by Pat Simmons
Kidd whirled around and asked her, “So he really is a nurse?”
“Oh, yeah, and I’m keeping an eye on D. His bedside manners are impressive.” Imani grinned wickedly. “Especially after I twisted my ankle.” Suddenly, she had a slight limp.
Wearing a grin that stretched across his entire face, the man reached for the bowl. “Thanks. I’ll just take this to the kitchen.” When he stepped away, Kidd couldn’t help but wonder if Grandma BB would even get a taste. The huge man looked like he could murder some food.
They walked into a large room where Grandma BB sat in a highback chair with her bare feet stretched out on a thick cushioned ottoman. Silent Killer was posted at her side, his ears perked.
“Well, if it isn’t my bodyguard from Garden Chateau and his new fiancée.”
“The grapevine around here is like a high-speed light rail,” Kidd complained, while Eva beamed. At least his fiancée was happy. “Uh, we brought you a basket.”
“Grandma BB, we’re praying for your recovery,” Eva added.
“You do that.” The woman nodded. “So, who was the third sucker who got knocked off at the place? You know what they say, death comes in threes.”
“What? You didn’t get the memo on that one?” Kidd said sarcastically. Just then he thought about his new walk with Christ. He shouldn’t have provoked her. Kidd apologized, but she ignored him.
Instead, Grandma BB beckoned to Dino. “I’m ready for my foot therapy now.” Then she sneered at Kidd. “Watch it. I may not be able to outrun you for getting smart with me, but Silent Killer is as fast as a bullet.” She winked.
Even a stroke can’t keep a good woman down. “Well, Eva and I just wanted to check on you before we head to Parke’s house.” Kidd reached for Eva’s hand and squeezed his affection. They turned to leave.
“When is the wedding?” Grandma BB called after them before they made it to the front door. “And I expect an invitation. You know I’m family, and I always get a front-row seat.
Kidd eyed Eva, daring her to change her mind again.
“October,” Eva replied, with a charming smile.
“I’ll be there in a wheelchair or on a walker. But make no mistake about it; me and my Stacy Adams will be there. So put aside a bouquet just for me.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Kidd’s thoughts were elsewhere on the drive to Parke’s house just a few blocks away. His prayers and the Bible studies couldn’t subdue his pounding heart. He was about to know the whereabouts of his father, so he could have a man-to-man talk with him.
In his heart, Kidd recited John 8:32 more than once: “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”
“God, help me not to be afraid of the truth—whatever it is,” he prayed.
“Kevin, I’m going to be honest. I don’t know what you’re feeling, and I don’t even know if you can or want to tell me. But … what purpose will this possibly serve?” Eva asked softly before adding, “You barely tolerated Juneteenth.”
He didn’t believe in backing down. To confront his father in a civil manner, after all these years, was a test that Kidd had to pass. He had to believe that when he got saved, Christ nailed his feelings of envy, jealousy, and rage to the cross. However, he wasn’t sure about his feelings toward his half brothers and half sisters. That was up in the air.
I will keep you in perfect peace, when you keep your mind on Me. Trust in Me, God spoke Isaiah 26:3.
“Samuel wronged me, and the Bible says I have to forgive him and anyone who trespasses against me. That’s a lot to ask of a man who believed in taking matters into my own hands all my life. If I’m going to be a Christian, I have to right Samuel’s wrong. With that said, I’m not seeking to foster a relationship with him. I’m not even trying to like the man.”
He swallowed. “I will admit I’m struggling with a bit of revenge. I want to see pride in his eyes for the man I’ve become. Of course, he’ll have no choice but to admit he can’t take any credit. I’m fighting against some conflicting emotions. On one hand, I want to hurt him for hurting me, my mother, and my brother. On the other hand, God wants me to forgive Samuel and give God control of my life. So, for Samuel and me, God saved me right on time.”
“Would you really hurt your own father? Really?”
“You’re asking me that question on the right day of the week, because now I’m determined to live for Christ. Before Christ came into my heart, I seriously would’ve left my mark on Samuel—because I hated him.”
“Strong word.”
“Strong emotions, babe, but God is handling those now. I just have to keep remembering that.”
