“He didn’t know?” Her husband? Audrey’s father?
“Not at first,” Audrey said. “They got married at the courthouse. She didn’t tell her family. My father never met them.”
Wow. That took dedication. And a real desire to break free. Or to keep secrets.
Next to me, Tondalia Jenkins—born Jefferson—was looking at the picture of her sister with tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.
“Of course, then she got pregnant,” Audrey said. “Birth control wasn’t as readily available then as it is now. And that’s when she told my father. So he could prepare himself for having a brown baby. So they could come up with a story, if the worst happened.”
That conversation must have been fun. “By the way, I never mentioned this, but...”
“I hope he took it well,” I said.
“He told her he loved her,” Audrey answered, “and that he didn’t care what color she was. And that they weren’t going to talk about it again, since they could both go to prison.”
Prison?
“Until 1967,” Audrey said, “and the Supreme Court decision on Loving v Virginia, interracial marriage was illegal in Tennessee.” She smiled. “I was ten when the Supreme Court decided. We had cake to celebrate.”
It sounded like a worthy reason to have cake.
If I’d been born eighty years earlier, I realized, I couldn’t have married Rafe. Or if I had, we both could have ended up in prison. Our marriage might not have been legal in the state where we lived.
And in high school, if he’d winked at me and said, “Looking good, sugar,” the way he’d been wont to do when we passed in the hallways back then, he could have been dragged out behind the bleachers and beaten to death. And those who did it, would have gotten away with it.
Yeah, Loving v Virginia seemed like an excellent reason to celebrate.
“So did your mother come out and admit she was black, then? After that?”
Audrey shook her head. “Everything continued just the way it had been. I imagine my parents may have been breathing a little easier, but nothing changed. The law might be different, but people’s opinions weren’t. And my mother was still afraid.”
I guess that kind of thing doesn’t go away overnight. It takes years, maybe decades, for attitudes to change. Maybe longer.
“So what happened with Tyrell?” I asked.
Audrey took a breath and let it out slowly. “That was much later. Another ten or fifteen years. I’d had Darcy, and had given her up for adoption.” She hesitated a second before admitting, “I think my mother was happy about that. Darcy was darker-skinned than me. Than her. It would have been hard for her to explain how her daughter came to have a brown baby.”
“It didn’t just come from Oneida,” I told her. “My great-great-grandfather William was the son of one of the grooms during the Civil War. Great-great-great-grandma Caroline had an affair while her husband was off fighting the Damn Yankees.”
“Margaret Anne never mentioned that,” Audrey said.
“She didn’t know until recently.” Quite recently. Like, a month ago. “Aunt Regina told me last year. Because of Rafe. She and my father had been told by their father. But Dad never told Mother.” And he obviously hadn’t told Audrey, either. In all the time they’d known one another. “I’d been keeping it in reserve, just in case she crossed the line at some point. But then she ended up liking Rafe. So I told her about Caroline and William when I was down here last month.”
“Oh,” Audrey said. I could see the pieces of information sort of realigning themselves in her head. “That’s interesting.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure a lot of us have a mixture of races in us, and most of us don’t even know it. I didn’t, until Aunt Regina told me. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s some long-hidden family secret in the ranks of the Georgia Calverts, too, that Mother either doesn’t know about or hasn’t shared with the rest of us. It’s not important. Nobody cares anymore.”
Not entirely true. Some people cared. Some people cared too much. But we’re all getting better, generation by generation. If my mother could embrace Rafe, and David, and the new baby, and the rest of us given this new knowledge about our ancestors, there’s hope for the rest of the planet, too.
I returned to what had happened years ago. “So Tyrell came to see your mother.”
Audrey nodded. “He’d figured out where she was. Went to the courthouse and checked the marriage records, I guess, and found my father’s name, and started looking. And ended up here.”
“Was that the first time your mother had had any contact with her family since she got married?”
