My Daughter's Legacy

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Had she told me she’d known a gangsta rapper for years, I couldn’t have been more surprised than I was in that moment. I glanced at Maddee, who seemed bemused. She’d heard me griping about Nate since day one.

  “How do you know him, Nana?” she asked on my behalf, as I’d been rendered speechless. I reached for my water glass.

  “Through the Richmond Ecumenical Association. He does presentations there. All the ladies think he’s so handsome, in that Marlon-Brando-Rebel-Without-a-Cause sort of way.”

  “He… does what?” I asked before taking a big gulp.

  “He speaks. About his racetrack ministry.”

  I nearly did a spit take. “Racetrack ministry?”

  She sighed. “Yes, dear. He’s the chaplain over at Powhatan Downs. He comes and gives a talk every year so we can learn where the needs are and how we can help. It’s a wonderful cause. You can’t imagine the lives of those poor people on the backside.” Turning to Maddee and Greg, she added, “That’s what they call the part of the racetrack you don’t see, the area where all the support folks live and work. Such a difficult existence, such poverty, and the population can be rough—not to mention there’s always the risk of injury with the horses.”

  Looking at all of us now, she continued to explain, saying that the jobs there were seasonal and that the workers lived on-site. “They put in so many hours that they can’t get to church, so Nate brings church to them. He also facilitates twelve-step meetings, runs a men’s group, holds youth events, and tends to the sick and the needy. Through the REA, he has ties with all the local ministries, so he’s able to connect the people of the backside with the groups that can help them.”

  She went on and on, and as I listened to her talk, my worldview began spinning around.

  I kept thinking, Nate wasn’t going to the racetrack as an addict, to gamble. He was going there as a minister, to serve.

  I was so thrown by the Nate thing that every other conversation from the day got pushed to the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I was lying in bed that night that I thought of what my grandmother had said about how proud she was of my accomplishments at school.

  Her words had been so kind, and yet something bugged me about them. What had she said that gave me such a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach now? Shifting to my other side and punching my pillow, I tried to think back over the entire exchange.

  And then it hit me. It wasn’t Nana’s words that were bugging me—it was Granddad’s. The quote he used to say, that “education is the key to unlocking the golden door of freedom.” The golden door of freedom. Door of freedom.

  That was the name of the scholarship Gabe Koenig and his siblings received when they were young, their “free ride” through Ohio State. What an odd coincidence.

  Or was it?

  I opened my eyes, knowing I’d never get to sleep until I thought this through. On a hunch, I retrieved my laptop and returned to the bed, sitting up now as I started poking around on the web.

  First, I typed in the full quote just to see where it was from. My results attributed it to George Washington Carver, the famous botanist and inventor who’d lived around the turn of the century. Googling some more, I found that there was more than one scholarship named from that quote, things like “Golden Door” and “Key to the Golden Door.” But even after a lot of digging, I could only find one called the Door of Freedom. According to the listing, it had been created in Virginia in 1995 with a private endowment of $100,000, and it was no longer in existence. Though Gabe had said his scholarship was “government administrated,” I could find no signs of that. I did find the name of a private company that was connected with it somehow, “River City Investments,” along with an address here in Richmond, so I wrote it down.

  Except for the investment firm, which was unfamiliar to me, this stuff had Granddad’s name written all over it. His favorite quote. The year it was created. The amount of the endowment, which was probably just about exactly what it would have taken to fund the educations of Gabe and his siblings.

  If my hunch was right and Granddad really had created an anonymously funded scholarship for Taavi’s kids, what did that mean? Had this been his way of paying penance for something he’d done? Was Granddad Taavi’s killer? Certainly not in any sort of premeditated way, but perhaps, as Maddee had suggested, in self-defense?

  I hated to give the police yet another piece of evidence that implicated our grandfather in Taavi’s murder, but I knew I had no choice.

