My Daughter's Legacy

by Mindy Starns Clark

  Therese’s face grew warm, but she stayed silent.

  “I knew I didn’t have a chance, for all sorts of reasons, including that you were mad at me. By then your mother felt better about me, compared to Alec.” He smiled wryly. “But it was too late.”

  Therese shivered in the cool spring air.

  “I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I’ve kept you too long.”

  Therese shook her head. “Ask me again why I didn’t go to Maine.”

  He exhaled. “All right. Why didn’t you go to Maine?”

  “It’s true I realized I didn’t love Alec, but the reason I knew I didn’t love him was because I had loved you when I was young.”

  Michael’s voice was raw. “Had?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “And still did. But I was trying not to. I feared you were going to sell Badan and Aggie. I thought you believed in fighting to save the property of the South, meaning four million enslaved human beings. I thought you were doing everything you could to see that the South won. There are so many things I believed about you that were wrong.”

  He rocked forward again and put one hand on her shoulder. Finally, more than the thread connected them. Still holding the package, he whispered, “Shh. None of that was your fault. I needed you to believe those things for your safety and mine.”

  He tore away the last piece of paper, revealing the porcelain box with roses on the lid, and held it out to her. “This is what I intended for you all along, what I brought home—for you.”

  “Thank you.” Blinking away tears, she studied it closely in the light of the nearly full moon. Then she opened it and was surprised to find a little folded piece of paper inside. She pulled it out and read the words written in Michael’s own hand: Therese, will you be my wife?

  Her heart pounding, she returned the note to the inside of the container, replaced the lid, and then cradled the box with both hands. She looked up at him, smiling, and softly whispered, “Yes. A million times, yes.”

  Beaming in return, Michael leaned toward her, and she raised her lips to his. He kissed her, at first softly and then with passion.

  She’d always guessed Michael Talbot was a man of passion, and he was, intensely so.

  She leaned into him, and he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer, off the bench and onto his lap. Rocking backward, they both laughed as Therese kept hold of the porcelain box. In the midst of loss and devastation, for a moment, joy bubbled up in both of them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Nicole

  The next morning, Maddee, Greg, and I drove to our favorite local pancake house, where we met up with Danielle, who had driven in from Wilmington and was waiting for us at the door. We were still standing there talking excitedly when Renee and Blake showed up minutes later, straight off a red-eye from Seattle. After another round of squeals and hugs, followed by the introduction of Greg to the group, we all went inside and settled into a big corner booth amid the scents of coffee, bacon, and maple syrup.

  All three out-of-towners looked great, especially Renee, who seemed aglow with happiness, in part thanks to the hunk at her side, I felt sure—not to mention the ring on her finger. I gasped when I saw it, which caused Maddee to look, and then everybody was talking at once. When things finally calmed down, Renee explained that they’d gotten engaged two weeks ago but had wanted to share the big news in person.

  Of course, we were all thrilled, and we showered them with hugs and congratulations. Maddee was beyond ecstatic, and within moments the two couples were deep in discussion about wedding dates and logistics and all the other things of which my sister’s dreams were made.

  Ignoring the pang in my own heart, I turned to Danielle and quipped softly, “Guess that’s two down, two to go, huh?”

  From the shy smile she gave me in response, I realized I might be wrong.

  “No way!” I cried. “Not you too.”

  Blushing furiously, she shook her head, explaining that no, she wasn’t engaged, but yes, she had been seeing a very special man, one with whom she hoped to share a future.

  “Not another starving artist, is he?” I teased, thinking of her penchant for men with ponytails and paint stains on their jeans.

  Danielle shook her head, blond curls framing her pretty face. “No, but he is on the Arts Council. He owns a gallery on Front Street.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him along? We don’t bite, you know.”

  She smiled. “I wanted to, but he’s in Europe right now on a buying trip.”

  I started to make another joke but thought better of it. Instead, I just gave her hand a squeeze and told her how happy I was for her. Smiling, the two of us focused on our menus as the others wrapped up their wedding talk.

  We all placed our orders—corn berry pancakes, chicken and waffles, Big Daddy skillets, and more—and then Maddee got everyone’s attention and shared her big idea about going out together as a group to see the cabin. “The police dismantled so much of it for their DNA testing that it’s really quite different now,” she explained. “It’s a lot less scary and intimidating. It’s given me such closure to see it this way. I think it would do the same for y’all too.”

  I’d been hoping the consensus would be to stay away, but her proposal was met with nods and yesses all the way around. Oh, well. At least we’d be there in the daylight, and all together.

  “So other than that,” Danielle asked, “what’s up for today?”

  We all naturally looked to Maddee, our activity director extraordinaire, who’d been gathering information and winnowing it down for weeks. She started by laying out a general overview of the timing, saying we would go from here to Nana’s, get settled into the pool house, maybe swim a bit if anyone was interested, and go through the Civil War family photos together. After that, we would hike to the cabin, have a late lunch, and then pick one activity for the afternoon.