Kidd parked and turned off the ignition. Eva reached over and rubbed his hand. “Let’s pray, sweetie.”
He nodded.
“God, in the name of Jesus, we come before You for comfort. We ask that You calm the storm of rage trying to overtake Kevin. Please stop it. God, You saved him for a purpose. Now let him pass his first test. Thank You in advance. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
“Amen.” Kidd sighed. “Thank you, baby. Okay, let’s get this over with,” he said with conviction and got out of the car. He came around and helped Eva. This time, instead of walking hand in hand, Eva wrapped her arm around him. He leaned on her small strength to steady his feet as they climbed the stairs to the porch. Eva rang the bell. It was Kidd’s first visit back to the place where he called home until the day he was put out, or he left, depending on whose version a person would believe.
Parke opened the door. “Hey, man.” He engulfed Kidd into a hug and then kissed Eva’s cheek.
“Don’t get too comfortable doing that,” Kidd threatened, nudging Parke aside and allowing Eva to enter first. “Humph, Jesus or no Jesus, nobody messes with my stuff or my woman.”
“I’ve got a wife,” Parke taunted him.
Eva rolled her eyes. “Testosterone.”
Cheney strolled out of the kitchen, laughing. “Pay them no mind.” She exchanged hugs with Eva. “Yep. Congratulations to the future Mrs. Jamieson. I’m so excited for you to join the elite club of Jamieson wives!”
“Thank you.” Eva chuckled, as her eyes sparkled.
“On the downside, it gets worse after marriage.”
Cheney’s toddler came out of nowhere and raced across the room to Kidd. He swooped down and lifted the boy above his head. Paden giggled.
The bell rang, not once, but in a familiar sounding off-beat pattern. When Cheney opened the door, Malcolm and his family entered.
“What are you doing here? Did I intrude on a family game day? I thought this would be something personal between Parke and me.” It was humiliating enough for Kidd that he knew so little about his father.
“Think again.” Malcolm clasped Parke’s hand in a shake and then did the same with Kidd’s. Turning, he planted a kiss on Cheney’s cheek, then Eva’s.
“Would you all keep your lips off my woman? And that is not a request,” Kidd advised, his nostrils flaring.
“So, Cheney, it doesn’t get better with the ring on my finger. Huh?” Eva groaned.
“Nope,” Hallison answered for Cheney. “Congratulations and welcome to a family of strong Black men.” She hugged Eva.
“There’s nothing personal between the Jamiesons. If it concerns you, it concerns me.” Malcolm folded his arms and leaned against the wall, as if he dared Kidd to differ with him.
“That’s right,” the elder Parke agreed, as Papa P. and Grandma Charlotte strolled through the door. The grandchildren went wild, vying for their grandparents’ attention.
“We’re here because you’re here to uncover information about one of the Jamieson descendants. Samuel belongs to all of us—just like you—whether he’s a good guy or not,” the elder Parke explained.
Kidd disagreed, but he wasn’t going to dishonor Parke’s father. He held his tongue.
“Okay, let’s get started.” Parke walked into the dining room where newspaper clippings, folders, printouts, and other doc
uments were spread across one side of the table. Covering the other half was an array of healthy fruit and veggie snacks, ready to be devoured.
The visit had begun as a typical Jamieson family gathering. But now the moment became sobering, as the adults claimed seats around the dining room table. Kami and Pace followed and stood on either side of their father; the younger children were interested in the snacks alone. Parke powered up his laptop. Malcolm picked up a red folder and began reviewing its contents.
Eva stroked his arm to remind Kidd of her presence.
“Can you hear my heart pounding?” He reached over and whispered to her.
She laid her hand over her heart and then placed it on his. “Our hearts are beating as one.” With that gesture, there wasn’t a hint of doubt that Eva loved him with all of her being.
“Ready?” she asked.
Kidd nodded.
“Okay, cuz, I can recap everything that I’m sure Cameron already told you,” Parke advised, while he waited for his computer to load.
“Start from the beginning. I barely paid any attention to Cameron. I still don’t.”
“Okay,” Parke said. “First up, you do know that researching our ancestry will also bring to light some things people thought they buried six feet under.”
