Sisters' Treasure Page 2

  Mitch paused in the doorway connecting their offices. Tracey willed him to summon her for a meeting, raising her eyebrows hopefully.

  “Tell Harriet ‘hello’ for me,” he whispered.

  Tracey tried to hand him the handset, but he neatly sidestepped away from her.

  Mitch and Harriet had been in the same class through primary and secondary school. Mitch was 5’7” tall, barely able to hold his own if Tracey wore anything other than flats. He was stocky and kept his hair in a neat shingle cut and his face covered by a gray speckled beard. He wore reading glasses on a chain around his neck. His style of winter clothes had changed little in the last decade. Corduroy trousers, plaid shirt, sleeveless sweater vest, and wool sport coat. He looked at Tracey, shrugged, and waved. “Meeting with the commission.” He rubbed his fingers together, signifying money, and fled their offices.

  “At least come by the house this weekend and do your laundry,” Harriet said.

  “Adam and I already made plans to hit the Laundromat on Saturday afternoon. We hang out and get to see our friends. Besides, twenty-five is a little old for you to be doing my laundry.”

  “We could hang out while your clothes wash and dry. You could do all the work yourself.” Harriet made it sound as though it would be a huge sacrifice on her part.

  Tracey made herself take a mental deep breath. She put her mother on speaker so she could go through her inbox while at her desk. “How about if I come by Sunday afternoon this weekend or next and bring a DVD for us to watch?”

  “Don’t expect your father to do anything but doze through it. I’ll make us a nice lunch. Bring your friend Adam if you like.” Harriet sneezed. “You’d best be alone in the office if you’re broadcasting our conversation.”

  “Adam’s just a friend, and he has plans with his son most weekends.” Tracey looked longingly at her drafting table. “I’m alone.” She knew how much her mother hated speakerphones and used the ploy to speed up their conversations when both were at their offices.

  “I’m not the only one who misses you,” Harriet said.

  “Don’t go there. Paula has the girls scheduled with so many activities outside of school that she never gives her kid sister a thought, which is okay by me. We’ve always been too different from each other to be friends.”

  “Shame on you for dismissing your only sister, but that’s not who I meant.” Harriet’s other line beeped. “All I ever hear from Agnes and Marian is that they never see you anymore. Honey, when you live in a small town, you can’t very well avoid your relatives. I should know.” The last was muttered rather than spoken.

  “Since when do you care what Granny’s sisters think?” Tracey only broached the subject of the long-standing feud when she had to push back against her mother’s need to micromanage all their lives.

  “They’re both in their seventies. I stop by once a week to check on them. It’s my duty since Mother isn’t here.” Harriet had been named for her mother, the baby of the family affectionately known throughout her life as Harry.

  “Uh-huh,” Tracey said.

  “Okay, so you’re smart to stay away from those two crazy old women. There, I’ve said it.” Harriet sighed.

  Tracey chuckled. “You almost pulled it off.”

  “They’re my mother’s only two surviving siblings. I feel an obligation toward them. They’ve just worn out my patience over the years, but there’s no point going into all that now.”

  “I’ve heard what you’re willing to say about them many times before.” Tracey winced as she sliced her fingertip opening an envelope.

  “They do love us.”

  “In their own peculiar way.” Tracey grinned. She had a special fondness for her two widowed great-aunts. They lived on and continued to work the family farm after losing their husbands and older brother. She often wondered if she and Paula would end up doing the same but just couldn’t see that version of the future. The sisters had introduced Tracey to homemade wine and beer when alcohol was forbidden in Harriet’s house and Tracey’s socializing.

  “I’ll see you soon on a Sunday when you guys are home and drop in on them one night during the week,” Tracey said.

  “Thank you, honey. Love you. Bye.”

  “Love you. Bye.” Tracey repeated the words but didn’t know if her mother stayed on the line long enough to hear them.

  “There’s nothing like a mother’s ability to employ guilt.” Alese Walthall stood in the door leading to the hallway beside the drafting table.

