My Daughter's Legacy Read online

  I didn’t understand. “Wouldn’t the police have tracked the VIN number back then and contacted the family?”

  “No. Ortiz says if it didn’t flag as a stolen or missing vehicle, the police probably wouldn’t have taken it any further than that. They had bigger items from the raid to deal with. In retrospect, however, she now thinks it could be significant that the chop shop was connected with a crime syndicate. That could be one explanation for how the murder scene was cleaned up so quickly. A syndicate would know how to get in, get it done, and get out.”

  “Are you saying the murder victim had some connection with the Mafia?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Not necessarily. But there are aspects of this case that Ortiz hasn’t shared with us.”

  My eyes widened. “What kind of details is she withholding?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized I, too, was withholding something, what could be the biggest detail of all. Before Maddee answered, I glanced around. “It’s going to be dark soon. We should start back.”

  As we did, Maddee finished her story, although there wasn’t much left to say. She reiterated the main points and then said, “As far as I can tell, the investigation may not be taken any further than this. Once Ortiz came up against the syndicate thing, she’s been a lot less communicative. She won’t say, but I have to wonder if she’s still working on it at all.”

  We were both quiet on our way home, and I knew it was time to share my secret. But somehow I just couldn’t get the words out. I needed to think more about all I’d learned first before I tossed my giant monkey wrench into the gears of this case.

  The next morning I slipped on my best jeans and a crisp button-down shirt and drove to Dover Creek Farms. Located about fifteen miles west of Richmond, the place offered everything from boarding to lessons to horse training and more. The part I was interested in was the on-site equestrian therapy center. I would be their intern for the next three months—though I’d been warned that “intern” was pretty much synonymous with stable hand.

  Regardless, I was excited about the opportunity. It wouldn’t pay much, but I’d get a college credit for my efforts along with actual hands-on experience with a type of therapy I’d been curious about for a while.

  As a kid, I was horse crazy, and though I’d pushed that aside as a teen to focus on, uh, “higher” pursuits, I never lost my love of horses nor my desire to work with them as an adult. Now I was testing the waters of something that sounded tailor-made for me, equestrian therapist, and my hope was that by the end of the summer I’d have a much better idea if it was something I wanted to pursue or not.

  Today was orientation, and though I was the only intern, they lumped me in with a small group of new hires—summer workers who would be doing pretty much the same things I would except for the therapy component.

  Our time started with a tour of the huge facility followed by a lecture on rules, safety, and policies, which was followed by another lecture on job duties and expectations. There was also a ton of paperwork to get through: waivers and clearances and insurance matters and such. It wasn’t until the very end that we were finally brought out to the stables and introduced to some of the horses. When things concluded at noon, everyone was dismissed except me. I was to meet with the head therapist for a few minutes, so I made my way past paddocks and rings and a broad pasture to the therapy center, which was located at the rear of the farm.

  I was eager to meet the woman who would be mentoring me for the next few months, but any hopes of bonding over the warm emotional transformations of our clients evaporated the moment I saw her. She wasn’t exactly rude, but she was brusque and straightforward and mostly just wanted to review the rules I’d already been taught and then add a few more, especially the biggest rule of all, that I was never to attempt any sort of therapy without direct supervision.

  “That’s fine by me,” I responded. “I don’t even know yet what equine therapy consists of… well, other than what I’ve seen on YouTube.”

  I was trying to be witty, but she didn’t smile. Instead, she just shook my hand, welcomed me to the team, and said, “You can go now. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dismissed, I decided to stroll the long way around to the far parking lot, just to take in more of the facility and maybe run into a horse or two along the way. Sure enough, I was at the front pasture, walking beside the fence, when I saw a beautiful mare up ahead, a gray Appaloosa. Thrilled at the sight of her—why had I gone so long without having horses in my life?—I slowed and then came to a stop once we were face-to-face.

  “Hey, girl,” I said softly, reaching up to stroke her muzzle. She was a friendly thing, pressing into my hand and blinking her long eyelashes at me, which I took to mean, You’re going to do great here, Nicole. I believe in you.

  “Freeze!” a male voice commanded sharply.

  I turned to see a man standing about ten feet away, arms crossed, an intense expression visible under the brim of his cowboy hat. “You’re about three-quarters of an inch away from getting a big shock, did you know that?”

  My eyes widened as I turned back toward the horse and saw that he was right. Though the fence itself was a wooden post-and-rail, a single hot wire ran across the top about a foot above the fence. Like an idiot, I had reached in between the top rail and the wire.

  Slowly, I withdrew my arm and took a step back. When the horse tried to come closer, the man barked, “Puzzles!” followed by a sharp click with his mouth. In response, the horse backed up, gave out a single good-natured whinny, and then turned and strode away.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling like such a fool. I knew enough to check for wires. I’d just forgotten. “That would not have been fun.”

  He didn’t reply but instead seemed to be taking me in. “Can I help you find something?” he asked, implying that where I was right now was not somewhere I was supposed to be.

  “Nope. I’m good. I’m headed to the parking lot. I just took the long way around to get a feel for the place.”