Our? What a joke. “Parke, I expect nothing glowing about Samuel Jamieson—nothing at all.” Lord, You took the bitterness away. Why is it resurfacing?
Fight the good fight of faith, God answered.
“Paki Kokumuo Jaja was born in December 1770 in Cote d’Ivoire, Africa,” Parke began, rolling his tongue to authenticate an African dialect. “Landing in Maryland, Paki was indoctrinated into servitude. He was automatically separated from his bodyguards and sold for a couple hundred dollars in front of Sinner’s Hotel, of all places. Ironically, the woman who would later become his wife was the slave master’s daughter, Elaine.
“They had five sons: Parker was the eldest. They adopted the name Jamieson because a Robert Jamieson helped them escape along the Underground Railroad. First settling in Alton, Illinois, it didn’t become a free state until 1818, so they had to keep moving. Your eleventh great-grandfather Orma was born in 1807. He was the youngest son after Parker, Aasim, Fabunni, and Abelo. This is where your history becomes interesting. Orma means ‘born free,’ yet he sold himself back into slavery for Sashe, a Kentucky runaway. When she was recaptured, Orma went with her, basically exchanging his freedom for bondage to be with her.”
“Commercial break,” Malcolm interrupted. “From a Christian standpoint, it’s just God setting people free from their sins. But some freely return to their vomit—God’s words not mine—their sins.”
“Thanks for the Christian commercial, honey.” Hallison kissed her husband.
“Yeah, thanks.” Parke continued, “Orma’s brothers attempted several times to rescue him, but he refused to go without his pregnant wife.”
“Hold up, Parke. How did you find out this stuff?” Kidd asked, as he leaned his elbows on the table.
“By piecing together old documents from county court records, census records, slave code books, draft registration cards, tax records, slave schedules …”
“Okay. I get it.”
“Through bill of sale records, I found Orma’s name, Sashe, and one son, Kingdom. In a bittersweet way, thank God Sashe’s owner believed in selling runaway slaves instead of almost beating them to death.”
“What a choice,” Kidd said, dryly. “You’re right. So far, I’m not liking any of this.”
“They actually named their son Kingdom?” Eva asked.
“Yep. It makes you wonder what they were thinking,” Malcolm replied.
“Their other children who lived were Candy, Paradise, and Harrison. Five others died.”
“Five,” Cheney whispered.
“It wasn’t uncommon. Diseases like consumption, irritable bowel, pneumonia were common. Anyway, Kingdom named his firstborn, King. For the next sixty years, or over four generations, the firstborn sons were named King II, III, and IV. I found King II on the Freedom Bureau marriage registry online.”
Parke pulled it up and turned the laptop around for Kidd and Eva. Pace perked up. He rubbed the boy’s hair, as they began to read:
“Date: September 11, 1865: Man’s Age: 35 years old; color: dark; father: dark; mother: mulatto; lived with another woman 1 year, separated from her by sale. Woman’s Age: 33 years old; color: copper; father: white; mother: brown. They unitedly had 2 children; the man by previous connection had 0; the woman by previous connection had 3.”
“Hmm,” was Kidd’s only response.
“Amazingly, his son King III also registered his marriage, but his story wasn’t so pretty.”
Squirming in his seat, Kidd waved him off. “I don’t want to see that one, just tell me.”
“The Freedom Bureau reported that King III was removed three times from prior connections, which meant relationships, but to us—marriage. In plain English, he was probably sold. Forty years later in 1887, King IV survived a vigilante attack, but the good news is he was able to amass large plots of land to become a wealthy Jamieson. In 1890, he tweaked his firstborn son’s name to Kingston. The census records are sketchy in 1890 because a fire destroyed most of them. Kingston was a complex dude. He served time in jail for a murder that was described as self-defense.”
Parke frowned. “For some reason, Kingston had an alias and went under the name of George Palmer Jamieson. It’s a mystery that will take me some time to uncover, but my family can do it. Slavery was over, but he was married three times. On to Kingston II; he served in WWII with an honorable discharge.”
“Stop right there. I’m on overload. Sorry I asked.” Kidd was about tired of this classroom session.