  The next morning, I told Maddee what I’d discovered, and she agreed I had to tell Ortiz. I saved that conversation for my lunch break. I slipped out to my car so I could call her from there in private.

  The detective’s reaction was surprisingly nonchalant, though I wasn’t sure why. She promised to look into it, though in a way it felt as if she was just humoring me. I supposed my theory sounded like a bit of a stretch, but not if you knew Granddad the way I did.

  Once our call was over, I just sat there for a bit, wondering what would happen if it turned out that my grandfather was a killer. He was dead now, after all. It wasn’t as if they could prosecute him. But it would still be a tragedy for our family, and especially for Nana. In a way, I could almost—almost—understand why she’d kept her own secret all these years.

  Putting such thoughts from my mind for now, I finished my sandwich, got out of the car, and went back to work—where I was facing a new and disturbing problem.

  Ever since my confrontation with Nate in the parking lot a week and half ago, things had gotten better between us. He hadn’t exactly been warm and fuzzy with me, but at least he hadn’t glared at me or picked on me or dismissed me. Now that I knew the truth about him thanks to Nana, however, I was suddenly almost shy whenever he came around, which made me furious with myself.

  I wasn’t the shy type. I’d never been shy a single moment in my entire life. Yet here I was, tongue tied and red faced whenever Mr. Rebel Without a Cause even glanced my way. Good grief.

  Somehow I managed to make it through the day, and the situation slowly improved as the week progressed.

  On Wednesday night, I finally got around to sharing the old family photos with Maddee. She had a lot of questions I hadn’t learned the answers to, so we got in touch with Aunt Cissy and invited her over.

  She came the next night for coffee and dessert, tickled to death that Maddee had also taken an interest in the pictures. As they went through them together and she answered Maddee’s questions, I focused on reading the little love notes that Therese’s husband had written to her. Though each one had been penned separately on its own small strip of paper, Aunt Cissy had made copies in batches of four or five per page.

  Even so, there were a lot of pages—and the notes were all just so sweet. The language of that era was a bit different, so there were some I didn’t really understand. But the overall impression was of a man who deeply loved his wife.

  Maddee and I were both fascinated to learn that one of our distant cousins, Henry Fox Talbot, had been the inventor of paper photography. According to Aunt Cissy, not long after the glass-based daguerreotype process was introduced, Henry came out with a paper-based method—which he continued to develop and improve for decades to come.

  “Some of his early works are so delicate and ephemeral,” Aunt Cissy told us, “that even though they still exist, they can no longer be exhibited or even exposed to light because doing so would destroy them. They’re kept in storage that’s completely light proof.”

  “So why bother?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s the point of keeping something around if you can’t even look at it?”

  Aunt Cissy thought about that for a moment. “I suppose for some people, there’s just something about owning a piece of history whether you can share it with others or not. Reminds me of that song…” Not surprisingly, she burst into a rendition of an old classic, “Fragile Hearts and Faded Memories,” and though we let her g
et through one verse without stopping, I couldn’t even glance at Maddee lest I start laughing.

  By the time she finished, however, I felt guilty for my reaction. Shame on me. If it made her happy to belt out the occasional tune, who was I to make fun? There were worse habits. At least she didn’t belch them out like a guy who used to hang at one of my favorite bars.

  When it was time for Aunt Cissy to go and she hugged me goodbye, I whispered a quick “Love you,” surprised to realize it was true. Pulling back, I could see genuine delight in her features as she replied, “I love you too, sweetie pie. I’m so proud of how far you’ve come.”

  Once she was gone, I settled back at the table, where Maddee and I slowly returned all of the pictures to the box. One caught my eye, and I hesitated, studying it.

  Again, it featured the beautiful face of Therese, only this time she was standing with two other people. The wall behind them was brick, though it was clearly an interior, with a washstand nearby. The man was between the two women, sporting an apron and holding a thick book in the crook of one arm.

