Daughters

by Florence Osmund

  “That’s right. Okay, continue.”

  “Anyway, we called all the Gregory Feinsteins we found in the phone books until we found the one associated with the bank. So we drove here, to St. Charles, and found his house. Then we looked at all the mailboxes on his street and came here, to the library, and matched up the addresses with names. The only one that made any sense was Brooks Horses.” Marie gazed at her father apologetically. “I think you know the rest.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “All I can say is that you and Karen may have missed your true calling—detectives. By the way, we’ve invited the Feinsteins over for dinner tomorrow.” He gave her a warm smile. “C’mon, let’s go see what Mr. Harry S. Truman is all about.”

  Marie and her father spent the next several hours reading everything they could get their hands on regarding the new president—newspaper and magazine articles, transcripts of his campaign speeches, and political flyers. Jonathan took copious notes, and when they returned home, he and Marie discussed the various issues: the Soviet Union, economic and social development, the formation of NATO, nuclear weapons, the Cold War, and civil rights—all the topics Truman had spoken about on his “whistle-stop tour” prior to his election.

  Impressed with her father’s knowledge of political issues, Marie knew there was even more to this man than she had already seen.

  On Saturday, Marie and Jonathan went for a leisurely ride after breakfast. It was gray and overcast, and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees overnight. Claire lent Marie her sheepskin vest for the ride.

  “Dad?” It was hard to avoid calling him that sometimes, like now, when she wanted to get his attention.

  “Yes, daughter?” Jonathan shot her a sincere smile.

  “There’s something I brought up in the car ride earlier that I’d like to talk about.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Well, it’s about…it’s about race.” They slowed the horses to a steady gait. “You know when men look at me, they see a white woman.”

  “No,” he corrected her. “When men look at you, they see a beautiful white woman.”

  Despite the cold, Marie felt the blood rush up her neck. “Thank you. What I’m getting at is that when a man shows an interest in me, it’s because he’s interested in a white woman. So let’s say then he asks me out. I’m at a loss what to do now.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “If I say no, that ends it right then and there, and I may have missed out on a good relationship. But then, of course, I’m not sure anymore if that’s the relationship I want to be in anyway.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “But if I say yes, at some point I have to reveal my true identity. And if I do that on the first date, it will probably be the last date. White men don’t want to be seen with a colored woman.”

  “Sounds like you have this figured out.”

  “But a Negro man isn’t going to want to be with me, either.”

  He paused for a few seconds. “Look at Tré.”

  “That didn’t work out so well, did it?”

  “No, but I’d be hard pressed to say it was because she was white. There were other issues in that marriage.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I think it’s accurate to say most Negro men wouldn’t want to be seen with a white woman, but there are plenty of them who wouldn’t mind being with a white woman, believe me.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?” Marie asked. “Go through life alone?”

  “Claire would tell you there is someone out there for everyone. You just have to find him.”

  Marie was afraid her own fears would keep her from ever being in a serious relationship—her fear of Richard for one, and not knowing how to deal with her ethnicity for another. Understanding how to manage fear with desire, two diametrically opposed emotions, was something she had yet to figure out.

  “So keep saying yes and face the consequences, face the rejections when they find out who I am,” she said. Jonathan didn’t respond. “Or would you advise me to do what you and Claire did? Marry out of convenience and not for true love?” She immediately regretted having said that.

  “Marie, I can’t advise you what to do. You have to listen to your own heart. I told you I have no regrets with my marriage, but that may not work for you. Besides Richard, what have been your other experiences?”

  “Pretty much none. A few dates in college, but nothing serious. Richard was my first. And now…well, legally, I’m still married, so I haven’t seen anyone.”

  “What are you going to do about your marriage?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know. According to one lawyer, I don’t have good grounds for divorce, so I’ve been just waiting it out.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Well, he has grounds, but I doubt he’ll file for divorce. My only other option is to wait the seven years for the marriage to be nullified, which may be better all the way around. It’s bad enough I’m looked upon as different because I own my own business by myself, but who wants to be labeled a divorcee?” Not to mention a mulatto once people find that out, she thought.

  “How much longer would you have to wait for that?”

  “It’s only been a year and a half.”

  “I have a few lawyer friends. Let me see what I can find out.”

  The Feinsteins arrived at six o’clock, all four of them. Marie, of course, had already met Gregory. With him were his wife, Gloria, their forty-one-year-old son, Ben, and Ben’s twelve-year-old daughter, Rachael.

  Dinner conversation included talking about Marie’s interior design business, Ben’s medical practice, and Rachael’s school and extracurricular activities. Rachael, with shoulder-length dishwater blonde hair, sad blue eyes, and an expressionless face, answered any question asked of her but didn’t offer up anything on her own. Marie was curious about her mother; there had been no mention of her before or during dinner.

  After dinner, the men retreated to the main barn to enjoy the Cuban cigars Greg had brought with him. The women and young Rachael cleared the table and tidied up the kitchen. Afterward, they settled in the living room where Claire, Gloria, and Marie enjoyed a glass of port wine.

