Cuisine.
Travel.
Music.
Books.
Architecture.
There was plenty to talk about that did not violate the Davies Family Peace Accord. After dinner, Nolan led the guests through a full tour of the home, complete with a running narrative of its history as two joined cottages with mirroring floor plans and answering questions amiably to the best of his ability. By the time he walked Meri back to the Inn, leaving Jillian to settle the guests into their rooms, the mood was civil if not genuinely calm.
Jillian waited for Nolan on the front porch.
“Well?” He sat on the double-wide wicker chair beside her. “Do you think they got a taste of being in the same room without railroading each other?”
“What happens tomorrow, Dad?”
“I make omelets to order, and you play the role of barista.”
“And Meri?”
“She’s not coming for breakfast. The Inn is full up, remember?”
“Ah, sneaky. She’s working.”
“My take is the Davieses will not storm over there and make a scene in front of guests over breakfast. We can invite them to church or suggest a half-day outing they might enjoy. Then we’ll do a late lunch.”
“Here?”
Nolan nodded.
“And you will officially go into mediator mode.”
“Perhaps more clandestinely than officially, but yes.”
Jillian stood up. “I’ve got some things to do in my office.”
“Still determined to finish that report today?”
“No. I want to look into some census records before I call in some genealogical reinforcements. Canny is a loose cannon. We’re running out of time.”
Jillian returned to the yellow legal pad she’d left in front of her computer hours ago and logged into the 1940 census. A useful feature of the 1940 census was that, because of mobility during the Great Depression, the questions asked also included where people resided in 1935. That might tell her where to go in the 1930 census, and she would work backward from there. Unlike Dr. Juliette Mathers, she had no rule against late-night caffeine, especially when she expected to be at this task for several hours. Her hunch said she was going to end up in Memphis at Canfield Asylum, but she needed a more solid trail before prevailing on someone in Memphis to get eyes on the real evidence—if it even existed anymore.
She flipped the yellow legal sheets as she filled them with notes deep into the night.
In the morning when Jillian dragged down the back stairs after a few hours of sleep, she heard her dad’s rattling preparations before she reached the bottom step. Nolan had omelet ingredients lined up on the breakfast bar: a bowl of beaten eggs, chopped onions, green and red peppers, mushrooms, black olives, fresh spinach, swiss and cheddar cheese, and crumbled bacon. The omelet pans were warmed, buttered, and ready to go. Honey-wheat bread from Ben’s Bakery was sliced and ready to toast. The kitchen nook table was set with stoneware, and the bright color of a clear glass pitcher of orange juice beckoned guests. Wiping sleep from her eyes, Jillian took up her position beside her barista machines before the first of the Davieses turned up in the kitchen.
“You’ve changed your clothes and done your hair differently,” Nolan said, “so I assume you didn’t spend the entire night in your office.”
“I’ll never get that sleep back,” Jillian said, “but it was worth it. I found Meri’s grandfather—and the ‘Canfield’ of his generation. It’s a sad story.”
Juliette’s heels clicked against the hardwood floor of the hall as she came through the open door. “Good morning. Michael and Canny will be down soon. How gracious of you to plan another feast for us this morning.”
“I hope you’re hungry.” Nolan gestured to the omelet bar options.
“My goodness. And that looks like more than an ordinary coffeepot.”
Jillian picked up a large empty stoneware mug matching the table dishes. “It would be my pleasure to serve as your barista this morning.”
Juliette glanced over her shoulder. “Quick, before Michael comes down with his speech about black coffee! I’d love a creamy latte, extra hot if possible.”
“Whipped cream?”
“You can do that?”
“But of course. Perhaps a hint of semisweet chocolate shavings to top it off?”
“That does sound magnificent.”
“And how would madam like her omelet?” Nolan picked up the bowl of beaten eggs.
Breakfast went smoothly—with no mention of Meri. Weird, Jillian thought, but perhaps for the best. Canny passed on going to church, claiming he had a hundred emails to answer, and went straight up to his room, but Michael and Juliette accepted the invitation—again without asking if Meri might be there. Perhaps not mentioning her was part of the “sleep on it” agreement. Nia and Leo were there, which meant it was Meri’s turn to stay on duty at the Inn. After church, Nolan dropped Juliette and Michael about a mile and a half down Main Street with the assurance that most of the shops would be open on Sunday afternoon, and people were known to get lost in the Victorium Emporium or go into sugar comas in the candy store or ice cream parlor. Lunch, and Meri, would be waiting for them when they made their way back to the house, whenever that was.
Lunch was a hearty Irish lamb stew, with carrots and potatoes and garnished with chives, parsley, thyme, and bay leaf. They were in the dining room again, eating from a collection of eclectic shallow bowls Jillian’s mother had enjoyed collecting over the years, some as long ago as before Jillian was born and some only weeks before her death. For a man who couldn’t understand how the aisles of a grocery store were organized and filled a cart strictly on the impulse method, her father certainly had discovered his flair for cooking out of the necessity of feeding his motherless child.