  Flipping the picture over, I read the label on the back, which said it had been taken at a Civil War hospital and featured “Dr. Alec Talbot, Polly Talbot, and Therese Jennings.” Dr. Alec Talbot? Was this Therese’s future husband?

  Flipping it back over, I looked closer. He certainly was a handsome guy, with a neat beard and, under his apron, a white shirt and dark pants. In a way, he could almost pass for a modern-day hipster, which wasn’t all that surprising considering the cyclical nature of fashion.

  My eyes went again to Therese’s face and to the bravery that shone through in her expression. Aunt Cissy had said Therese worked in a hospital during the Civil War. With a shudder, I couldn’t help but wonder where she’d found the courage to survive in such a tragic and heartbreaking world.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Therese

  Warner wasn’t happy to see Michael, not the way Therese thought he would be. He kept his head turned away from his friend.

  “Your boys send their prayers,” Michael said.

  Warner’s voice wavered as he spoke. “They don’t blame me?”

  “Of course not. Nor should you blame yourself. You were ordered into those woods.”

  Therese stepped away to give the two men privacy, busying herself by distributing medications to other nearby patients. Michael’s voice was low and comforting. After a few minutes, he picked up the Bible she’d left on the stool and began reading to Warner from the Psalms.

  A half hour later, Michael approached her and said he was going to talk to Alec to see if he would go to the quartermaster with him to ask for supplies. “I’m a chicken,” he said and then made a clucking noise.

  Therese’s heart lurched. “No, you’re being prudent, that’s all.” She doubted anyone with the last name of Talbot could be a coward. Wrong, yes, but not a coward.

  Michael smiled. “It was Warner’s idea.”

  “It’s a good one.” The quartermaster was more likely to meet Michael’s request if Alec was with him.

  “Warner is fond of my cousin,” Michael said, his still voice light, “as it seems everyone around here is.”

  Therese hoped her face wasn’t growing red again. She couldn’t tell if Michael was teasing her or not. She nodded toward the hall, though, not wanting anyone to overhear their conversation. Michael followed, saying, “He has to be a good man, right? Being that he’s a Talbot.” He smiled again.

  Therese stopped in the middle of the hall and smiled back, certain now that he was teasing. “Of course.”

  Michael’s grin faded. “Look.” He lowered his voice. “It’s none of my business, but if you care for Alec as much as it seems he does for you, I have to agree with Warner that you should consider leaving with him.”

  Therese took a step backward, deeply hurt. Clearly, this confirmed once and for all what she’d long suspected, that Michael had no lingering feelings for her himself—and perhaps he never had.

  Oblivious to her dismay, he glanced around and then continued. “I know you’re concerned about Warner and your mother, but I promise, as long as I’m able, I’ll look after them as best I can.”

  She took in a breath, forcing away the pain and telling herself it didn’t matter now anyway. “I appreciate your commitment to my family,” she managed to say, “but there really isn’t anything to discuss as far as Dr. Talbot.” Her relationship with Alec was none of Michael’s business.

  He gave her a questioning look and then said, “All right. Just remember this conversation if the time comes.”

  As Therese gave him a curt nod, Alec approached.

  Michael waved him over and explained his need, and Alec agreed. “We don’t have much to spare, but if the boys can’t be cared for on the front line, most of them will never make it to us. It’s the right thing to do to share what we have. I’ll be down in a minute. Wait for me in the foyer.”

  “Thank you.” Michael took a step toward the stairs, but then he turned and asked, “How does it feel to miss the election?”

  The Union citizens would vote the next day in the presidential election between Lincoln and McClellan. For months it seemed Lincoln didn’t have a chance, but the latest polls had shown him winning.

  Alec shrugged. “I know God’s plan will come about whether I have a part in voting or not.”

  “I wanted to share a quote I heard recently, attributed to Jefferson Davis. Maybe not your favorite politician,” Michael added, speaking to his cousin.

  Alec laughed. “Oh, I can assure you, I’m not fond of any politicians. But I am interested in what Davis said.”

