Page 77 of Under the Tulip Tree
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
“It can’t be.” My whispered words were more plea than statement. I turned to Grandma, her face as pale as I believed my own must be. “How can this be possible?”
She shook her head and bent to retrieve the picture, which had slipped from my fingers and fallen to the floor. We both stared at it, stunned that the image of the very woman who’d abused and sold Frankie was now in our possession.
“I wish I had remembered her name earlier.” Grandma sighed. “It might not have been such a shock, I think.”
My stomach roiled, and the meager dinner I’d consumed threatened to come forth. I squeezed my eyes closed to block out the horrid woman’s face. “This can’t be happening.”
A thousand questions flooded my mind.How? Why?
I looked at Grandma, the edges of anger beginning to take hold. “Is this some sort of terrible joke God is playingon me? Why would Frankie Washington be on the list of former slaves formeto interview? Why not Alden or one of the other FWP employees? Why me?”
She placed her wrinkled hand on mine. “God isn’t like that, Rena. You have to know there is a reason behind all this.”
“What?” I couldn’t keep my voice from rising. “What good can possibly come from this?”
She gave a slight shrug. “We’ll have to wait and see. Perhaps after you tell Frankie, you’ll understand.”
I stared at her. Surely she wasn’t serious. “I can’t tell her this. In fact, I can’t ever see her again. How could I face her, knowing my own great-great-great-grandmother was none other than the hateful and vicious Sadie Pope Hall?”
“Rena,” she said, surprise and admonishment in her voice, “you have to tell her. She deserves to know the truth.”
I shook my head stubbornly. “No. She’s trusted me with her life’s story. I won’t break that trust by telling her I’m... I’m...”
“You’re what?”
“I’m a Hall.” I nearly choked on the words.
“You’re not a Hall. You’re a Leland. Your ancestors were Halls, but you had nothing to do with Sadie injuring Frankie.”
I stood, fear and anger swirling through me so fast, I had to get up and move. “My family owned her. My skin is as white as theirs.” I pointed an accusing finger to the picture still in her hands. “That woman’s blood runs through my veins, just as it does yours.”
We were silent for several long ticks from the clock on themantel. Finally Grandma raised her eyes. “Be that as it may, I don’t believe Frankie will hold it against you. You had no more control over our ancestor’s actions than she did.”
I paced the small room, anxiety mounting. “What will I say to her?”
“The truth.”
Grandma’s simple answer brought me to a stop. Tears filled my eyes. Before I knew it, I was sobbing. She stood and wrapped her arms around me, her own sorrow mingling with mine.
When I quieted, she led me back to the sofa. She picked up the picture again and studied it, but I couldn’t look at it. It made me sick to my stomach.
“I assume the girl is Charlotte, but I don’t recall her brother’s name.”
“Burton. Burton Hall.”
She nodded. “Ah, yes. If I recall correctly, I believe he was a Confederate soldier.”
“He was.” Curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced at the teenage boy in the picture. Burton had been a handsome fellow. I wondered what life was like for him after the war with only one arm. “Frankie worked in the prison hospital where he was brought after the Battle of Nashville. She didn’t know him at first, but he recognized her because of her hand.”
“What a shock that must have been.” Grandma shook her head. “I’m sure it was quite difficult for her once she discovered the truth. What happened?” Grandma looked up at me.
I gave a shrug. “She forgave him.”
A small smile lifted her mouth before she handed the picture to me.
“Then you will rob yourself of the freedom forgiveness brings if you don’t tell her the truth.”
