by Eve Gaddy
“I’m starving,” Claire said after they were seated. “What about you?”
“I could eat. This place had great food when I was in high school.”
“Still does.” She smiled at the waitress and chatted with her a bit before giving her order. Clearly she came here often.
Jonas ordered as well and settled back with his coffee. He liked the fancier coffee shops sometimes, but what he really enjoyed was just a good cup of black coffee without any frills.
“Why did you come back to Fort Worth?” Claire asked. “I know you said you’d lived here before, but you’d been in Boston a long time, right?”
He nodded. “I did my residency there and practiced at Mass Gen for several years. Then my mother began having some health issues. I’m an only child so I came back to care for her.”
“I hope it’s not serious.”
“It’s not life-threatening. She has wet macular degeneration, and it’s growing worse.”
“I’m sorry. Does she still have her sight?”
“Yes, but it’s getting to be more of a problem.” He laughed. “According to her, she’s handling everything just fine. She doesn’t accept help very readily.”
“Independent, huh?”
“You can say that again.” She’d pitched a fit when he broke the news to her that he was moving back to Texas. Naomi had always pushed him to succeed and wanted no part of hampering his career path, or changing it in any way. But Jonas had stood firm. She needed him in Texas, and that was that. When the position at Shady Grove had opened up, he’d known it was meant to be. “So what about you? Did you grow up here?”
“I did. Lived here all my life except for college. I went to Arlington Heights for high school,” she said, naming one of the large high schools in Fort Worth. “Where did you go? I’m betting we’re about the same age.”
He grinned. “Possibly. I didn’t think a woman ever volunteered her age.”
“I’m still in my thirties, so maybe I just haven’t gotten there yet. I’m class of 1995.”
“I went to Paschal,” he said, naming one of the other big high schools in Fort Worth. “Same graduating class. We never met, though. I’d have remembered you.” If she’d looked anything like she did now, he sure as hell would’ve remembered her.
The waitress came back with their meals, and they both dug in. Jonas wondered what Claire had been like in high school. He hadn’t taken to the party circuit, but in all likelihood, neither had she. He’d been busy busting his ass in order to get a premed scholarship at a competitive college. He’d set his heart on Harvard Medical School from the time he was fourteen. Jonas was a decent athlete but not good enough to make it in the pros. Besides, his interests had always leaned more toward the academic. He’d figured out early on that academics were his ride.
“I spent high school with my nose in a book,” Claire said. “I always wanted to be a doctor. I never had much interest in the social scene. Didn’t see any point to it.”
“Valedictorian?” he asked.
She laughed. “Yes. You?”
“By a tenth of a point,” he said, smiling. “My mother worked two jobs to support us until I got old enough for a part-time job. Between that and school, I didn’t have much of a social life either.”
“It was just you and your mom growing up?”
He nodded. “My dad died when I was six. Mom never remarried. She said she’d had one love of her life and didn’t expect to find another.”
“That’s really touching.”
They both grabbed for the napkins at the same time. The instant their hands met, Jonas felt a jolt. Similar to the one he’d felt the first time she touched him, only more intense. Their eyes met, hers that odd combination of colors, and he was reminded again that he’d seen them before. But where?
She looked as startled as he felt. “I swear this isn’t a line,” he said, “but . . . did you feel that?”
Claire looked away, then back at him. “Yes. It was . . . weird.”
“Weird is an appropriate word. I felt it the first time, too. When you spilled coffee on me.”
She didn’t say anything, but judging by her expression, she had too.
He put out his hand. “I’m not a big believer in woo-woo crap.”
“Me neither.” But she didn’t give him her hand.
“Scared?”
“Not exactly.” She placed her hand in his. Let it lie there, passive.
Her image shimmered. Faded. For an instant, he was somewhere else . . . someone else. A black boy, sitting in a diner with a white girl, holding hands. Young. Teenagers, both of them.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said. “You and me, nothing good’s gonna come of it.”
“Then why do you keep seeing me?” She tossed long dark hair back over her shoulder and gazed at him with oddly colored eyes. One green, one half-green, half-blue.
“I can’t seem to help it. You’re just so damn pretty.”
She laughed. “That’s a shallow reason.”
He laughed too. “Maybe I’m just a shallow kind of guy.”
As quickly as the scene had come, it faded. Jonas pulled his hand away from Claire’s. Shook his head to clear his thoughts. Weird. He didn’t remember that scene ever happening. But if it hadn’t been his memory, then what the hell had it been?
“I’m married,” Claire said.
“I’m not.” He didn’t ask why that was pertinent. He knew, and obviously, so did she. His mouth ran independently of his good sense. “Are you happily married?”
She didn’t answer. She picked up her fork and ate some of her omelet. “I’m married. Let’s leave it at that.”
So her marriage wasn’t a happy one. He’d be crazy to get involved with a married woman. A married white woman at that. But damn, she was beautiful, even after all night in the OR. And that odd connection thing only made her more intriguing.
Don’t do it, Jonas, he thought. You’re going to regret it.