  She had narrowed down the dozens of options this area had to offer to a chosen few, custom tailored for these guys, and she passed out the info now. Not surprisingly, Blake took the page about kayak/raft/canoe/SUP rentals at James River Park, and Danielle reached for the one regarding a new outdoor sculpture exhibit at the botanical garden.

  “We can wait and decide later,” Maddee added. “Maybe play it by ear. If y’all are exhausted from your flight and just want to hang out at Nana’s for the afternoon, that’s fine too. This is our day, and we can spend it however we want.”

  The food arrived, so we paused the discussion until everyone had been served and Greg discreetly led us in a blessing. I’d gotten Southern pecan pancakes, which I dotted with butter and drizzled in syrup. Yum.

  “One question.” Renee looked to Maddee. “How can we hang out at Nana’s today of all days? I can’t see relaxing and swimming and stuff when we’ll be surrounded by people working like crazy getting ready for the reunion.”

  I answered for my sister. “Not this year. Maddee’s taken care of all that. She’s been going over to Nana’s all week, getting stuff ready ahead of time. She even arranged for an extra twenty-four hours on the rental stuff so that it could all be delivered and set up yesterday instead of today.”

  Everyone seemed pleased to hear it, and Maddee beamed as Danielle lifted her coffee cup in a toast, “To a guilt-free ‘cousins’ play day, compliments of our own personal superwoman.”

  Sure enough, things were relatively quiet at Nana’s, considering. We parked our three cars together in a row near the garage and then headed into the main house first, just to say hello.

  We found our grandmother at the big dining table with about ten local Talbot relatives, mostly older women whose job it was to put together the yearly “welcome packets” for the attendees. They did so in an assembly line fashion, chatting as they worked.

  Once we’d finished with a general round of greetings, Nana excused herself to walk us back out. Before I went, however, I pulled Aunt Cissy aside and told her that we’d be going through the photos in the pool house in just a wh
ile if she’d like to come out and join us.

  Eyes sparkling, she whispered, “More than you can imagine! If I have to hear one more time about Ethel’s new grandbaby, apparently the single most brilliant child ever born, I’m afraid I might smack her with her own pile of manila envelopes.”

  Back outside, as the six of us rounded the garage, luggage in hand, I was amazed to see just how ready this place was for the big event, including several huge white tents gracing the lawn along with tons of chairs and tables, an entire outdoor cooking station, and more. In the distance, down by the tennis court, I even spotted the promised volleyball setup. Grinning at the sight, I challenged the group to a game later, girls against boys.

  “Oh, you’re going down, Talbots,” Blake teased. “Get ready for total domination, even if we are outnumbered. Right, buddy?”

  “Uh, sure,” Greg replied, “though you probably should know their team has a secret weapon, a certain height-challenged individual with the musculature of a pole vaulter.”

  We all laughed, and he shot me a brotherly wink.

  Fifteen minutes later, the two men were out swimming, and the women were settled into the pool house, sitting around the table and talking nonstop.

  When Aunt Cissy showed up, we made room for her, ready to go through the photos. Before we did, however, Maddee opened the lid to the box, pulled out the two we’d left on top, and asked her the questions we’d been wondering about, starting with which of the two Talbots, if either, Therese ended up marrying. Maddee held out both images, the one of Therese with the doctor and the other of her with the soldier.

  “That one,” Aunt Cissy said with a grin, pointing to the latter, the image of Therese and the soldier, the man standing beside her in front of a wagon.

  The four of us leaned in to study the image together, realizing that this was our great-great-great-grandfather. Warmth flooded through me at the thought.

  “And is ‘M. Talbot’ Michael Talbot?” Maddee asked.

  “Sure is.”

  “The same Michael Talbot who brought back the illuminated manuscript from France?” I added.

  “One and the same.”

  My sister and I shared a grin, thrilled to learn that this clever and brave man had been our direct forebear.

  We began passing around the photos, and our cousins seemed as charmed by them as Maddee and I had been. I’d gone through everything so many times now that I should’ve been bored, but of course I wasn’t. The pictures still fascinated me, and it was particularly fun to share them with Renee and Danielle. Better yet, as we went through each one, the two of them asked questions that Maddee and I hadn’t thought of, and that brought out even more new information from our family Civil War historian.

  We’d been at it for a while when Danielle came to a photo I hadn’t paid much attention to before. Something about it caught her eye, however, and after studying it for a long moment, she said, “That’s the cabin.”

  Startled, I leaned in to look but didn’t understand what she was talking about. The image featured five identical structures in a row, small and dingy clapboard buildings with brick chimneys.

  “Where?” I asked.

  Danielle pointed to the second building from the right. “There.”

  I was expecting Aunt Cissy to correct Danielle’s mistake, but instead she nodded and said, “Good eye.”

  “What?” Maddee took the photo from Danielle and peered at it more closely. “How? That looks nothing like the cabin at all.”

  “That’s because it was rebuilt,” Aunt Cissy said, “back in the 1920s or ’30s, for use as a hunting cabin. They gave it new walls and a new roof, but they retained the original framework, footings, and floor.”