Mrs. Jenkins had wiped away her tears now, and was listening intently to the conversation, but she was still clutching the wedding photo of her sister in her lap, her small, brown hands tight around the frame.
“As far as I know,” Audrey said, with a glance at her. “I don’t remember another time.”
Mrs. J shook her head. She might remember, or she might not, but either way it didn’t really matter.
“She was terrified,” Audrey said. “He came while my father was at work, so it was just her and me at home. She was afraid the neighbors would see him, so she got him inside as quickly as she could. And explained to him why she couldn’t have anything to do with her family. That she’d built a life here in Sweetwater, and him being there was liable to ruin it for her.”
She looked down at the hands she was twisting in her lap. “She pretty much ran him off. And not in a nice way. I went after him, to try to explain, but at that point he was angry with both of us. And I can’t say I blame him.”
“And that’s when he met LaDonna?”
“Somewhere between our house and the bus station,” Audrey said. “Or so I assume. I never spoke to him again. If he came back to Sweetwater, he didn’t come to see me. Us. And six months later he was dead.”
Because Old Jim Collier had figured out who had knocked his daughter up. Next to me on the sofa, Mrs. Jenkins’s eyes filled with tears.
“So...” I counted on my fingers, “you and Tyrell were cousins.”
Audrey nodded.
“Mrs. Jenkins is your aunt. You’re her niece.”
Audrey nodded, with a glance at Mrs. J, who seemed to be taking this in stride. The tears were going away as she listened.
“Darcy is Mrs. Jenkins’s...”
“Great-niece,” Audrey supplied.
That took care of that part of the family. Now onto the other part. “Rafe is Tyrell’s son. So he’s your cousin’s child.”
Audrey nodded. “Rafe is my first cousin once removed.” Her voice shook a little when she said it. It might have been something she’d never said out loud before.
Although she’d obviously figured it out. These aren’t relationships you know off-hand. Cousins to the first, second, and third degree are confusing.
“So Darcy is Rafe’s second cousin once removed.”
“Something like that,” Audrey agreed.
Well, it explained why Darcy had always looked more like Rafe than like us, anyway. They’d gotten whatever it was from the Jeffersons.
“I guess you and I are related, too. Not just through Darcy, but through my marriage.”
Audrey nodded.
“Just one big, happy family.”
Audrey snorted. It was a wet snort, but more laughter than tears. “I can’t wait until you tell your mother.”
God, yes. Would my mother be able to handle one more blow on top of everything else she had to deal with?
Maybe it would be better if I kept this news to myself for a while. Or maybe it would be just what it would take to snap her out of her self-pity.
“I have to call Rafe,” I said.
Audrey nodded. She turned to Mrs. J. “I have some other photographs of my mother. And some of her things. Would you like to see?”
Mrs. Jenkins indicated that she would. The two of them went off together, in the direction of the two bedrooms—like
I said, a small house—and I pulled out my phone and dialed Rafe. “You’ll never guess where I am!”
“Sweetwater,” my husband said.
“Well, yes. That. But you’ll never guess where in Sweetwater I am!”
“Since I’ll never guess, how about you just tell me?”
I made a face. “Fine.” Since he really wouldn’t be able to guess. “I’m having tea with your first cousin once removed. And your grandmother.”
“No kidding.” His voice was perfectly pleasant. “Anybody I know?”
“As a matter of fact she is. Did you know that your grandmother had a sister who lived in Sweetwater?”
“No,” Rafe said.
“I’m not sure she did, either. Your grandmother, I mean. But she did. Have one. Her older sister Oneida.”
“Just checking,” Rafe said, “but you haven’t been drinking, right?”
I sniffed. “Of course not. I haven’t had a glass of wine in eight months.”
“Like I said, just checking.”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I told him. “Out of the blue like this. But didn’t you ever wonder how your mother and father met? Tyrell and LaDonna?”
“I knew they met in Sweetwater,” Rafe said. “When I was little, I’d ask my mama a lot of questions about my daddy. Like, why didn’t he live with us and where was he?”