  “No, ma’am.” Tracey stood and returned to the diary. She glanced at Alese. “There’s also nothing quite like a teacher’s disapproving stare, either.”

  “I’m not going to criticize your friend.” Alese shrugged off her coat. As the school liaison, she usually spent half the morning in a classroom and left the museum early for late afternoon programs at area community centers. Other times, Alese used the classroom on the third floor when she brought in field trip groups.

  Tracey froze. Oh, Lord, she thought, Alese knows.

  “But she’s the very reason I continue to work. Why do young blacks dismiss those of us who work inside the system?” Alese was on her way to the basement. Her current project was verifying the cataloging of the stored collections while keeping an eye out for items that her predecessors might not have known the significance of.

  Tracey knew no answer was expected.

  “I’ve made a lunch date with her. I’m going to work on her. I see something in that girl that warrants nurturing and educating to our ways.” Alese nodded for emphasis.

  “Ginny is very special to me,” Tracey said.

  Alese hesitated. “Just be careful. We aren’t that far removed from the old ways of thinking. Being around children for thirty-five years made me change what I was brought up to believe—that’s one of the reasons I loved teaching even after I became tired of fighting the system.” She turned to leave.

  “Mrs. Walthall.” Tracey reverted to speaking as though a grade school student again. “Alese. How about lunch? My treat.”

  “You owe me for not bitch-slapping your girl on camera.” Alese imitated a former pupil.

  Tracey laughed so hard and so suddenly that she choked. “Now that would be worth the price of admission. You’d have the museum staff on one of the reality programs.”

  “Humph.” Alese disappeared around the corner.

  Tracey returned to her work on the diary, reading through the chronicle of eighteen hundreds farm life for mention of local families or current events. She had a new exhibit in mind when she wasn’t thinking of Ginny.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ginny leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “It’s not considered a romantic restaurant just because there’s only one television located discreetly in the bar.”

  Tracey met her in the center of the table and whispered back, “I don’t care because right now I’m looking down your bodice at an incredible view.” Tracey grinned. “I can’t believe I used the word bodice in an actual sentence.”

  They had both dressed up—an effort on Tracey’s part—and ventured to Oita’s, the local Japanese steakhouse and seafood restaurant, for a real date. Oita’s was named for the city in Japan the original owner emigrated from in the seventies. Change in ownership had included keeping the name when a local businessman bought the restaurant a few years earlier. Usually, they took turns picking up takeout food and alternating apartments so they could eat dinner, watch television, and go to bed early but to sleep late.

  Tracey and Ginny didn’t want to live together, not yet anyway. They worked long hours establishing careers and enjoyed their privacy and the newness of having their own place. They had admitted as much early on and giggled over the relief of feeling the same about cohabitating even if letting down the lesbian stereotype.

  Ginny wore the same dress as for the evening news report done live for six o’clock and played back at eleven. There had been yet another series of layoffs at the Goodyear plant that quelled the resurgence of the furniture industry. Danville struggled as did so many small Southern cities with the transition away from manufacturing.

  Tracey wore tan wool trousers and a pink pullover—the closest she came to being girly. She was fortunate that her eyelashes and eyebrows were a dark blond rather than as light as the sun kept her hair. She refused to give in to the time that makeup required.

  “You’re so full of it.” Ginny sat back in her chair.

  “I can only hope.” Tracey smiled and raised her wineglass in a toast. “To beautiful views and bodice ripping.” Thank goodness Ginny had selected the wine, Tracey thought. Her sense of taste was geared to light or dark beer, both of which she enjoyed on special occasions. Left on her own, Tracey would’ve ordered her usual Coke.

  Tracey swept her hair behind her ears, bothered by the residual static electricity created by winter’s heating systems. She envied what she normally teased Ginny about—a plethora of hair products used daily so that Ginny’s long hair hung straight and perfect no matter what she was doing. Tracey fought the urge to pull hers back in a ponytail.

