Page 36 of The Unforgiven
“Dad’s busy at the office today, so he asked me to take you on a plantation tour,” Brett had said as he pulled up to the hotel in his sports car. He wore a baseball cap, and a faded T-shirt with some band’s logo on it hung loosely on his thin frame. Mirrored aviator shades hid his eyes, so Quinn couldn’t tell if he was pleased orannoyed at having to spend the morning with her. “He thought you’d like to see what your great-grandparents lived like. I’ll save Arabella for last. It’s not as grand as some of the others on the River Road, but still pretty impressive.”
Quinn had seen the plantation in her visions and couldn’t wait to see the real thing. Normally, she never got to see a place in person as it had actually looked in the past. It was like watching a film that took place at some point in history and then seeing the place for herself and finding it transformed into a bustling square or a busy street lined with shops and trendy restaurants. Many times, the original structure had been ground into dust, or all that remained of a building or a temple was a pile of rocks or broken columns. If the Arabella Plantation was frozen in time, she might actually get a glimpse of Madeline’s world and see the room she’d slept in or the veranda where she’d often sat with Amelia, a glass of lemonade in hand. Quinn was also curious to examine the slave quarters. Having seen them through Madeline’s eyes, she wanted to see them for herself and visit the place where Mammy had lived with her family.
“Do you mind if we skip the others and go directly to the Arabella Plantation? I’m feeling a little impatient,” Quinn confessed.
“Sure, whatever you want,” Brett replied, clearly relived to be spared a boring morning.
He turned off the air-conditioning, opened the windows, and put down the top of the car. Quinn rested her arm on the car door as she took in the grandeur of the river that flowed lazily past and the lush landscape, so unique to Louisiana. A lovely breeze caressed her face and moved through her unbound hair. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine traveling down the River Road in a horse-drawn carriage. It had probably taken some time to get to the plantation houses, but it must have been a lovely drive. Today, the road wasn’t as picturesque as it had been at the height of the antebellum period. They drove past industrial sites, strip malls, and several run-down farms where rusted machinery sat idle among a jumble of items Quinn couldn’t quite identify. There were severalseedy bars with peeling signs, some of them boasting go-go dancers, and a few discount stores where one could buy anything from household goods to small appliances. The drive became a little more pleasant once they neared the historical stretch where dozens of plantations reigned in all their restored glory.
The Arabella Plantation manor house looked just as Quinn had envisioned it--a wedding cake whimsy of a house: white, elegant, and frilly in its decoration. The black wrought iron balcony and shutters were just the same as she’s seen in her visions, the paint fresh and glossy.
Brett parked the car and led Quinn into the foyer, where a small ticket counter stood unobtrusively in the corner. He purchased two tickets and helped himself to a map of the grounds.
“Is Ms. Aptekar Hill here?” Quinn asked the young woman manning the desk.
“Yes, she’s doing a tour at the moment. She should be finished in a few minutes, if you’d like to wait.”
“Yes, we would,” Quinn replied. Seth had said that Ms. Aptekar Hill was the most knowledgeable guide, so Quinn wanted to take a tour with her instead of the bored-looking young man who’d been about to approach them.
A few minutes later, a small group of tourists left by the front door after thanking their guide for an informative tour. The woman turned to Quinn and Brett with a bright smile.
“Well, good morning. Are you ready for the tour? I’m Dina Aptekar Hill. Please call me Dina.”
Quinn liked her on sight. She was one of those people who instantly made you feel at ease. She looked younger than Quinn had expected, with abundant blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and smiling blue eyes.
“The Arabella Plantation once belonged to the Besson family,” Dina began.
“Yes, we know. We are the lucky descendants,” Brett quipped.
“Are you really? What a treat. I’ve met Seth, of course, and his father and grandfather, but it’s a pleasure to meet the younger generation. You must know something about the place then. Would you like me to do the tour, or would you like to just walk around and ask questions?”
“I’d prefer the tour,” Quinn said. “This is all new to me.”
Dina nodded. “You’ve come a long way to see it, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I live in London,” Quinn replied. “I’ve only recently discovered a connection to the Bessons. I never expected to find my roots in Louisiana.”
“Very few people are familiar with their family history, beyond that of the most recent generations,” Dina said. “I always thought my family emigrated from France, which they had, but it turned out that my maiden name is of Polish origin.Aptekarmeanspharmacist, orapothecary. One of my ancestors wound up in France at some point in the seventeenth century. Many immigrants changed their names in order to fit in, but that particular Aptekar decided not to, for which I’m very grateful. I wouldn’t have been able to find him otherwise.”
“Was it very difficult to track him down?” Quinn asked, intrigued. She’d found very little useful information about the Bessons and wondered if Dina had encountered the same roadblocks when researching her own family.
“It’s not difficult when you know where to look. I actually do this for a living,” Dina added. “I fell in love with genealogy when I was in my twenties. At first, I did it as a hobby, helping friends uncover their buried past, but then I started my own business. I only do the tour-guiding part time.”
“Do you have many clients?” Quinn asked.
“I do have some private clients, but my biggest clients are the estate attorneys who need to track down potential heirs. It’s cheaper for them to hire a freelance genealogist than to spend their own precious time digging through archives and surfing databases.”
“Do you get results every time?”
“Not every time, but most of the time. I make a lot of people very happy. Imagine suddenly getting a windfall you never expected.”
“Must be nice,” Brett chimed in.
“It is, especially when the estate in question is sizeable.”
“Perhaps you can do some research on the Bessons,” Quinn suggested. “I’d pay you, of course.”
“Oh, no need, doll. I’ve already found anything there is to find out. How could I not, working here?” she asked with a grin. “I will gladly tell you all I know. The Bessons were a fascinating family, by all accounts.”