  “The cabin doesn’t have a chimney,” I said, pointing to the one in the picture.

  Aunt Cissy nodded. “By the time they did the rebuild, it was probably too damaged to use anymore, so they just took it out.”

  “But there are five buildings in the picture,” Maddee said. “There’s only one cabin.”

  “The others are long gone, though I imagine you could find traces of them if you looked.”

  Danielle nodded. “That’s how I knew it was the cabin. Structurally it seemed about right, and the trees in the photo also work if you allow for time passed between then and now. But it was the brick piers that gave it away.”

  “What’s a pier?” I asked.

  Sliding the picture to the center of the table, she pointed at the base of the building, where each corner rested on a low square of bricks. “Most people call them footings, but the correct term is pier.”

  “And you recognized that was the cabin because of that little glimpse of bricks at the bottom?” Maddee asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah.” Danielle sat back in her chair and looked at each of us in turn. “Don’t you guys remember the bricks from when we were kids? Other summers, before the incident? With the pine straw?”

  The three of us looked at each other in confusion until Renee’s face lit up.

  “The brick squares. Of course.” She looked from Maddee to me. “The area wasn’t so overgrown back then, and we found these brick squares on the ground, a bunch of them. I guess they were sitting exactly where they are in this picture, minus the buildings.”

  “Our pine straw houses!” Maddee cried.

  Then something clicked for me too. “That sounds so familiar, but I was really young then. Remind me.”

  Grinning, my sister explained that when we were kids, we loved going into the woods and playing in the cabin. But we also enjoyed playing around the cabin, building pretend houses by gathering pine straw into long piles that stretched from brick square to brick square. We usually worked together to create a single house, but one time we each made our own, and then we pretended we were all next-door neighbors.

  The others pitched in as well, elaborating on those adventures and how fun they had been. I could barely recall what they were talking about, but somehow their memories gave me a warm feeling inside.

  “Do you think those other squares are still out there now?” Maddee asked.

  “I don’t know why they wouldn’t be,” Danielle replied. “I can’t imagine anyone ever went to the trouble to remove them. They’re probably just so grown over that they’re not noticeable anymore.”

  Suddenly, I found myself wanting to go out to the cabin after all. It would always be a place of trauma, but maybe these happy memories could help to temper that.

  “One interesting architectural note about these buildings,” Aunt Cissy said, pointing again at the photo. “Most slave quarters of that era were built flat on the ground, with packed dirt for floors. They only raised the buildings like these where drainage was poor.”

  I looked at her, confused. “What are you saying?”

  She shrugged. “Just that the slaves who lived in these were lucky—well, not that any slave could be considered lucky, but you know what I mean. Dirt floors were awful, as you can imagine, so the fact that these slaves had wood floors, well, at least that was better than dirt.”

  The room fell silent as we all gaped at her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ve always been told that no Talbot ever owned a slave,” Renee said softly.

  “That’s true.”

  “But wasn’t this Talbot land?”

  Understanding filled Aunt Cissy’s eyes, and she began to explain, saying that by the time Therese inherited this property, the Civil War had been over for a while, so the slaves were already free.

  “Even so,” she added, “Therese was reluctant to stay and raise a family here, knowing that the place had been built on the backs of slaves. She wanted to sell it so that she and Micael could start fresh somewhere else.”

  “But they didn’t, obviously.”

  Aunt Cissy shook her head. “Michael talked her into staying. His family’s paper mill was just across the river, so it worked out well. He was even able to provide jobs for several former slaves, inclu
ding one from River Pines, a fellow named Old Joe.”

  “Sounds like Michael was a real man of character,” Renee said.

  “He was, not to mention a true romantic.” She reached for the stack of love notes and held them up. “He’d brought a small porcelain box back with him from France, just for Therese, and when he gave it to her, he’d hidden a little note inside, asking her to marry him. I imagine that’s where the tradition started, because, as you know, he continued to leave little love notes inside that same porcelain box for the rest of their lives.”

  “Wait, that’s where she would find the love notes?” I asked.

  Aunt Cissy nodded. “Every now and then she would peek into the box, and sometimes one would be there.”

  We all sighed, but by that point the guys had come back in from the pool and had overheard. They both groaned.

  “Better watch out, Blake,” Greg said. “Looks like someone’s set a dangerous precedent for us.”

  “That’s okay. I think our ladies are worth it.”

  “Amen to that.”

  They headed off down the hall to change clothes, and once they were out of earshot, Aunt Cissy let out a deep sigh. “Such handsome young men. You two ladies are very lucky indeed.”

  Before anyone could respond, she launched into song, trilling, “They broke the mold when they made you, my love…”

  “So how about we all head to the cabin?” Danielle said quickly, cutting the woman off before she could get any further.

  “Oh, wow,” Renee said, the first to speak. We were all just standing there, side by side, staring at the cabin—or what was left of it.

  Maddee was right. It had been significantly dismantled by the police for their investigation, leaving it open to the elements in places. The floorboards were mostly gone, as was the entire back wall. Somehow, it no longer looked menacing and evil. Just old and pathetic.