to make this sort of decision on his own.”
Oliver shrugged. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I get him for Christmas this year. He and I can take a trip somewhere then. It was just the … the kick in the gut that got to me.”
Impulsively, I reached out to hug him. “I would have given anything to have a dad like you,” I said softly, my lips against his shoulder. The muscle and bone of his back felt good beneath my arms. I hadn’t touched another person this way in well over a year.
He squeezed me gently, then let go. “Thanks for putting everything into perspective for me,” he said. “And I’m sorry for what you dealt with as a kid. You act tough, but you’re pretty soft inside, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
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