Page 31 of Under the Tulip Tree
He seemed appeased by my answer. “What was so important that you had to come down here anyway? I thought you finished Mrs. Washington’s interview.”
Guilt pricked my conscience. “Well, not entirely.”
His brows rose when he shot me a look.
“Frankie—that’s her name—is taking her time telling me her story. I don’t want to rush her, so I told her I’d come visit whenever I can.” At the shake of his head, I hurried on. “I won’t neglect my other interviewees, so you needn’t worry. There’s just something about Frankie’s story...” I shrugged, unable to articulate what was steadily growing inside my heart. “Her courage, I think, is what I most admire. As terrible as some of the details of her life are, she doesn’t wallow in them.”
He was silent for a long moment before he conceded, “She sounds like a very interesting woman.” At my smile, he gave a stern look. “But meeting with her is not worth putting yourself in harm’s way. Next time you want to come down here, I’ll drive you. Agreed?”
My grin widened. “Agreed, Mr. Norwood.”
“Seeing as I’m going to be your private chauffeur, you might as well call me Alden.”
Shyness suddenly stole over me with such an intimate turn in the conversation, but I countered with “Then you should call me Rena.”
“So, Rena,” he said with a wink, “tell me something about this Frankie of yours.”
Over the remaining miles, I told him about Sadie Hall and Frankie’s deformed fingers. I told him how Frankie was sold time after time and about Moss’s murder. He asked several questions, revealing his own curiosity in the story as wellas his knowledge about slavery. When we pulled up in front of my house, where lights glowed from nearly every window, I was sad to see our time together end.
“Can I ask you a question?” He turned to me.
“Yes.”
“What did your father do before the economy tanked?”
I’d assumed he was still considering Frankie’s life story, so his question caught me off guard. I hadn’t shared many details about my family with Alden after his misguided observations that first day. Even though he’d apologized, and I believed him to be sincere, I didn’t want to revisit the subject.
But he was becoming a friend, so I decided to be honest. “He owned several banks here in Tennessee. I never understood much about banking and investing, so it was a shock when he lost everything.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes held sincere sympathy. “The crash was hard on everyone.”
I could let the conversation end, and he’d be none the wiser about the circumstances of my father’s fall from grace. But something made me want to continue. To let Alden see who I really was and form his opinions based on facts rather than fiction.
“It was a difficult time. October29 is my birthday. I turned sixteen the day the stock market crashed. We were supposed to have a big dinner party with a hundred guests, but after the news came, Mama was scared to leave the house. You see, my father had mismanaged thousands of dollars belonging to the bank’s customers. People we’d known foryears lost their homes and were left practically penniless because of my father.”
He didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell what thoughts might be going through his mind, but I could well imagine.
“The big house you see here used to belong to my grandparents. My mother was raised in it. When Grandpa Jim passed away, Grandma sold it to us and moved down the street to a smaller house. After the crash and Dad’s bank failures, she didn’t want us to lose the house, so she took over the mortgage payments. If it weren’t for her, we’d be homeless like thousands of others. Mama’s salary at the sewing shop keeps food on the table, but that’s about it.”
We sat in silence for several long moments. Somehow, telling my sad tale was like letting a heavy weight fall from my shoulders. Yes, my father had done a terrible thing. He didn’t go to jail, but he would always pay the price for his poor decisions. Yet his story wasn’t mine. I was innocent in all that had transpired. Just because my birth date coincided with that fateful day didn’t mean I needed to carry around unnecessary guilt or shame.
“I’m glad you heard about the job with the FWP.”
I glanced at him to find a soft smile on his lips. “I am too.” I gathered my things. “Thank you again for coming to my rescue, sir knight.” My attempt at humor apparently didn’t impress him, because he scowled.
“It’s no joking matter, Rena. Hell’s Half Acre earned its reputation legitimately.”
I sobered. “I know. I learned my lesson.”
Our gazes held, light from a streetlamp allowing me to see his face clearly. A hint of dark stubble peppered his cheeks and strong chin.
“Good night, Rena.” Warmth washed over me with his tender expression. “I’ll see you Monday.”
I reached for the door handle. “Good night, Alden.”
I watched him drive away, wondering why I hadn’t noticed how handsome he was before. Even Frankie mentioned something about my handsome friend that morning when I’d first arrived at her house, frightened and out of breath.
“Rena? Oh, thank goodness you’re home.”
