Union Street Bakery (9781101619292) (23 page)

“The slave trader. His house is on Duke Street.”

Margaret's gaze sparked with approval. “So you do know a little history.”

“Hard not to, growing up with you. Didn't you do a paper on him in high school?”

“Two points, grasshopper. I never thought you noticed.”

“I'm the one who took the pictures of you standing in front of the house for the report, remember? We used Dad's old Polaroid, and you bought me ice cream for my services.”

“Right again. Bruin operated Bruin and Hill in the 1840s and 1850s. He was arrested at the beginning of the Civil War and put in a Washington, D.C., jail.” The dancing light in Margaret's eyes signaled she was on the verge of a history lecture.

“So what's next?”

She rubbed her palms together. “More detective work.” She picked up one last photo. “Have a look at this.”

I hesitated. “Please no more dead children.”

“No. No more dead children. This is a picture taken of Jenna McCrae and her tutor. Jenna McCrae was Shaun's daughter from his first wife, who I believe died shortly before they arrived in Alexandria from Ireland.”

“Jenna? J.”

“It certainly backs up the story Mabel told. The young slave girl was sent to tend the baker's daughter. Jenna, by the way, died in 1864 of heart failure caused by an early bout with measles.”

“How did you come across her?”

“It just seemed kind of odd that we are descended from a baker, have Mabel's accounts as well as a slave girl's journal.” She unfolded a long piece of paper that looked like an ancestry chart. “Sally married Shaun in 1865.”

“Sally Good was Jenna's Alexandria friend who attended school with her in Ohio.”

“Right. Sally and Shaun had four children. We are descended from Thomas, the second son. And guess who is descended from their fourth child, Ruth?”

I shrugged.

“Mabel. Sally and Shaun were Mabel's grandparents.”

“Damn.”

I stared at the ancestry chart down through the generations. The line from my parents to Rachel and Margaret was solid. There was a dotted line to my name. “So why give this to the adopted kid?”

“I've no idea.”

Studying the browning, faded photo of Jenna and her tutor, I couldn't help but marvel at the girl's serene beauty. “How do you know this is Jenna?”

“Because the tutor's name was Silas Barnard and he lived and taught in the area in the 1840s and 1850s. Remember, Susie mentioned in one of her journal entries that she wished she could again sit in Mr. B.'s classroom.”

I leaned back and stared at her, my amazement clear. “Genius.”

Margaret puffed out her chest. “I wish I had that on tape.” She flipped over the picture and revealed a thick bold script. “Mr. B. was a careful historian. A man after my own heart. See where he's written, ‘Mr. B. and Jenna McCrae, 1851.'

“When did Jenna leave for Ohio?”

“Likely before the war, because Shaun wanted her away from the fighting. Somehow she hooked up again with her dear friend Sally Good.”

“Sally Good. Shaun's second wife.”

“Exactly. Sally accompanied Jenna's body home. That's how she and Shaun met.”

I squinted and stared at the little blond girl with the bright eyes. So much death.

Standing behind Jenna was another girl. Her face was turned, and she wore a simple dress that appeared a little large for her. Her brown shoes looked well worn. This child had brown hair and pale skin. “There's another girl in the background.”

“I think,” Margaret said carefully, “that this girl is your Susie.”

I shook my head. “It can't be. She's too . . . white.”

“Some slaves did have lighter skin. If her mother was biracial, and she was as well, then light skin could very well have been part of the genetic draw.”

“But how do you know she is a slave?”

“It's conjecture based on her clothing. Worn, oversized. Also she is standing behind the other two and is holding a fan.”

“Damn.”

“Virginia law stated that a slave mother's children were her master's property. Sadly, the lighter skin would have increased the girl's marketability. I'm still searching for the bill of sale.”

“Marketability. Bill of sale. God, we are talking about a
child
.”

Margaret shrugged. “I don't defend. I document.”