Like the boy, he had a bad feeling. But again, like the boy, she was just so damn pretty.
Hell.
Rachel’s Journal—March 3, 1859
Sarah came to see us today, Ben and I. Sensing her need to speak freely, Ben left us to ourselves. I am glad that he did, yet I feel so helpless. Her life simply grows worse. Her husband blames her for her barrenness, though as far as he knows, he has never fathered a child. That fact matters not to him. In his world, Sarah is at fault.
Sarah is at her wit’s end. For while her husband prays for a child, she prays to remain childless. She wants no child of Victor Lawrence’s, for fear he will hurt the child, as he does her. Sarah does not speak of it in detail, but I can see the bruises he leaves. Lord only knows what further horror is hidden by her clothes. Neither Father nor Sarah ever speak of the reasons behind this disastrous marriage, but we all know the sacrifice Sarah made and why. And I am so fortunate to have a husband who loves and cherishes me. Am I wrong to feel desperately thankful, even as my heart aches for my sister?
March 1859
“OH, THANK GOODNESS,” Sarah said upon spying the big black man walking toward her. “You’re Elijah, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his straw hat and didn’t look at her, as all the slaves had been trained.
My, he was large. “My horse has come up lame, and I don’t know what to do. Can you help me?”
He shuffled his feet a bit, then said, “Yes’m.” He went to the horse and felt of his hock. “It’s done swole up. Look like she been kicked. Or she hurt it kickin’ something.”
“Can she get home pulling the buggy? Or should I unhitch it and lead her?”
“I’ll lead her, ma’am. You and the buggy won’t bother her none.” As Sarah started to get down, he added, “No need
to get out, ma’am.”
“Nonsense. She doesn’t need my added weight, and I’m perfectly capable of walking.” Elijah looked as if he wanted to argue but said nothing. “Well, don’t just stand there. Help me down.”
The big man looked even more uncomfortable at the command, but he came to the wagon and placed his hands on her waist. He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a feather, letting go of her immediately when he set her on the ground.
Then he went to the horse’s head and looped the reins in his hand. Sarah scrambled to keep up with him. She looked around carefully, making certain no one else was about. She knew if anyone saw her walking side by side with a slave, or worse, if her husband saw, he would have a fit. In all likelihood, he would vent his anger on poor Elijah and then turn on her. But then, he didn’t agree with Sarah that they were all God’s creatures. Victor thought the slaves were no better than animals, and he wasn’t very kind to them either. If she’d known how brutal he was before she’d agreed to marry him . . . no, it wouldn’t have mattered. She would have felt duty bound to marry Victor regardless of his cruelty.
“You’re not from around here, are you, Elijah? You sound more educated than most of the other slaves.”
He still wouldn’t look at her but, he answered. “Near Canada. My mother schooled me. Before I was took.”
“Took? Taken from where?”
“From my home, ma’am.”
“You mean from another plantation, another master?”
“No, ma’am. I was born free.”
He said it proudly. Other than the slaves her father had freed, she hadn’t known any freedmen. “You and your family were free? You were stolen from your home?”
He nodded. “Yes’m. When I was twelve.”
“Why, that’s terrible. Unconscionable.”
He shrugged. “’Twas a long time ago. But I ain’t forgotten how it feels to be free. Still and all, least my schoolin’ got me a better job to do.”
“That’s right, you take care of the accounts. Victor, my husband, said something about you just the other day. He was surprised—” she broke off abruptly, remembering the crude nature of her husband’s comments.
“That a colored slave could know figurin’?” Elijah asked. “I’m sorry, Missus,” he said immediately. “I didn’t mean no disrespect.”
“None taken.” By her, at least. Victor would be another matter.
No one had seen her walking with Elijah. They were on her husband’s land, and not a soul had been in sight for miles around. If she were careful, she might talk to Elijah again. Sarah didn’t analyze why she wanted to see him again. She only felt as if she had found a friend.
Chapter Four
August Present Day
GLENN’S FATHER STAYED in the hospital for several days due to the concussion. By the time he was released, Claire suspected the nursing staff was as ready to get rid of him as he was to leave. He put the D in difficult. Claire hadn’t planned on being present to help take him home, but Glenn had specifically requested her to be there. Lawrence, in his usual pain-in-the-ass manner, had been running Glenn ragged. Glenn, in turn, had decided she needed to facilitate Lawrence’s release, although she’d told him there was nothing she could do about that. Claire and Lawrence had never had the best of relationships, and since she’d quit catering to his wishes, it had grown worse.
At first Lawrence had liked her. Or at least, he’d liked her family’s social position. He’d never really liked her, and he detested her oddly colored eyes. He’d often made rude comments about them, though she wasn’t sure why they bothered him so much. Finally fed up, she’d told him she could do without seeing him if he couldn’t shut up about something so insignificant. He’d backed off after that.
“Did you talk to that night nurse?” she heard Lawrence ask as she entered the room. “I don’t think I need one, but if you insist, I guess I’ll have her. But if I don’t like her, you’ll have to find another.”