  “Are you a new boarder?” His tone was friendlier now, his arms relaxed at his sides. “Because this area is for employees only. Sorry about that. It’s for your own safety.”

  “Not to worry, I am an employee, or at least I will be starting tomorrow. Today was orientation.”

  I gave him a friendly smile, though on the inside I was thinking, No, no, no, no, no. This man was tall, dark, and dangerously sexy—exactly the sort I used to go for. Lean frame with muscles of steel. Tattoos. Stony gray eyes. Just a hint of a beard on his chiseled face. Bad news all the way around, he was the type I needed to stay as far away from as possible.

  As quickly as I could, I thanked him for his help and took off, moving past him to the parking lot and praying that the two of us would be working in entirely different sections of the facility. Surely if that were the case, this place was big enough that we could make it through the summer without interacting all that much.

  Full of adrenaline from our encounter and feeling emboldened by my choice to walk away, I made a decision as I got into my car. I hadn’t been able to tell Maddee my secret yet, but for some reason I suddenly felt compelled to share it with Nana. She was, after all, the one who was going to be the most upset by it. Why not just get that one out of the way first, like ripping off a giant Band-Aid?

  I didn’t even call or text to see if she was home. I just drove straight to her house, went to the door, and rang the bell.

  A maid let me in and then led the way to the sunroom, where Nana was chatting with a woman. As they turned toward me, I saw the woman was Aunt Cissy. Though my nerve and determination didn’t falter, I knew I couldn’t reveal my secret in front of anyone else. I’d have to wait until Aunt Cissy left so Nana and I could be alone.

  In the meantime, both women seem pleased to see me, and when I explained I was in the area and thought I’d pop in to say hello, Nana insisted I join them for lunch. They were already on dessert—peach cobbler topped with ice cream, but Nana instructe
d the maid to prepare a plate for me, and soon I was digging into an ample serving of quiche with spinach salad. Delicious.

  “I was just telling your grandmother,” Aunt Cissy said, “that I brought copies of all the Talbot photos that are in the exhibit at the museum.” She said that the reception was so crowded yesterday that it was hard to see everything. “So, I thought y’all might want copies to go through at your leisure.”

  I smiled between bites, pleased. I really wanted to see all of them, but I didn’t think I’d feel like returning to the museum anytime soon. As Aunt Cissy talked, she retrieved a box from the chair next to her, placed it on the table, and then opened it to reveal dozens of photos inside. “Of course, the museum didn’t use everything I gave them, so I have photos here you won’t see there.” She flipped through the pile, spreading a handful out on the table. Though they were all interesting, my eyes were drawn to one in particular, a photo of a young woman with a large Tudor building in the background.

  “Who is this?” I asked, wiping my hands on my napkin and then carefully picking it up to take a closer look.

  “Isn’t she pretty?” Aunt Cissy beamed. “Believe it or not, that’s Therese Talbot, your great-great-great-grandmother.”

  “Seriously?”

  I stared at the image for a long moment, amazed at how crisp and clear the image was. The woman in the photo looked to be around sixteen, and she was lovely, with dark, hopeful eyes and delicate features. She was wearing a gorgeous dress, with lace cuffs and some kind of fancy trim around a narrow waist.

  “Do we know much about her?” I asked, suddenly quite curious.

  “We know some,” Aunt Cissy answered, digging through the box. “I have other pictures of her. Ah, here she is a few years later. This one was taken near the end of the war. On the day Richmond was evacuated, in fact.”

  I took it from her and saw a somewhat older Therese standing stiffly in a far plainer, rather threadbare dress, with a bustling train station in the background. Looking more closely, I thought I could see pain and suffering and fear in her eyes—a reflection of what must have been a truly terrible time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Therese

  August 1864

  As Therese Jennings leaned against the splintered handle of the hoe, trying to still her spinning head, a blur of gray fabric startled her. She feared it was a soldier, but then her mother stepped closer to the garden gate, wearing her worn gray housedress instead of her black mourning gown.

  “Why aren’t you resting?” Therese called out.

  “It’s too hot,” Mother responded. “And it’s even worse out here. You need to come inside before you burn.”

  “I need to keep these weeds from swallowing up our food.” Therese didn’t add or we’ll starve this winter. Mother would only twist her words into one more reason they needed to give up on this place and retreat to River Pines, Grandfather’s plantation on the other side of the river.

  Therese wouldn’t do it. She’d promised her father she’d stay true to the family’s ideals, protecting Mother as best she could at the same time. The war had been going on now for three long years. Surely it would end soon, her brother would return and take over as the new patriarch of the family, and she could finally step down from the overwhelming role of protector and provider.

  Mother opened the rickety gate and motioned to Therese as if she were a child obligated to obey her instead of a twenty-year-old woman.

  “Go back in the house, Mother.” Therese aimed the hoe at the soil, concentrating on not stumbling as sweat trickled down her temples. “Once I finish this row, I’ll come in and make our dinner.” It had been a month since their bacon ran out, and they’d butchered their last hen the week before, when it stopped laying eggs. But there was cornmeal she could fry, and greens too.

