Page 82 of Under the Tulip Tree
I shrugged. “It does seem... orchestrated, don’t you think?”
He glanced at the picture again and sighed. “I admit it’s a wild twist of fate.”
I wasn’t sure what to believe, but I knew one thing. Meeting Frankie had changed me. Hearing her stories had opened my eyes to a world I never knew existed. To people I had cared little about. It amazed me now to realize I might have gone my entire life without knowing the truth about slavery—about my own family—had it not been for Frankie.
“I don’t think I’ll have a job with the FWP after Mr. Carlson hears about this.”
Alden leaned back against the booth. “I hadn’t considered that. It certainly is a unique situation.”
“I’m not sure I can continue with the interviews anyway.” I shrugged again. My emotions felt raw, my mind confused and heavy with the truth. “I know it’s unlikely any of the other former slaves were owned by my relatives, yet I can’thelp but wonder who they were and what their lives are like now. It would be too painful to uncover more dark secrets. Does that make sense?”
He reached across the table and put his hand over mine, the first intimate contact he’d ever initiated with me. “It does. And honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. I can only imagine the... responsibility and guilt, I suppose... that you must be feeling.”
I nodded, grateful he understood. “Frankie doesn’t hold it against me or my family, but my ancestor maimed Frankie for life. They sold her when she was just a child. She may have forgiven them, but I can’t. I won’t.”
Alden squeezed my hand. “Let’s take a drive. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
We took his car, leaving Mary’s at the diner. I was surprised when he parked at the bottom of a hill. The sun hung low on the horizon, a big orange ball coloring the city in shades of autumn.
“Where are we?” I asked. It looked like a construction site of some sort.
“Fort Negley.”
I gasped. “Truly?”
He smiled. “Frankie’s stories about the place made me curious. Tom Ellison, the foreman of the project, was in the WPA office when I stopped by. He invited me out to visit. I thought you might like to see the progress they’ve made reconstructing the old fort.”
We carefully made our way up the hill, deserted nowthat the workday had ended. Alden explained the rebuilding process.
“The original limestone blocks that were used to construct the walls surrounding the fort were carried off after the war. People used them to build or repair homes and businesses damaged in the battle. Like Frankie said, the walls were laid out in a multipoint star, with these—” he indicated a triangular-shaped wall jutting out in front of us—“as a perfect place for a cannon.”
I gazed at the stone walls, trying to envision the fort as Frankie had seen it. To know she’d walked here, frightened and preparing for the impending battle, felt surreal. “It’s as though I’ve gone back in time. I almost expect a Union soldier to come traipsing down the hill or to hear cannon fire in the distance.”
“I know what you mean.” His gaze took in the tools, stacks of stone blocks, wooden posts, and other construction items scattered throughout the area. “I’ve always enjoyed visiting historical sites, but this is different somehow. Frankie’s stories made this place come alive. She lived right down there—” he pointed to an area below us—“in the contraband camp for more than three years.”
We hiked to the top of the hill, keeping to the path that circled the fort. To the north lay downtown Nashville and the Cumberland, and I couldn’t help but remember Frankie’s description of seeing dozens of warships on the river before the battle began. Buildings obstructed the view now, but I could well imagine the sight Frankie witnessed that day.
“I wonder if this was where Frankie and Nell hid when the fighting started.” I turned to study the reconstructed fortification again. The wooden stockade in the center of the fort wasn’t quite finished, but it helped me envision what the original might have looked like.
“Probably somewhere near here.” Alden pointed to a grassy area between two of the wall’s points. “The Confederates attacked from the south, so this side of the fort would offer the most protection.”
We stood silent, taking in the view. A train blew its whistle in the distance.
“I’ve lived in Nashville my entire life, and yet I knew nothing about Fort Negley.”
“You can thank President Roosevelt and his New Deal programs for breathing life into the old fort.”
I chuckled. “It appears we have much to thank the president for, since we both work for the FWP.”
With a last look at the city below, we headed down the hill. The sun slid over the horizon just as we reached Alden’scar.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” I wouldn’t forget this place anytime soon.
After we returned to the diner, where I’d left Mary’s car, Alden offered to escort me home, but I declined. It wasn’t far. We said good night and I drove away. I pulled into the driveway a short time later, hoping no one would hear me arrive. The need to be alone ran deep, and I simply couldn’t face Mama or Mary just now. I didn’t even want to see Grandma,although I knew she was anxious to hear how Frankie took the news.
I entered the house through the back door. Voices came from the front of the house, so I tiptoed down the hallway and hurried upstairs without being seen. Exhaustion swept over me. Ever since I learned Sadie Hall was my ancestor, my entire world had felt upside-down.
Stretching out on my bed in the dark, I stared at the ceiling. Mama and Mary’s muffled conversation carried up the stairs, but their words didn’t interest me. My imagination conjured images from Frankie’s story. I saw a little dark-skinned girl, joyful and smiling, wearing a pretty new dress. She twirled and giggled and ran outside with a book held against her chest. She settled under a tree with her treasure, happily looking at the pictures, until a large white hand snatched her up. Sadie’s face crowded my mind then, her eyes blazing with fury, her lips lifted in a snarl. She reached for the fireplace poker, but I screamed for her to stop.