  “My mom is missing,” Rachael said with a flat voice and vacant look on her face. Her words stung the air at first and then hung there like a morning fog.

  Gloria looked at her granddaughter with loving eyes and then focused on Marie. “Rachael’s mother left the family in May. We don’t know where she is.”

  Marie glanced at Rachael. The girl had not yet displayed even the faintest of smiles during the few hours she had been there. Marie could almost see the sad thoughts going through her head. “That must be very hard for you. I’m sure you miss her.”

  Rachael jumped up and sat close to her grandmother for comfort, burying her head in Gloria’s bosom. Gloria clenched her mouth and rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. Then the men entered the room. “Have a good smoke?” Claire asked, trying to ease the tension in the room.

  The men had big grins on their faces. “Nothing like a good Cuban cigar,” Jonathan said.

  “What do you think, dear?” Gloria asked, with Rachael still cradled in her arms. “Should we be getting home? Rachael has an early morning riding lesson.”

  The Feinsteins got up to leave. Marie, Jonathan, and Claire walked them to the door and said their goodbyes. Claire had her hand on the doorknob, about to close the door, when Rachael ran back into the house and hugged Marie. And just as quickly, she was gone.

  Back in the living room, Claire explained Ben’s situation. “Maybe we should have told you this before they got here, but I didn’t know if it would come up, and…well, I thought it better not to say anything. Anyway, Ben didn’t even know he had a daughter until a couple of years ago.” She turned to her husband. “Has it been that long?”

  “I think so.”

  “He and Judy had dated sometime back, and then she broke it off and moved to Chicago. Greg and Glor
ia and eventually Ben all thought it was for the best. Then one day out of the blue, Judy calls Ben and tells him he has a ten-year-old daughter. Ben did what he thought was the right thing to do, and that was move them here and marry Judy.”

  “That must have caused quite a disruption in his life.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. It was a disaster. Judy spent more time away from the family than she did with them. Rachael started going to Greg and Gloria’s after school because her mom was rarely there for her. Then one day, Ben came home from work only to find Judy, their checkbook, and all her clothes gone.”

  Marie sat in silence, mouth agape, while she listened to the story. “That poor child.” She wondered how anyone could up and leave their child like that. Could there be any legitimate explanation for her actions?

  “Greg and Gloria play a big role in Rachael’s life these days,” Jonathan added. “And Ben is trying very hard to be a good father, although I’m not sure if she’s actually his daughter.”

  “Jonathan!”

  “Well, let’s be honest, Claire. What proof do they have? Judy’s word? That’s worth about as much as teats on a boar hog.”

  “Jonathan Brooks! You apologize for your language.”

  “Sorry, ladies. It’s an old Southern expression.”

  “You and your old Southern expressions. No more, ya hear?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  Claire yawned. “Well, it’s been a long day, and I’m going to bed.”

  Marie glanced at her father whose eyes were half closed. “I think I’ll turn in too. Good night,” she said.

  “Good night, sweetheart.”

  After lunch on Sunday, Jonathan disappeared in his den to prepare for his roundtable discussion. Claire invited Marie for a horse ride. Marie didn’t know what to expect and was nervous about being alone with Claire, completely out of earshot from anyone.

  “So you’ve been here a little more than a week, Marie. How does it compare to what you expected?”

  Marie slowed down her horse. Here’s your chance. Whatever you do, don’t blow this. “Honestly, it’s been so much more than I expected.” She paused. She wanted to choose just the right words. “And I have to say it’s as much because of you as it is Jonathan.”

  “Me?” Claire acted surprised at Marie’s remark.

  “Claire, I’m pretty sure this visit would never have taken place if it wasn’t for you. And please don’t believe for a minute that I don’t appreciate that. I’ll never forget this visit.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that, dear…and…um…I want you to know you’re welcome here anytime. You’re family now.” She looked directly into Marie’s eyes. “I mean that.”

  This is my chance to get closer to her. Here goes. “Thank you.” She flashed Claire a smile that she hoped came across as genuine. “And I’d like to come back.” She thought about her many conversations with Jonathan. “You know, I have so many questions, and…”

  “I hope you’re getting all the answers you were hoping for.”

  “Well, not all of them. Jonathan and I have had talks about how to deal with my…shall we say, my identity crisis, but I’m still pretty much in the dark about that.”

  This was the most at ease Claire had appeared since Marie’s arrival. “What’s your biggest concern?”

  “Romantic relationships. I can pass for white. Heck, I’ve been doing that my whole life. And I don’t have any problem attracting white men. But as soon as they find out about me, that’s likely to be the end of it. And quite frankly, if I wanted to, I could keep it a secret and everything would be fine, at least on the surface. But I can’t live with that, and I do still want children some day, so I really can’t keep it a secret.”

  “Jonathan and I talked about this before you got here.” The distant expression on her face told Marie Claire was carefully thinking through her next words. “Marie, have you ever considered going out with a colored man?”

  Marie’s thoughts wavered while she considered what she was about to say. “Yes, I’ve thought about it. But to be completely honest, it wouldn’t feel right.” She shook her head and stared downward. “And you know what’s so bad about that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “That makes me prejudiced—just what I can’t tolerate in other people.” She peered up at Claire. “It’s very confusing.”