  Mother’s thick blond hair half hung from the bun at the nape of her neck, though she still carried herself with the poise and charm of the Southern debutante she once was. These days, she was constantly on edge, and her eyes flashed now as she said, “It’s time to go back to River Pines, Therese. Your father would agree with me. Look at you.” She swept her hand forward. “You weren’t meant to do this kind of work.”

  Therese dug the hoe into the ground, scraping at the weeds between the rows of sweet potatoes, pretending she hadn’t heard. Mother had always been high strung, but Father’s death a month ago had nearly undone her. All she talked about was River Pines. The place had never been home to Therese, although her adored childhood friend, Aggie, lived there. But other memories still tormented Therese, including the whipping she witnessed there as a girl. Mr. Porter, the overseer, had whipped Badan, one of the slaves, when he was no more than fourteen, for misunderstanding an order about caring for a horse. It was proof of everything her father had ever told her about slavery.

  An etching printed in Harper’s Weekly a little over a year ago reminded her of that disturbing episode. It was of a recently escaped slave, highlighting the web of horrible wounds across his back. The photo established that slavery truly was a barbaric practice, not the benign institution some tried to present.

  Father had procured a copy of the magazine, and later a printed version of the image that was even more shocking than the etching. Therese, even though it was so disturbing, marveled at the advances in photography that allowed multitudes of people both in the North and South and even in Europe to truly comprehend the evils of slavery.

  No, nothing could drag Therese back to River Pines. She kept her eyes on the ground, sweat running down her neck. “Please go back inside.”

  Mother didn’t budge. Taking responsibility for their survival hadn’t come naturally to Therese. She’d always been timid and sensitive, acquiescing to stronger personalities like her brother Warner’s and her friend Polly’s and even Aggie’s. And Mother’s, of course. But she was doing her best now to be as strong as she could in honor of Father. She’d promised him she would.

  A small caterpillar crawled across her forearm, and she flicked it away as horses’ hooves drummed down the road. She sighed heavily, dreading another band of soldiers eager to take the little bit of food they had left.

  But then Mother turned her head and called out, “Badan!”

  Therese stood too quickly in the heat. The world darkened a little, and she leaned against the hoe again to steady herself.

  Badan was Grandfather’s slave—or servant, the term Mother preferred.

  “Mrs. Jennings!” he called out from the buggy once he had pulled the two horses to a stop. “Master LeFevre sent me to fetch you and Miss Therese.”

  Mother shaded her eyes. “Has something happened?”

  “Yes’m. He fell off his horse yesterday and was dragged a good bit. The doctor said he has internal injuries besides a broken leg. You’re to come immediately.”

  “Mother,” Therese whispered. At Father’s funeral, Grandfather had begged them to return to River Pines—and Mother had nearly relented except for Therese’s reminder of their pledges to Father to keep standing firm against the practice of slavery, no matter the cost. Now Grandfather was resorting to this sort of trickery to get them there?

  “Aggie wanted me to make sure you understand that he’s truly hurt,” Badan said as if reading her mind. “She’s been nursing him herself.”

  Therese pursed her lips. She trusted Aggie, and Badan too, for that matter. So apparently Grandfather wasn’t trying to manipulate them after all.

  “Oh, dear. Of course we’ll come.” Mother lowered her voice and stepped closer to Badan. “However, presently, we don’t have the money for the ferry.”

  He leaned toward her and held out his hand, opening it to show a piece of tied cloth. “He sent along what you’ll need.”

  “Well, then…” Mother took the cloth and swept up the skirts of her worn dress in one quick motion. She turned toward Therese. “Come along. You’ll need to get cleaned up, and we have to eat.”

  “Auntie Vera sent something along for
y’all.” Badan pulled a packet from a bag on the bench.

  Therese’s mouth watered. Auntie Vera, who was Aggie’s mother, must have guessed they’d be hungry. Maybe she’d packaged up slices of ham and some of her biscuits. The first apples in Grandfather’s orchard would be ripening, and the garden, along with the first of the vegetables in the fields, would be producing quite well by now. Therese swallowed.

  “We’ll hurry,” Mother said, taking the packet of food from Badan.

  “Yes’m,” he replied, “but you got time. The horse needs to be fed and watered before we can start out again.”

  Both women went inside, and Therese headed straight to the back bedroom to pack, wash, and change into her mourning dress. First she checked her hoops, which she hadn’t worn since Father’s burial. Her metal ones had long since broken, and none were being imported due to the Northern blockade, so she’d fashioned some out of bamboo. On close examination, it seemed the hoops would hold, so she proceeded to get ready.

  The house was really just a cottage that Mother and Father had moved into when Father first began teaching at Box Tree Male Academy. The family had lived in it ever since. When the academy closed, as both students and teachers went off to fight in the war, the Confederate Army took over the main buildings, but Therese and her mother were allowed to remain in the cottage on the edge of the grounds.

  Mother had never complained about the little house while Father was alive—at least not in front of Therese, although there were times her parents argued into the night about money and their station in life. Overall, though, Mother never compared their home to the grand house she’d grown up in or the homes of her childhood friends. Even though she seemed disappointed in Father’s income, Therese knew Mother truly loved him.