Jillian and her father sat at opposite ends of the table. Michael and Juliette were beside each other on one side, and their son and daughter across from them.
“Nolan has a family blessing he says at meals,” Meri said. “Let me see if I get it right.”
“You want to say my Irish blessing?” Nolan raised that free-spirited eyebrow.
“I want to try.”
“Go for it.”
“May you always find nourishment for your body at the table,” Meri said. “May sustenance for your spirit rise and fill you with each dawn. And may life always feed you with the light of joy along the way.”
“Well done!” Nolan clapped three times. “You shall have the first of the stew.”
“I’ve never heard that one,” Juliette said.
“His grandmother made it up,” Meri said.
“That’s the best kind,” Michael said. “My grandfather used to be full of pithy wisdom. I remember hanging on his every word.”
Nolan filled bowls with stew, and the bread basket made its way around the table.
“My father used to send me to spend summers with my grandfather, out in sharecropping rural Georgia,” Michael said.
“But Grandpa Thomas was from Chattanooga.” Meri’s head tilted.
“Later on he was. But he started out in practice with his father, in Meriwether County, Georgia.”
Meri’s head dropped forward. “I’m named for a county?”
“You’re named for my happy childhood,” Michael said, “and for the summers I spent at my grandfather’s side learning the art of medicine long before proving myself worthy for the white man’s world of medical school and making sure my children could go to any medical school they chose.”
Jillian scanned the table for reactions.
Meri froze.
Juliette pushed food around in her bowl.
Canny nodded approvingly and helped himself to more bread.
Michael met Nolan’s affable gaze with a challenge. Enough of playing around Canyon Mines. Enough of avoiding the real reason they were gathered around this table.
Nolan was unfazed. “Meri tells us there is a Canfield in every generation of y
our family. Did you know Jillian is a genealogist? She finds these things fascinating.”
“That’s true,” Jillian said. “A name and a birth date can uncover a wealth of information in a family tree. I understand you are the Canfield in your generation. Your father must have had a brother?”
Michael nodded. “Died in infancy though.”
Jillian already knew this. Thomas’s eldest brother, bearing the legacy name, was listed in the 1930 census—just barely—and then disappeared.
“My brother Seamus got the family name,” Nolan said. “He wasn’t fond of it as a kid. People don’t always know how to pronounce it when they see it or spell it when they hear it. But now I think he’s glad to have it, because it was my father’s name as well.”
Jillian stifled a smile as Canny flashed Nolan a look that said he couldn’t possibly understand the weight of a difficult name. Would he have a less overbearing personality if he were called Rob or Steve or Trevor? And how about Pru, the sister in between Canny and Meri? Was her residency schedule the only reason that kept her out of this family confrontation, or did the middle child simply have less of a penchant for family drama?
“My grandfather was the first Canfield Davies,” Michael said. “I’m sure it broke his heart to lose his son, but he would be so delighted that my son both bears his name and the profession he gave his life to.”
“Was he the first doctor in your family?” Jillian asked.
“His father was also a physician, Dr. Samuel Davies, no small accomplishment for a child born to former slaves.”
Jillian debated whether to bring up Canfield Asylum. If Meri mentioned it, she would elaborate. Otherwise, she’d prefer to have more evidence of a connection. So many African Americans hit a wall when they researched their family lines precisely because slave records were incomplete or last names were absent or shifted or birth dates were unknown. Martha Canfield of Ohio wasn’t a slave owner, but she couldn’t have been the only Canfield in the South after the Civil War. Jillian needed more to substantiate her theory.
Canny was finished wolfing down his meal and pushed his bowl toward the center of the table.
“We slept on it,” he said, “and you all had a nice stroll down memory lane. It’s time we dealt with the matter at hand.”
“What Canny means,” Juliette said, “is that we so appreciate your hospitality, but the weekend is coming to a close, so we should be making our plans for returning to Denver, and Meri will need some time to gather her things before we go.”
Meri clinked her spoon in her bowl, reached for her water glass, and swallowed half its contents. “I understand that you all have responsibilities to get back to, but I won’t be leaving with you.”
Juliette and Michael exchanged glances.
“We can make some calls,” Michael said. “Your mother doesn’t have any surgeries tomorrow, and we understand you may feel you need another day to make arrangements with your employer.”
“Nia,” Meri said. “Nia and Leo.”
“Yes, of course.” Juliette gestured toward Nolan. “If we can prevail on our generous hosts, we can stay another night and arrange to go home tomorrow.”
“Of course you can stay,” Nolan said.
“The dean has agreed to take you back, Meriwether,” Michael said. “On probation, of course. There is no getting around that. But he recognizes your potential and is confident a student of your caliber can make up the work you missed the last two weeks. But if the absence becomes prolonged, you may have to wait and begin the entire year again next fall.”
“That would be a shame,” Juliette said, “considering that it’s only October. Losing an entire academic year is quite a setback.”
“And totally unnecessary,” Canny said.
Jillian looked from Meri to Nolan, who flashed five fingers before deftly starting the bread basket on another cycle around the table.