“M-hm.”
“She didn’t like to talk about him. And Old Jim’d go ballistic if he heard. So she never said much. But she did tell me she met him in town. That he was on his way to the bus station.”
“He’d been to see his aunt,” I said. “His mother’s sister. And her daughter. His cousin.”
“She tell you that?”
I nodded. And then I realized he couldn’t see me, and added, “Yes. He came to see his aunt. Oneida is dead now. But her daughter isn’t.”
“And you’re having tea.”
“At the moment, I’m the only one having tea. Audrey took your grandmother into the bedroom to look at pictures.”
There was a beat. “Audrey,” Rafe said.
I made a face. “So much for my big buildup.”
I could hear the amusement in his voice. “You never were much good at keeping secrets, darlin’.”
No, I wasn’t. “Oneida was your grandmother’s oldest sister. She met and married Audrey’s father when your grandmother were around ten, and they settled in Sweetwater. She never told anyone she was black.”
I thought for a second and added, “Not that she was black. I mean, she didn’t look black. That’s how she was able to pretend she was white.”
He still sounded like he was smiling. “I figured.”
“So Audrey’s your cousin of some sort. So is Darcy. And Audrey is Mrs. Jenkins’s niece.”
“My family just keeps getting bigger all the time.” His voice was dry.
“I know it’s a lot to take in...” And since it was, I didn’t push. He’d probably need some time to process what I’d told him.
We sat in silence a few seconds. I figured I’d just let him say something when he felt he was ready. Whatever he felt the need to say at that point.
“How’s the baby?”
Changing the subject. OK, then.
“Still in there,” I said. “Still moving around, but not as much.”
“There ain’t much room left to move.”
No, there wasn’t. “You’re still planning to come down tomorrow, right? I promised Darcy we’d have lunch with her before we go home on Friday. We’ll get Audrey to come with us, too. The three of you—or four of you, with Mrs. Jenkins—can talk.”
Rafe said he was still coming for Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and would be happy to have lunch with his new family members before going back to Nashville on Friday.
“Any news on your end?”
It probably couldn’t compare with the bombshell I’d just dropped on him, but I figured I should be polite and ask.
“Fesmire turned up,” Rafe said.
“Oh.” I smiled. “That’s good. I was starting to get a little worried about him.”
“The water cops fished him out of the Cumberland River earlier.”
Oh. Not good. “What happened?”
“He has a crack on the head,” Rafe said. “Coulda happened when he jumped, or before.”
“Did he jump?”
I imagined the shrug. “No telling. He was in the water. The usual ways are, you fall, you jump, or you’re pushed.”
True. “Was he drunk?” Shades of Old Jim Collier...
“Dunno,” Rafe said. “The ME’ll check.”
No doubt. “What are the chances someone hit him over the head and dumped him in?”
“As good as any,” Rafe said. “He didn’t have no reason to wanna jump.”
Maybe, maybe not.
I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud before he asked me what I meant. “Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking earlier. What if he was having an affair with Julia Poole? You know, the work girlfriend? Didn’t you say he had a wife?”
Rafe confirmed that he had.
“And she was probably his age. While Julia was a lot younger. And a nurse. She’d probably look up to a doctor. And he wasn’t bad-looking, for a guy his age.”
Rafe made a noise. It wasn’t quite agreement, but it wasn’t disagreement, either. Maybe he’d laughed. Or objected to my noticing Fesmire’s relative attractiveness. For his age.
“So he got adoration and a young woman willing to sleep with him,” I said. “They probably had sex at the nursing home while she was working. After the bed check, she had all night free, pretty much. And there wasn’t likely to be anyone else around. It would be easy for him to tell his wife that there was something wrong and he’d have to run in to work for an hour or two. She probably wouldn’t think anything of it.”
“Maybe not,” Rafe agreed.
