Page 56 of Lula Dean's Little Library of Banned Book
Beverley was reminded of the advice the town librarian had given her all those years ago.You get to choose whose footsteps you’ll follow,Jeanette Newman had told the young Beverly.Find a set that went in the right direction.She wondered, perhaps, if that’s what her father had been looking for all along—someone who could show him a path that led away from Augustus Wainwright.
Unsurprisingly, her father had chosen to research the lives of male ancestors. Beverly found herself captivated by the women on the tree—particularly those who sat alone on a branch, with no husband beside them. They had given birth, but the father of their child remained unknown. Even well into the twentieth century, the life of an unmarried mother would have been impossibly difficult. No woman back then would have chosen that fate for herself. What was the story behind their child’s conception? It was easy to assume her great-grandmothers had indulged in illicit or ill-fatedromances. It was just as likely—if not more so—that the children were the products of coercion or rape.
Whatever the answer, the sight of those empty brackets made Beverly anxious and angry. Centuries may have passed, but she was determined to force those invisible men to take responsibility for the children they’d sired. But their identities remained stubbornly hidden. Then, a while later, she received an email from the website that hosted her genealogy research. Its new DNA testing service could help fill in blank spots on a family tree. Beverly sent in a swab the very next week.
It took a while, but as more people in America entered their data, Beverly’s “matches” began to grow. These were living people to whom she was somehow related. The connection wasn’t always obvious. There were several matches who shared none of her known ancestors—which meant they had to be related via an unknown ancestor. One match’s family tree listed a man who had lived in a small Scottish village at the same time as a great-great-grandmother who’d given birth to an illegitimate child. Beverly entered the man’s name into the empty bracket and the tree lit up. The DNA was a match. Beverly realized she’d uncovered a crime.
Her great-great-grandmother, once a servant in an aristocratic Scottish home, had given birth to a child at age sixteen. Beverly’s DNA test revealed the father of the child was none other than the fifty-five-year-old aristocrat who’d employed the girl. A picture of the man revealed a face unlikely to have won over a girl four decades younger. The fact that the girl and her baby spent the next three years in the town poorhouse made it clear that the rich man had done nothing to support her.
Maybe there was an explanation that hadn’t occurred to Beverly. But Occam’s razor said he’d raped the girl. And by the looks of things, there were other villains lurking in her family tree. Beverly did not want them there, however illustrious their names might have been. Her sympathies lay with their victims. She cringed at the thought that those men’s blood might flow through her veins. Then she thought of the women who’d survived. Who’d raised their children against all odds and refused to give in. And sheimaginedtheirstrength inside her. Those were the footsteps she wanted to follow.
Eventually, her thoughts returned to the most famous monster in the Wainwright family tree. Though it had never been proven, Augustus Wainwright was rumored to have raped and impregnated women he enslaved. Beverly realized their descendants would have empty brackets on their family trees as well. She didn’t blame them if they weren’t interested in filling those spaces. But if they were, she planned to help. Beverly Underwood, one of the two known living descendants of Augustus Wainwright, made her tree and her profile public.
“They found you. What are you going to do?” Lindsay asked her mom.
“The Wright boys are at the doctor’s office with Bella Cummings. I’m going to talk to them,” Beverly said. “Welcome them to the family.”
“Oooh no, Mama.” Beverly could hear the cringe in her daughter’s voice. “They’ve always been a part of the family, whether we knew it or not. It’s not our place to welcome them.”
“Right,” Beverly said. “That was silly of me. So what should I say? Should I apologize? You knew Isaac Wright in school, didn’t you?”
“Not really,” Lindsay said. “He’s four years younger.”
“Well, what do you think someone his age would want to hear?”
“How ’bout, ‘Hi, I’m your cousin Beverly’?”
Now they were standing in front of her, looking every bit as nervous as Beverly felt.
“Sorry for dragging you out like that.” She held out her hand. “My name is Beverly Underwood. I’m your cousin.”
“Yeah, we know.” The younger boy broke into a grin as he shook her hand.
“We’re Isaac and Elijah Wright,” the older brother said.
Beverly had seen these two so many times in the past, walking throughtown. They made such a fascinating pair. The older brother tall and slender with eyes that seemed focused on something far in the distance, as if he could see what was heading their way. The burly younger brother with the handsome face and mischievous smile. They seemed devoted to each other in a way that made Beverly wish she’d had a sibling.
“You knew about us?” Isaac asked.
“Not exactly,” Beverly admitted, “but I knew you might be out there. When I was your age, I found out what kind of man Augustus Wainwright was. I figured it was likely I had cousins in the area, but I didn’t know who you were. I made my family tree public just in case you came looking. You must have sent in a DNA swab?”
“I did,” Isaac told her. “When I saw your name show up as a match, I knew we shared a common ancestor. I guessed it was Augustus Wainwright. When I plugged his name into my family tree, the whole thing lit up.”
Once again, a swab of saliva had exposed a terrible crime. Beverly felt her heart break for the woman Augustus Wainwright had raped. One hundred and fifty years was far too long to wait for a reckoning.
“How did you take the news?” Beverly asked.
“He kept it hidden.” Elijah nudged his brother in the side with his elbow. “He didn’t even tellmeuntil yesterday.”
“It was a shock,” Isaac admitted. “I knew I had ancestors who were enslaved on the Wainwright plantation, and I thought there might be a chance. But I didn’t know how hard the truth would hit me—seeing his name next to a blank space where our great-grandmother’s name should have been.”
“I can’t even imagine,” Beverly said. “Your mother owns Fairview Florist. Betsy, am I right?”
“Yes,” Elijah confirmed. “And our dad has the repair shop in town.”
“James,” Isaac said.
“Do they have any idea what you’ve discovered?” Beverly asked.