  Ginny smiled. “I’m sensing there’s something you want to talk about.”

  Tracey shook her head. She’d promised herself not to go there. She raised her eyebrows and whispered. “No televisions around the room and linen tablecloths—that’s fancy in my book.”

  Ginny rolled her eyes. “Come on. Say it. What about the interview is bothering you?”

  Tracey took a deep breath. “You know I greatly respect your work.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Alese was a groundbreaker in her day.” Tracey stared at her plate of food just served from the grill in the center of the room. She’d lost her appetite.

  “And you idolize h
er, that much I know already.” Ginny’s face tightened.

  “Yes, I do. Fresh out of Hampton Institute, Alese was sent here to teach to pay back her student loan. She earned respect from her students and their parents with her demeanor and hard work. It was a big deal then for a black teacher to have a classroom with a majority of white kids.”

  “Okay.” Ginny frowned. “As compared to me thinking I’m entitled to respect?”

  Tracey briefly covered her face with her hands. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but the implication’s always there. Speaking my mind, thinking my opinion matters, and not holding anything back—I can’t help the way I was raised.” Ginny attacked her meal.

  “My point exactly,” Tracey said. “Neither can Alese. Neither can I.”

  “Oh, God, here we go again. I wasn’t born in this area so I can’t possibly understand its culture and politics.” Ginny took a gulp of wine.

  Tracey raised her hands, palms upturned.

  “Well, shit fire and save matches, let me go home and order a pair of overalls.” Ginny set the wineglass down with enough force to make Tracey wince.

  Tracey decided she was too far into the conversation to let it drop. “Slavery is a touchy subject—there’s resentment from those whose ancestors were and guilt from those whose forefathers owned Negroes. Southern families lost fortunes and future bloodlines over a trade carried out by Northern businessmen. Danville was the last capital of the Confederacy—Sutherlin Mansion housed the Confederate president for a week. Jefferson Davis conducted his last meeting with his Cabinet there.”

  Ginny covered her mouth to yawn.

  “Okay, forget all of that.” Tracey waved her hand. “Danville rebuilt on industry—textiles, furniture, and tires—and counted on tobacco growth and auctions. Tell me what all those manufacturers have done in our lifetime.”

  “Tanked?”

  Tracey nodded. “Throw in the past few years’ economy, and most people around here don’t sleep too well at night.”

  “So Danville’s finally recognized the need to join the twenty-first century.” Ginny’s tone implied an unspoken so there. “That’s why the state funded the big glass-walled think tank that sits empty most days. Don’t get me started on the fallacy of that plan.”

  “People behind the scenes—like Alese Walthall—have pushed change for decades. Progress is slowly taking hold, but we are what we are.” Tracey reached the same exasperation point as always when having this discussion with Ginny.

  “Using cemeteries as a tourism draw.” Ginny couldn’t resist the dig.

  Tracey growled. “I hate it when you do that. When you minimize us just because we have such a rich history. Don’t belittle the Crossing at the Dan. Who else has taken an old rail yard and turned it into an outdoor amphitheater? We have a science center. We have Amtrak service from New York to New Orleans. We have baseball, skateboarding, and bike trails. We have new tech companies locating in renovated historic buildings. Southside Museum consistently grows its visitation numbers.”

  “When did you go to work for the Welcome Center?” Ginny asked.

  “Okay.” Tracey held up her hands in surrender. “I officially give up. We’re a bunch of rednecks who only listen to country music and date our first cousins.”

  Ginny chuckled. “I’m yanking your chain. I love to get you fired up. You usually manage to be so damn polite with everyone.” She reached for Tracey’s hand. “I know what you’re saying. I like the changes in the city, or I’d never have moved here even if my parents think I’ve lost my mind. If I could just be assigned a decent story, I’d be in line for moving up with the network. There’s definitely a big city in my future. Do you really think all I want from a career is my face on camera reading local news? I dream about bringing real stories to light. I want to make documentaries that compel people to stop what they’re doing to watch. You’re the historian. You know how much is out there that isn’t public knowledge, even about your precious Danville.” She squinted across the restaurant. “But you might be right about the first cousin thing.” Ginny stared.

