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“ItisElmhurst,” Momma corrects. “It began under the grove of elms in front of City Hall and it is under those trees, where the roots breach the soil in the tunnels below the town, Elmhurst meets and grooms its future generations.”
I shake my head, not believing any of this. “Momma, this is crazy. Our town, the one I grew up in…the one every family we know has loved and…”
My protest trails off as those very words paint a picture that I hadn’t seen until now.
Elmhurst, the community that had been blessed by fortune beyond what seemed right, wasn’t just close-knit. It was a group bound together by something beyond wealth. It was bound by a belief, rooted so deeply within every family, that they were the chosen ones.
That’s what Courtney meant that night she came to my house. She said I wasn’t cut out for this…this being Elmhurst. A society bound by a generational oath taken by all those who came before me to honor wealth and power above all, even my own life.
She, Dex, Royce…they weren’t a clique. They were an inner circle that was a mirror image of our parents. Richardson, Vaughn, Webster, Bell, Cook, and Butler…they had run not only Elmhurst, but played a part in the nation, for hundreds of years.
“But how did I not know?” I shake my head. “Why did Royce and the others know and I did not?”
“You were not old enough,” Momma says, reaching for my hand. “Legacies are initiated on their thirteenth birthday.”
“But I’m almost nineteen.”
“I know.” She holds my hand tighter. “Your initiation was delayed.”
An uneasy feeling swirls through me as Momma flicks her eyes to Cruz and then back at me. “Why?”
“There were questions,” she answers slowly.
“About?” Not that I wanted to be part of this cult or whatever it was, but the idea everyone around me was in the know all this time and I was not, makes my cheeks hot with fury.
“Your legitimacy,” she says simply.
“My legitimacy,” I repeat. “Do you mean because I am a girl?”
“Women have no real control in Elmhurst,” Momma lets out a small, bitter laugh. “We marry as we are told and do our duty by giving birth to the next generation, and in exchange, we live a life of privilege. But no, it wasn’t that.”
What she just said…duty and doing what’s told…that was a lot, if not all of the women, in Elmhurst. But it was not Momma. In fact, when Daddy died, she appeared to shun the very group she had never been without for as long as I could remember. Except Evelyn, her best friend.
After Daddy died, she laughed more, and even found real happiness, with Cruz’s dad. A man not of this society, but worth more than any of the others in Elmhurst, just like his son.
The conversation Momma and I had the night of the ball now made more sense. Marrying well and having a child in which to pass one’s wealth wasn’t the message. It was never about some snob circle’s values. It was about the duty my name bound me to—marrying within Elmhurst and continuing its legacy.
But if there were questions about my legitimacy and it didn’t have to do with gender, what was the concern?
“The other night on the beach, Royce made it sound likeowning me was some kind of prize,” I say evenly. “Why would he covet me, if there were concerns with my ability to be a member?”
“When I told you Elmhurst was started by a group of men,” Momma looks down, “what I didn’t tell you is that there was once a seventh.”
“A seventh?”
She nods. “Evander Davenport.”
“As in the town?”
“Yes,” she nods. “At the time, they owned more land than all the other families combined.”
I lean in, something about the name, stirring my curiosity. “So what happened to him?”
“He put up the initial money that funded the group’s activities, and over time that trust—”
“Wait.” I hold up my hand. “Are you talking about The Davenport Trust?”
“Yes,” she confirms with a crisp nod. “It is what gives Elmhurst its power, and every family has done whatever needed to be done to ensure its survival.”
