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She frowned. “It wasn’t some little notion that came into my head,” she said, her tone direct and edgy. “I came out of respect...and love, if you must know. Or do you?”
It was obvious I had hit a chord. “I’m not here to tell you what you should have done, Miss Levereaux. When people die, it’s a trying time for everyone. It just felt awkward seeing my father’s mistress there.”
Her tone was cynical. “There are mistresses at every man’s funeral, as there will be at yours.”
“You’re making an assumption about my life.”
“Did you not have a mulatto girl as your lover?”
I flinched at her words. “That’s only part of the story.”
She laughed. “Thomas, I know a lot more than you realize,” she said. “When you’ve been a man’s lover for nearly twenty years, you know as much as his wife, if not more.”
“And you’re proud of that?”
She stood up and swept past me as if she was ending the conversation, but she was just getting started.
“Why are you here? I hope it’s not chastise me.”
“To make sure we have an understanding,” I said. “It’s obvious my father took good care of you before he died...settled accounts and made sure you continued your lifestyle. Whatever money he gave you is his business. But it’s important that the relationship you had remain...hidden. At least for my mother’s sake.”
“Your mother’s sake?” A hint of contempt could be heard in her voice. “Forever the protective son. How commendable. I see you’re still that young, naïve man you were when you left. Do you really think your mother doesn’t know about me?”
“I don’t know what she knows,” I said, my tone brusque. “What I do know is that she’s still grieving, and you should respect that.”
She outstretched her arms. “Look around you. I’m leaving, remember? What possible harm could I cause at this point?”
“There’s always a last performance.”
“The relationship I had with your father is really none of your business,” she said defiantly. “But if you must know, I’m not your father’s only secret.”
“What do you mean?” I said, rising.
She came to me and stood very close. For a moment, I thought she was going to kiss me. “We’re more alike than you realize,” she said, her voice low and seductive.
“We’re nothing alike, Miss Levereaux.”
“Oh, but we are,” she said with a wry and cunning smile. “You see, when people look at me they think I’m a rich widow with money to spare. There are a few who look at me with curiosity and wonder. They’re unsure, but they don’t ask questions. The negroes, however...now that’s a different story. Most see me and they know. There’s something more behind the eyes. Some secretly turn their noses down at me. Others nod because they understand the rules, that passing isn’t necessarily a choice, it’s a way to survive. But you...there’s no question you’re a white man. No one even blinks because they can’t see it. Of course, there’s always a dark-skinned relative that comes out of the woods to ruin it for everyone.”
My heart beat began to race. “What are you saying?”
She studied me with those green eyes. “I’m talking about that drop of black blood in you.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Only if you’re in denial.”
I could feel my anger rising. “What am I supposed to be denying?”
“Ask your mother,” she said dismissively. “Maybe she’ll confess and tell you how white she really is.”
“How do you know this?”
“Who else? Your father, of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As the afternoon sunlight brushed its way past the huge oak trees laden with Spanish moss, Elizabeth inspected the lock to Thomas’ desk drawer and wondered how long it would take her to pry it open. She had already rummaged through one the desk drawers, finding little more than various business papers, contracts and receipts. Frustrated, she had slammed the drawer shut and turned to open the other drawer only to find it locked. She slid her hands under the desk, feeling carefully along the edges for a key. Nothing. Elizabeth was on the hunt for Thomas’ diary, a precious item that he kept hidden from view. Finding it wouldn’t be easy, if at all, but she was determined to try.
