Page 79 of Under the Tulip Tree
She waited for me to gain the porch. “What brings you here so early? Don’t you have an interview today?”
I shook my head. My heart hammered so hard I was sure she could hear it. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Her keen eyes roamed my face. “You look near done in with whatever it is. Come on inside. You want coffee?”
I declined, ready to get on with my confession. The sooner I spoke the vile truth, the sooner I could leave.
We settled in our normal places. If she noticed I didn’t take out my notebooks and pencil, she didn’t mention it. I held the handles of my purse in a fierce grip, knowing the two pictures concealed inside would change everything.
I thought my nervousness might seep over onto her, but she sat watching me with a calm, almost-peaceful expression. Oh, that I didn’t have to do this. What would she think when she heard the truth?
Finally I took a deep breath. “When I first came to see you, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d never met anyone who’d been a slave. The things I learned in school about slaverytimes weren’t like the stories you told, and I found myself captivated by them.”
She didn’t respond but simply let me speak my mind.
“The day you mentioned the name Hall, I knew I’d heard it before.”
Her brow furrowed a bit, but she remained silent.
I swallowed hard, the lump of fear in my throat growing with each guilt-ridden word. Tears filled my eyes, and my chin trembled. “My grandma Lorena remembers having a great-aunt named Charlotte Hall.”
Confusion washed over her face. I wanted to run out of the house and speed away in Mary’s car, but I knew I couldn’t. I had to confess my family’s sins to this woman. A woman I’d come to care about.
I reached into my purse and pulled out the two pictures. A sob shook me as I handed her the photograph of Charlotte. “This is my grandma’s aunt Charlotte.” She took it, her eyes widening in recognition. I forced myself to remain seated and extend the second photograph to her. “And this is Charlotte’s mother.”
Frankie’s eyes met mine before her gaze shot to the daguerreotype I held out. “It can’t be.”
Her words echoed those I’d uttered upon learning the truth.
She shook her head and jerked away from the picture as though it held the stench of death. “Where’d you find that?”
“In a box that belonged to my great-great-grandmother Helen.”
“Helen?”
I nodded.
She stared at me a long moment, then glanced at the picture she held. “I remember Charlotte had an elder sister who was already married by the time I went to live in the big house. I believe her name was Helen.” She glanced up. “You say she’s your great-grandmother?”
My chin trembled as I nodded. She’d left off agreat, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t meet her gaze and instead stared at the floor.
“Lord have mercy,” she breathed.
A long silence followed. When I found the courage to peek at her, I found her studying the picture of Charlotte.
“She sure growed into a purty thing, didn’t she?”
I didn’t respond. Her quiet words weren’t for me.
She exhaled a deep breath. I glanced up to find her gaze fixed on the daguerreotype I still held.
“That Miz Sadie?” Her voice hardened.
I nodded, unsure whether to extend the framed picture to her again or not.
Her glare bored into it, as though the woman herself stood in the room. About the time I wondered if I should put it away, she held out her hand. I relinquished the final dagger into the heart of our budding friendship.
I wasn’t sure what I expected her to do upon seeing Sadie’s face again. If she tossed the photograph into the furnace of her kitchen stove, I wouldn’t blame her. If she yelled and cursed, I would hear her out. But her quiet study of theimages nearly undid me. I tried to think of something, anything, to say that would lessen the pain I’d brought to her, yet I knew nothing I said could do that.