“So this is the reasonable manner in which we agreed we were going to talk?” Meri pushed her chair back. “You all very sweetly—well, Canny doesn’t know how to be sweet to save his life—you all tell me what arrangements and decisions you’ve already made about my life and offer the gracious concession that I might want one more day to get on board?”
“Now, Meriwether,” Michael said, “we have your best interest at heart. We don’t want you to be rash and make a mistake you’ll regret.”
Meri stood up and replaced her chair neatly under the table. “I don’t intend to do that either, Dad. But I’m not going back to med school. In fact, I’m not going back to Tennessee. Nolan, thank you for another lovely meal. I’m sorry I can’t stay to help clean up.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I’ll go.” Nolan held up both hands, momentarily paralyzing the three members of the Davies family.
“What gives you the right?” Canny demanded, on his feet.
“I’ve earned her trust. And frankly, you’re not helping matters.”
“Excuse me?”
“Meri needs her family to hear her. I’d like to try again to make that happen. So I’m going after her, and I suggest the three of you help Jillian clear the dishes and clean up the kitchen.”
Juliette tucked a stray gray hair back where it belonged. “If you think that will be helpful, of course we will wait for you to bring Meri back. Then we’ll see.”
“I didn’t say I would bring her back,” Nolan said. “I’m going to talk with her, and then I’ll come back and talk with you.”
“You can’t believe she’s serious about dropping out of medical school,” Canny said.
“It’s not my job to speak for Meri,” Nolan said. “But I have some experience in these things, and I do know when parties at the table are talking past one another, and I want to help you with that.”
“This is a family matter,” Michael said.
“I suggest you all make the necessary phone calls to extend your stay in Canyon Mines.”
“Impossible,” Canny said.
“Imperative,” Nolan said.
“You’re over the line.”
Nolan headed toward the front door.
Jillian followed him out to the porch. “Dad!”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.
She followed him down the steps. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, you can do the dishes, or I’ll do them when I get back.”
“I mean about them, Dad.” Jillian trailed him a few strides along the sidewalk.
“Jilly, I’ll be back as soon as I can. I want to do what I can to make sure Meri will still be in town in the morning.” Meri remained within sight but was moving fast, and Nolan wasn’t about to lose her.
Jillian stopped. “You’re right. Go.”
Seven minutes racing behind Meri to the Inn, twelve minutes calming her, seven minutes extracting a strategy from Nia and Leo to do their best to keep her engaged and away from her car, and ten minutes power walking back home at a less breathless pace.
Thirty-six minutes during which the Davieses could have done who knows what.
But the black SUV was still parked in front. Canny was out of sight, probably in his room. Michael was at the cleared dining room table with a lone mug of coffee. Juliette sat at the breakfast bar watching Jillian wipe down the kitchen counters while the dishwasher hummed at the beginning of its cycle.
He caught Jillian’s eye and let out a slow, soundless sigh. “I didn’t get my afternoon coffee.”
“I’ll fix it.” Jillian moved toward the coffee machines.
“How is she?” Juliette twisted toward him on her stool.
“She’s all right.” Nolan put a hand on Juliette’s shoulder. “If she were here, she’d make you a cup of herbal tea with honey.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Then I’ll put the kettle on.”
Juliette Mathers was a thoracic surgeon, adjunct medical faculty, and published scholar. And a mother who honestly did not know the next right thing to
do. At least one person in the family who could admit this was a place to start.
At dinnertime—late, after a late lunch and upsetting afternoon—Canny said he wanted to go out, and Nolan made several restaurant recommendations. As soon as they were out the door, he pulled out his phone.
“Nia? Meri needs to not be home for the next couple of hours.”
“We’ve already eaten, but I’ll get her out.”
“Someplace out of town. Right now.”
“I’m on it.”
“Tell Leo this is a good time for one of his distracting tall tales if the opportunity arises. The complete history of American woodworking legends would do nicely.”
Nia’s laughter rang so loud Nolan had to hold the phone at arm’s length.
Nolan and Jillian ate leftovers of last night’s pasta and Italian sausage and connived for the morning.
“I have to find Samuel Davies,” Jillian said. “Overnight. It will be practically impossible, Dad.”
“Practically.”
“It’s a figure of speech. You never know what you’ll stumble onto, but I’d have to get really lucky. Maybe he would turn up in a 1900 census, but where do I start looking? I have to at least have a county, if not an enumeration district.”
“Memphis. Aren’t you looking for Canfield Asylum there?”
“They closed in 1885. The biggest population Canfield ever had was during the 1878 yellow fever outbreak when dozens of children were orphaned and sent there. I can’t imagine I can find records of the children from so long ago. Adoptions weren’t always formal, especially placing black children. They just needed someplace to live because their families were deceased. And if he was at Canfield and was later formally adopted, his name would have changed at some point.”
“Jilly, we may not have past the morning.”
“She’s not going to go home with them.”
Nolan shook his head. “But if there’s any hope of healing the wound in their family, this is where they will find safe haven together.”
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