“So maybe Fesmire and Julia were... what’s that expression you used once?—banging like hammers when Beverly Bristol woke up. And because Julia didn’t answer the bell, Beverly got out of bed, and fell. And died.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Julia felt bad, because she’s been having sex with Fesmire when it happened. She’d been neglecting her job and banging a married man. So she cut him off. Or maybe she said she’d confess to the licensing board, or something like that. Nurses have a licensing board, don’t they?”
“I’m sure they do,” Rafe said.
“And doctors definitely do. Doctors can lose their license to practice medicine. Doctor Seaver did, when she went to prison.”
“Uh-huh,” Rafe said.
“So maybe Fesmire didn’t want to lose his license, or his cushy job. He had to shut Julia up before she could spill the beans. So he arranged to meet her for a romantic tryst in the pavilion. And then he killed her. He’s a doctor. He’s probably had surgical training. He’d know how to cut a throat.” He’d also have access to a scalpel.
“OK,” Rafe said slowly.
“Maybe, at the funeral yesterday, before I came in and heard the tail end of the conversation, the Bristols—or whatever their names are—said something that made Fesmire think they knew what had happened. They were talking about suing. Maybe he felt threatened. Then we came in, and he recognized Mrs. Jenkins, and knew she’d seen him kill Julia. That was a bigger threat, or at least a more immediate one. So he had his wife, or maybe one of the nurses at the nursing home, call me and pretend to want to see the house on Ulm to get me away from home. And he tried for Mrs. Jenkins, but couldn’t get her. And then he realized the jig was up, that the Bristols would sue and Mrs. Jenkins would rat him out, and he jumped in the river.”
“Yeah...” Rafe said. Obviously I hadn’t managed to convince him yet.
“Or how about this? Maybe Beverly Bristol didn’t fall down the stairs and break her neck. Maybe she got out of bed when Julia didn’t answer the summons, and she came upon Julia and Fesmire going at it. And Fesmire pushed her down the stairs. She w
as a frail old lady. Maybe he snapped her neck first, and then pushed her down the stairs to make it look like she’d fallen. Maybe that’s why he had to kill Julia. Because she knew he’d killed Beverly Bristol.”
“Uh-huh,” Rafe said.
“They’re good ideas, right? It would explain everything.”
Rafe allowed as how it would. “I’ll pass it on to Tammy. Maybe we’ll go have a chat with the Bristols—or whatever they’re called—in what’s left of today. See what was said before you crashed the funeral. See if they were planning to sue.”
“I’ll give you a call tonight,” I said, “to find out what happened.”
“You do that, darlin’. Take care of my baby. And my grandma.”
I promised I would. “I love you. You take care of yourself, too.”
“If Fesmire’s the murderer,” Rafe said, “there’s no danger. All we gotta do, is tie up the loose ends.”
Exactly so. “Thanks for letting me know what happened.”
“Thanks for letting me know I have cousins. This is gonna take some getting used to.”
“At least they’re nice people,” I said. “You’re related to Denise Seaver, too, you know. On your mother’s side of the family. It could have been worse.”
He agreed that it could. “We’ll figure it out. I better go close this case so I can come and have turkey tomorrow.”
“You do that. I’ll talk to you later.” I disconnected, and fought my way out of the clutches of the sofa to go find Audrey and Mrs. Jenkins.
Sixteen
Mother had hired help for Thanksgiving. When we got back to the mansion, three women were busy setting the dining room table and loading prepped food into the large refrigerator in the kitchen, while a fourth was going over cooking temperatures and times with Mother. “If you’re planning to eat at three, the turkey needs to go in the oven by nine. It’s a big turkey, and it’s stuffed, and you’ll want some time for it to rest after it comes out. The green bean casserole...”
I gave Mother a quick wave and a gesture to indicate that I was going upstairs. My back was killing me, and so were my feet. I’d practically had to peel the booties off when I came in. My ankles were weeping with joy, not to mention spreading.
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