“We’ve talked about this,” Glenn said. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, she came highly recommended. I think you’ll just need to keep her for a short while, but you’ll also need extra help during the day and you’ll probably need that for a long time. For one thing, you won’t be driving for a while. Not while you’re on the pain medication, anyway.”
Glenn looked exhausted. Claire suspected his insistence on his father having a nurse was as much self-preservation as anything else. She felt sorry for him. His mother and a sister had died years before in a car accident, and Glenn was the only one left to deal with his cantankerous father. The fact that they had many business dealings together made things worse, though Glenn would never admit it.
“You’re looking better this morning, Lawrence,” Claire said. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“I’d like a decent night’s sleep, but as long as I’m in such pain, that’s out of the question. And of course, the hospital’s so damn noisy no one can sleep. Why the hell do they come in and wake you up every ten minutes?”
Claire exchanged glances with Glenn. Ignoring the latter part of his comments, she said, “Yes, broken bones are very painful. Did you have your pain medicine prescription filled?”
“My son was supposed to take care of that.”
“We’ll pick it up on the way home,” Glenn said.
Lawrence was already sitting in the wheelchair, so she handed him his bag to put in his lap and led the way while Glenn pushed him. As they passed the nurses station, she saw Jonas and smiled, prepared to go on by, but he stopped her. “Claire, do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” She turned to tell Glenn and his father she’d catch up with them. Lawrence looked ghastly, his hands clenched white-knuckled on his overnight bag and his complexion a matching pasty white. Great, all they needed was for the man to have a heart attack. “Lawrence, are you in pain?”
“Of course he’s in pain,” Glenn said. “Look at his face.” He bent down by his father. “Is it your head? The concussion? Or is it your heart?”
“No, I’m fine,” he said. His color was coming back, but he still didn’t look great.
He eyed Jonas with obvious dislike. “Who the hell are you?”
Jonas looked a little taken aback at the rude question, but answered him easily. “I’m Dr. Clark. And who are you?”
“This is my father-in-law, Lawrence Westbrook,” Claire said, wanting to sink into the floor. “And this is my husband, Glenn.”
Neither her husband nor his father made a move to shake Jonas’s hand. Neither, she noticed, did Jonas hold out his hand. The tension was palpable and most of it emanated from Lawrence. What in the hell was going on with the man?
“Can I get back to you, Jonas? My father-in-law is being released today. I think he’s anxious to get home.”
“No problem. I just had a question about one of your patients.” He nodded at the two men and walked off.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Claire asked Lawrence. Other than being angry, he looked fine now.
“Never mind that. Who the hell was that man?”
“He told you. He’s Dr. Jonas Clark, one of our best neurosurgeons. Why were you so rude to him?”
“Black bastard doesn’t belong in this hospital.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, can’t you put your prejudice aside for once? He’s a world-class neurosurgeon. He also saved your friend’s life.” She knew Lawrence was a bigot, which was only one of the reasons she didn’t care for him. Ordinarily, he hid his prejudice better than he was doing now. “I don’t appreciate your being rude to one of my colleagues.”
“How dare you lecture my father?” Glenn said. “He’s a patient at this hospital, a paying one, and he can say whatever he wants.”
“You weren’t much better,” Claire said, unrepentant. Her pager went off, giving
her the perfect excuse to leave them. “Sorry,” she said, checking it. “I’ve got to get to the ER. You’ll have to do this without me.”
As she left, she heard Glenn say, “Are you sure you’re all right? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
“I did,” Lawrence said. “The ghost of a black bastard I never thought I’d see again.”
COINCIDENCE, THAT’S all it was, Lawrence told himself. There was no reason to flip out simply because a man looked like someone long dead.
There was no denying that Jonas Clark bore a strong resemblance to Calvin Davis. If Lawrence’s memory wasn’t playing tricks on him, and he didn’t believe it was, Clark looked like a grown-up version of Davis. Maybe he was related to the bastard. And if he was, so what? Maybe nothing, but . . . better to know than to sit around wondering.
“Dad, are you all right?” Glenn asked. “You really gave me a scare in the hospital.”
“I’m fine. I need a pen and paper.”
“Both are in the glove compartment.”
After opening the compartment, Lawrence reached in and pulled out paper and pen. He made note of what he wanted, then folded over the paper. “I want you to give this to my assistant right after you drop me off.”
“Don’t you want to just call him?”
“Goddamn it, can’t you do one simple thing I ask? Give this to Leon. And tell him to hurry. I want this information yesterday.” He wanted to know everything there was to know about Dr. Jonas Clark. His family, his history, everything. Knowledge was power, he’d always said. With any luck, he’d find out that Jonas Clark bore absolutely no relation to Calvin Davis.
“What’s this about?”
“None of your business. Just give Leon my note.”
Glenn sighed heavily. “All right. I’ll see to it as soon as I get you settled. The nurse should meet us at your house in about an hour.”
Now Lawrence simply had to wait until his assistant came through with the information. No reason to be concerned about something that happened more than forty years before. Why worry simply because Jonas Clark looked like Calvin Davis would have looked had he lived past the age of eighteen?