  Michael cleared his throat. “He told it to a nurse. It made me think of all of you here.” Slowly he recited, “ ‘Remember, if you save the lives of a hundred men, you will have done more for your country than if you had fought a hundred battles.’ ”

  “That quote applies to you too, Michael.” Therese’s eyes welled with tears, proud of his efforts regardless of his politics. If only everyone aimed to save lives—not destroy them.

  “Hear, hear,” Alec added. “Davis may be wiser than I’ve given him credit for.”

  Michael didn’t seem offended by the comment. Instead, he pointed toward the staircase again and, over his shoulder, said, “I’ll head on down. Come find me when you have a moment.” Turning toward Therese, he added, “I’ll see you later, little lady.” He grinned again.

  She watched him go, remembering all those years she’d pined for him.

  “Little lady, huh? Was he more than a childhood friend?”

  “No,” Therese said, wondering for half a moment if she’d just lied. She hadn’t. Obviously, Michael had only considered her a friend. “He used to tease me.”

  “It appears he still does,” Alec said.

  Therese shook her head. “Not really.” Then she smiled. “Well, maybe just a little.”

  Michael’s attention felt comforting, actually. As if the world really wasn’t upside down, even though it was. As if she could pretend that he hadn’t abandoned all the ideals they used to share.

  “Well, as long as it’s only teasing—and not flirting.” Alec smiled down at her, and she understood that now he was teasing her too.

  Michael had never been a flirt. Looking back, he’d never given her any reason to care for him as deeply as she had all those years either. She would get over that eventually, she was sure, even if her heart still raced at the sight of him.

  She met Alec’s eyes. “I’m waiting to hear the story about the lacerated liver.” If Mother moved Warner home, Therese would never be able to help Badan and Aggie escape from there. “Time may be running out.”

  “Oh?” he asked.

  “In fact, I’m hoping for two stories.”

  “I may be gaining more of an understanding of your interest.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t walk you home tonight, but perhaps tomorrow?”

  “I’d like that.”

  The next afternoon, a
fter finishing their teaching duties, Therese and Polly hurried to the hospital. When they arrived, Mother sat at Warner’s bedside while Alec stood at the end of the cot.

  Therese stepped to her mother’s side and kissed her cheek. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine.” Mother didn’t appear to be fine. She looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. “We readied the parlor for Warner.”

  Alec turned toward Therese. “Warner’s been running a fever today. I want to make sure it comes down and that he doesn’t have an infection, although your mother doesn’t seem to understand the importance of waiting to move him.”

  Mother threw up her hands. “This seems to be an endless proposition.”

  “You can wait here,” Alec said. “Or you can return home, and I’ll send a message once Warner is better.”

  Mother sighed. “I’ll retire to the Corbetts, God bless them.” She patted Warner’s cheek. “And hope my boy is well by morning.”

  Therese wondered if Mother comprehended the gravity of the situation. She stepped closer and placed her hand on Mother’s shoulder, trying to comfort her.

  Mother reached up and gave her a pat. “You’ll have to come home, of course,” she said. “We’ll need your help.”

  “Pardon?”

  Mother turned toward Therese. Her eyes were rimmed with red. “I understand now. God brought you to Richmond so you could learn to care for your brother back home. It was the Lord’s will. We’ll all be together at River Pines soon.”

  Not unless you free the slaves first, Therese wanted to reply but didn’t. It was one thing to take a stand against Mother, yet another when that stand involved her brother’s health—and possibly his very life.

  Therese held her tongue for now, knowing she would need to think this through, and pray about it, later.

  That evening, Alec escaped the hospital to walk Therese home. Polly stayed behind, saying she’d get a ride in an hour or two.

  Therese couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation with her mother, even with Alec at her side. Mother was wrong. Aggie was perfectly capable of caring for Warner by herself—there was no reason for Therese to return to River Pines.