  Tracey looked over her shoulder. “Oh, my God.”

  Adam was on the far side of the dining area, facing a woman older and larger than him. His only effort was raising and lowering his highball glass.

  “She’s a potential client?” Ginny raised her eyebrows.

  “He made an error on a land survey and has to marry the farmer’s old-maid sister?” Tracey was at a loss with Adam’s dinner partner.

  Ginny kicked Tracey under the table. “Blind date?”

  “Someone would have to be blind to set the two of them up.”

  “How much has he had to drink?” Ginny refilled their glasses.

  “Not nearly enough.” Tracey pushed her chair back.

  “You’re not going over there?”

  “He’s my friend.” Tracey looked across the room. “She looks like she’s ready to lead him out to the parking lot and beat the crap out of him.”

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “He wouldn’t abandon me if the situation was reversed.”

  “Are you kidding? He’d be searching for a video camera.” Ginny waved Tracey off.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “You’re on your own. I’m not rescuing you if she turns on you.” Ginny focused on her meal of chicken, shrimp, and fried rice.

  “At least run for the car and start the motor if you see me dragging him this way.” Tracey grinned.

  Ginny considered the request. “Okay.”

  Adam looked up as Tracey crossed the dining area. His face turned red. He gestured toward his date. “My boss’s sister is in town for the weekend.”

  “And he’s the only single guy at work. I’m Liz Rosas.” She waved one hand. “But, hey, I got a decent meal out of the evening. That’s all I expected. I hate going to a restaurant by myself.” Liz was in her early forties, olive skinned, wore at least 2X clothing, dyed her hair an unnatural black, and was heavy handed with makeup. Tracey blinked—the look worked when the details were observed at close range.

  “And I’ve had enough drinks not to care.” Adam raised his glass.

  Tracey smacked him on the shoulder. “Shame on you. Be glad she’s willing to put up with you.”

  Liz smiled, causing her dark eyes to sparkle. “I’d be even gladder to buy you a drink.”

  “Oh, ho!” Adam waited for Tracey’s response.

  “And I’d take you up on it if my date wouldn’t kick my butt for it.” Tracey nudged Adam. “You’ve had enough. Liz, I’m assuming you drove.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Want me to take him off your hands?”

  “I’ll owe you that drink sometime when you’re not on a short leash.” Liz gathered her coat and bag.

  “Deal, on both accounts. Come on, Burt.” Tracey tugged Adam’s sleeve.

  Liz snapped her fingers. “I’ve been trying all evening to figure out who he reminded me of—the Smokey and the Bandit actor.”

  “Sad but true.” Tracey pulled Adam to his feet and nudged him.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening.” He smiled at Liz for the first time.

  Tracey snorted.

  “What? I was channeling your technique.” Adam frowned at Tracey.

  “Liz, nice to meet you. Don’t judge us all by him.” Tracey winked.

  “You sure you’re leaving with the right ones?” Liz asked, looking from Adam to Ginny.

  Tracey grimaced.

  Ginny watched them cross the room. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Afraid not.” Tracey seated Adam at their table as she signaled the waiter for the check and fished in her pocket for a credit card. “I need a box.” She’d barely touched her dinner.

  Ginny finished the last bite of her meal and glowered at Adam.

  “I guess a threesome is out of the question?” he deadpanned.

  “Not in your wildest dreams,” Ginny said. “Or yours.” She looked at Tracey, then across the room. “You can drop me off on the way to your place.”

  “Burn!” Adam said.

  Tracey glanced over her shoulder at Liz and was ashamed of herself for wondering about that drink.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “I’m so glad you answered the phone.” Tracey relaxed and leaned back against the sofa cushion.