“But his son, Kingston III, was your grandfather.” Parke eyed him.
Kidd regained sudden interest. “Okay, I can relate to a grandfather, but the others are too far back to have an impact on my life today.”
“I could argue with your assumption, but I won’t,” Parke said.
“Good. I’ve never lost an argument, and I don’t plan to today. So skip your commentaries.”
Eva elbowed him, so Kidd plastered on a smile. “Please.”
Cheney must have kicked Parke because he yelped and frowned at her. “What did I do?”
“Play nice.” This time Cheney smiled and batted her eyes.
After rubbing his leg, Parke went back to tapping on the keyboard. “Kingston III was born in 1935. It looks like he didn’t care about lineage because he abandoned the name and your father, Samuel. Your dad appeared to be the only child born to Kingston III and Hulda Robertson. Evidently, he was light enough to pass as a White man and he did. He changed his name to Sam E. Walker. He, along with some other entrepreneurs started a hotel chain in Cincinnati, Ohio.”
Abandon? That’s all Kidd heard. His father was dumped. Then he turned around and deserted Kidd. “A trail of emotional destruction,” he spoke out loud. Kidd couldn’t and wouldn’t do that to his child. God, help me.
Call on My name and I will do it, God offered comfort.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Parke said softly. “It started with Samuel’s father’s marriage to Hulda.”
“Okay, enough. Where is my loser of a father now? And how many other lives has he destroyed?” Kidd spat out the venom that was trying to poison his spirit.
“Kevin,” Eva whispered.
Kidd glanced at her angelic expression and immediately his anger was deflated. “I’m sorry. I’m working on this forgiveness angle, but God help me when I see him.”
Parke cleared his throat. “You won’t, cuz.”
“What do you mean?”
“Samuel Jamieson is dead.”
Eva gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Kidd held his breath, shocked.
“I’m sorry,” Parke said.
Kidd stared. The strike to his heart was heavy. In shock, he remembered to swallow. Then all he could do was blink.
Every bit of boasting about hating him throughout the years quickly dissipated to yearning.
“When?”
“About seven years ago,” Parke answered.
“Where?”
Parke tapped on his computer. “I found this online obituary. Why don’t you read it for yourself?” He angled the laptop toward Kidd again.
“Samuel Jamieson was the son of Kingston III and Hulda Robertson. He was united in holy matrimony to Eillian Ivy and to this union seven children were born: Saul, Jayson, Mayson, Zaki, Benjamin, Giselle Ray-ford (Jacob); and Lacey Jamieson of Hartford, CT; years later, he was united in holy matrimony to Zenita Pope and to this union two daughters were born: Suzette and Queen of Tulsa, OK; and he also was the father of Kevin and Aaron Jamieson of Boston, MA,” Kidd read aloud.
The room was silent as he digested the information. “Well, he ran up some frequent-flyer miles,” he concluded in disgust.
In death, he and Ace were included, but in life, Samuel excluded them. Kidd needed a moment to process the information. Who wrote the obituary? “Someone knew about us? Why hadn’t they reached out?” he asked rhetorically.
Shrugging, Parke took back his laptop. “Maybe they were as resentful as you because of their father’s choices.”
“Yet someone listed all our names. My brother and I were acknowledged—in death only, not in life.” Kidd’s nostrils flared. He needed space. He had to get out of there for some serious damage control. Kidd got up hastily. As he was storming out of the house, he heard Parke say, “Let him go,” in the distance. Parke was a smart man when it counted. At that moment, he knew his cousin couldn’t be responsible for his actions.
God, I wasn’t prepared for this. I got cheated. I got robbed.
He walked—no, marched—aimlessly down Darst Street. The massive historical homes surrounding Kidd seemed to taunt him. The windows adorning the three-story houses became eyes that reflected the pity he felt.
“God, why? You know I hated him. You know … why didn’t You let me have the satisfaction of seeing him face-to-face? I wanted to prove to You and myself that I could forgive him and move on. Why, God?” Kidd swung at the wind. He approached a growling dog on the lawn of a large house. Balling his fists, Kidd roared back.