  The two women rode back to the stable at a slow gait and then handed the horses over to Zach. They walked back to the house. “You’re talking about a very complicated issue. There won’t be any easy answers. Let’s make ourselves some tea, and I’ll tell you a story that may help you sort through things.”

  The shift in Claire’s attitude lifted Marie’s spirits. She followed Claire into the house.

  “Do you know what is the best advice I have for you, Marie?”

  “No, what’s that?”

  “To thine own self be true.”

  “Shakespeare.”

  “Yes. Powerful words. Very powerful words. And so many people leave this earth never having learned that lesson.”

  Marie thought about the quote while she helped Claire prepare beef stew for dinner. They were just six words, six simple words. But each time she thought about what they meant and all the ramifications of being true to herself, her thoughts took off in a different direction.

  “To thine own self be true,” she repeated to Claire after half an hour had passed. “I would think that first you have to know who you are, and I’m not sure I know that. Or am I making this more difficult than it needs to be?”

  Claire put down the knife she was using and focused on Marie. “Yes, I agree you have to know who you are, and there’s nothing simple about it. For you, part of the equation has already been defined. You’re a woman who happens to be part Negro but looks white. That’s one of your truths. Being true to yourself, I believe, means developing, believing in, and following your values based on your truths. Does that help?”

  Marie nodded, and then shook her head. “I’m not sure. I’m going to have to give that some more thought.” Her instincts told her to hug her, but she wasn’t sure if Claire was ready for that. “Thanks.”

  “As for relationships, find someone who appreciates you for who you are and what you have to offer, and you’ll do fine.”

  Marie found a handwritten note on her pillow later that evening.

  The Serenity Prayer

  God grant me the serenity

  to accept the things I cannot change,

  the courage to change the things I can,

  and the wisdom to know the difference.

  Marie had expected that on this visit she would derive explicit answers to the race issues that had exasperated her for so long, but she was now more perplexed than ever. But at least she was feeling more comfortable with Claire, and to some extent, that was more important.

  “So how did it go, dear?” Claire asked Jonathan when he returned from Chicago.

  “It didn’t.” He walked past his wife, poured himself a Scotch, and sank down in his favorite chair in the living room.

  Claire followed him. Marie wasn’t far behind. “What do you mean?”

  “There wasn’t any roundtable discussion. Any legitimate one anyway.”

  Marie and Claire both gave him confused looks.

  “Join me in a drink, ladies, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Claire poured the drinks while Jonathan began the story. “It was all a sham. Orchestrated by none other than the illustrious Mr. Richard Marchetti, no doubt.”

  Jonathan’s retort caught Marie completely off guard. “What?!” she exclaimed.

  “Don’t get too upset about it, Marie. I’m not.”

  “Tell us what happened, Jon,” Claire said.

  “I suspected something was not on the up-and-up the night before when five of us had dinner together, and we started talking about how each of us had been contacted. Things didn’t add up.”

  Marie strained to listen to what he was saying, but sh
e was having a hard time getting past the Richard factor.

  “It started out okay. There was someone there taking notes, so it seemed legitimate and everything. We talked about all the things I figured we would, and the discussion, while lively, was conciliatory...in the beginning. But when the moderator got to civil rights, he started firing questions directly at me—the only colored man on the panel I might add—like I was responsible for all the civil unrest in the country.”

  Claire’s face turned red. “What did the other panel members do?”

  “They were all dumbfounded, but they saw I was handling things on my own, and so they let it continue.”

  “That’s just not…”

  “Let me continue. It gets worse. Without any provocation, this short, rather stout white man in an ill-fitting suit barges through the door and looks at us like a cougar scoping out a herd of gazelles, and then points at me and says, ‘Why are you listening to this nigger?’”

  Both women gasped.

  “He went on to say I was nothing but a two-bit horse breeder trying to fit into society and that I’d cheated more people than he could count.”

  “What?” Marie called out.

  “Then what did the others do, Jon?”

  “At first I think they were all so surprised by this man’s outburst, they just sat frozen in their chairs…except for the moderator, that is. He seemed to be enjoying it all. Then that little piece of shit—I’m sorry, ladies—the little fat man went on to say I…okay, I’m not going to use the exact language he used because it’s vulgar. He went on to say I caused a white woman to become pregnant, and I now have a secret illegitimate half-breed daughter.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Marie hoped the infuriation revealed on Claire’s face wasn’t being directed at her.

  “Calm down, Claire. Don’t let it get to you. It’s not worth it.”

  “If Richard had anything to do with this, I swear I’ll…”

  “You, too, Marie. It’s not going to help to lose control. Anyway, two of the other panel members jumped up and escorted the worthless little…out the door and then blocked it so he couldn’t come back in. Then they each had their say to the rest of the group, defending me. One of them said, and I’m glad he did, that as far as having an illegitimate daughter, well, that was true, and he added that she is a welcome member of my family and an upstanding citizen in her own community.”