•   •   •

I left the Archaeology Center just after nine. Streetlamps mingled with a nearly full moon, making it easy to move down Union Street. I'd walked these streets all of my childhood and a good portion of my adulthood, so I wasn't worried about trouble. My mind was tangled up in the pictures of Elisabeth and Rupert's dead children, who'd been so lovingly coiffed and posed for their final images. And of Susie, the little girl in the threadbare clothes with her face turned partly from the camera.

The restaurants and pubs along the water were alight with patrons. The warming weather would soon pull the tourists into town, and in the coming weeks this whole area would be teeming with people.

Now when pub doors opened, laughter and music flooded out onto the street in a rush. The scents of beer and pizza also drifted past before doors closed and silenced the revelers.

A look into a picture window and I could see people crowded around the bar. The women looked dolled up in heels and designer wear and the men had the lean, hungry look of a man on the make. I'd never been good with the bar scene. I gave it a try in college and had some fun. The buzz of alcohol combined with the inane conversations of friends had been a welcome distraction from studies and my self-imposed need to succeed. In the bars I could also, for short bits of time, forget about Renee, Mom's latest phone call, or my most current breakup. In the confusion, I found peace.

But as I moved into my early and mid-twenties, the bars lost their appeal. Work became my newest and best distraction—my favorite numbing agent of choice.

I shoved hands into my pockets, wondering if I'd be in a better place now if I'd taken the time to make more friends. I'd kept relationships light and easy but perhaps I'd have been better off risking more with a little greater depth.

“Daisy.” The sound of Gordon's voice caught me off guard. I turned to see him moving toward me with long, even strides. Moonlight glowed above him, highlighting his light hair, biking-T-shirt, jacket, and jeans. Loafers without socks completed the image.

My stomach tightened, and I braced. In all the years I'd been dating, when I'd left boyfriends in the past, I never looked back. I broke all ties. But with Gordon, the tangle of emotion and past regrets wouldn't untangle or sever. “Hey.”

He quickened his pace and caught up to me. “What puts you out on the streets this late? Don't you bakers get up early?”

“We do.” I could have used that excuse as my exit strategy but opted to linger. My gaze dropped to his flat belly and flashed to the last time I'd kissed his stomach. Then it had been soft and not so muscled. This newer, sexier Gordon was a bit of a stranger and a little unnerving. Old Gordon wouldn't have minded the extra pounds I'd gained since my return, but I wondered if New Gordon did.

“I'm getting used to the odd hours and the lack of sleep.” And that was true. “What has you out?”

He ran long fingers through his hair. “Chamber of Commerce mixer. Trying to drum up support for the new business.”

“Grand opening in a couple of weeks.”

“Four.” He dug in his coat pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me.

“Singletary Bikes. Union Street, Alexandria, Virginia. I like the little wheel logo. Did you design it?”

“Nah. It's stock, just like my website. Working on a shoestring budget these days.”

“You and me both.” I walked slowly, hoping and not hoping he'd follow.

He fell in step beside me. “I saw you come out of the Torpedo Factory.”

“My sister Margaret works in the Archaeology Center. She's kind of helping me with a project. Long story.”

“A project?”

“A historical thing.”

“I thought you weren't a fan of history.”

“I'm not normally but this thing just kind of caught my attention. Like I said, it's a long story.”

“Right now, I got the time. No place to be until tomorrow.”

“That's a switch. You with time. And me with time. Seemed neither one of us had it before.”

A weighty silence settled and lingered. “Yeah. And both of us were too busy to notice.”

On the few occasions I had shared a bit of myself with him, it had usually been at night in bed. We'd be shrouded in darkness and I'd whisper rare thoughts to him. He'd always listen as if collecting precious nuggets. I had no reason to open up to Gordon now. We were broken up and finished as a couple.

I sighed. “Margaret is helping me put together the pieces of a girl's life. She lived in the 1850s.”

He cocked an eyebrow and I wasn't sure if he were more surprised by the topic or my openness. “That's out of left field.”

“It is.” I laughed. “If you'd bet me a year ago I'd be doing what I was doing and talking about history, I'd have taken the bet and raised you.”

“Life's really changed for you.” He hesitated. “I'm sorry about that.”

“You've apologized before. Shit happens, Gordon.”

Generally when we got into emotions, I'd shut down and do my best to squirm out of the conversation. But I was tired of that. “This old lady in town left me a journal that belonged to a kid who lived in the 1850s. It's a long-winded, boring tale that has little interest to most, but Margaret and I are having fun with it.”

He touched my forearm lightly. “I didn't say I wasn't interested. I was just . . . well, like you said, I can be a bit of a martyr. So who was this girl?”

I searched his gaze looking for any emotion that would tell me to shut up or perhaps just sock him. But the only light that flickered was one of interest. His body was turned toward me and his head was slightly cocked, something I remember he did when he really wanted to hear and understand.

So, I explained about the journal, Mabel, even Terry's letter, hesitating every so often to check his expression for any sign of boredom or wandering thoughts. To Gordon's credit, his gaze never wavered. I finished and let out a long sigh, as if I'd just released a lung full of toxins. “Do I sound like I've lost my mind?”

“No. You sounded fine.” He watched the heat rise and color my cheeks.

“Then why are you staring?”

Grinning, he dropped his gaze to his feet before lifting it again. This time, there was no trace of sadness or regret swirling his gaze. “I think you've just told me more about yourself in the last few minutes than you did in the entire year we were together. I never knew about Terry. It fits, though. When I saw your sisters . . . well, they look alike and you look different. And I don't mean different in a bad way. Different in a really good way.”

“Don't worry, you're not the first to notice that I don't exactly look Irish.” My lips flattened. “I never told anyone in D.C. that I'm adopted.”

“Why not?”

“I've spent my whole life being different so I don't go out of my way to be different.”

“You always stood out as a ballbuster at work.”

I laughed. “Work is different somehow. It's not personal. Or so I thought.”

“Tell me about it.”

More silence fell between us and I wished he'd say something to fill it. “I know I could . . . can be aloof, at times. I'm not an easy person.”

He nodded. “You live behind a wall of ice, Daisy. The only time we ever came close to connecting was in bed.”

It was my turn to lower my gaze. “I remember. And I'm sorry. I just kinda expect people to leave me and so I invest as little as possible and then do the leaving before they can.”

He nodded as if I'd told him what he knew all along. “This Terry woman has really shaken you.”

“My life turned upside down when I was fired but I thought I was dealing okay. It's only since I've been back at the bakery that all the emotions have started to churn.”

“I'm sorry about that.” He drew in a breath. “My deal with management was that none of the investment team would be fired. I left hoping you, and the others, would keep their jobs.”

I'd blamed Gordon for the screwups. He'd been CFO. He'd made the decisions that had led to the catastrophic losses and eventual firings. “I didn't realize you'd tried to save our jobs.”

Pain deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth. “I should have tried harder.”

The fact that he'd tried at all meant something to me. I'd always thought he'd walked away without a backward glance toward anyone.

“In the end we were all adults, Gordon. We knew that investments could go south and that the red-hot market of the last decade could not last forever.”

“I should have seen it coming, but I was in so deep.” His last words were little more than a hoarse whisper.

I shoved out a sigh. “Honestly, that job seems a million miles away right now. And as much as I missed it a month ago, I'm not so stressed about it now.”

His gaze telegraphed skepticism. “Just like that?”

“Not just like that. But it's where I'm slowly heading.”

We meandered down the brick streets. To our left the Potomac drifted past. The stars twinkled above and a cool breeze drifted off the water.

The tension in his shoulders eased. “So what are you going to do about Terry?”

“Dad says to rip the bandage off and be done with it. He told me to call her.” I hesitated. “What do you think?”

He shook his head. “A year ago, I was black-and-white on most subjects. Now, after seeing too many dollars vanish, I realize I don't know much.”