Legacy of Love (3 page)

J
ackson shut the door of his Explorer and walked across the parking lot of Clark-Atlanta University. The acrid scent of smoke still lingered in his nostrils and the image of the woman in his mind. When he'd literally stumbled upon her he couldn't believe it at first. He was certain she was the same woman he'd spotted the other day. He could kick himself for leaving her even for a second before he found out who she was.

He cut across the lot and entered the campus grounds, followed the path to the humanities building and tugged open the ornate wood door.

“Mornin' Professor Treme,” said a young man in a freshly pressed white shirt with an armload of books.

“Have a productive day, Mahlik,” Jackson offered before turning the corner toward his office. His first class wasn't for another twenty minutes. “Hey, Jackson!”

Jackson glanced over his shoulder. It was his colleague Levi Fortune hurrying toward him.

“I wanted to talk with you about something,” he said, coming to a stop alongside Jackson.

“Levi, if it's about taking over one of your classes again, the answer is no.” He stuck the key into the lock of his office door.

“Aw, come on man. Just one more time. I've got to put the finishing touches on my dissertation. I have to defend it in three weeks.”

“You should have taken a sabbatical.” Jackson shook his head in a combination of dismay and annoyance. He could only imagine the stress that Levi was under trying to teach three classes and get his second doctorate degree. The man was no dummy, but he was going to kill himself in the process. Jackson turned to him and grinned.

“Okay. You know I will.” He pushed open the office door. “Take a load off.” Jackson walked in and dropped his soft brown leather satchel on top of his desk then walked around his desk to open the window blinds.

Levi dropped down into the lone chair in the tight space and stretched out his long legs. “You know I owe you.”

“Big time. I'll think of something. So how's the work coming?”

Levi linked his fingers together. “Man, if I survive this, I'm done. For real.” He chuckled lightly. “I don't remember it being this hard.”

“Ancient languages are no joke, man.” He lowered himself into his squeaky leather chair. “So, when you get your degree I have to call you Dr. Dr. Fortune or what?”

“You can just call me doctor. The rest of them can call me Double D.”

They broke out laughing and exchanged a pound.

“What's your day looking like?”

“Not too bad. I have one class this morning and one right after lunch,” Jackson said. “How about you?”

“Two before lunch. Department meeting this afternoon and then I'm done. Wanna grab a beer or something later?”

“Yeah, yeah sure. Meet you around five?”

“Cool.” He got up from the chair. “And thanks again for standing in for me.”

“We gotta help each other out.”

“So I'll see you around five. Over at Smitty's?” Levi said on his way out.

“Yeah. I'll be there and the beers are on you.”

“No doubt. Later, man.”

Jackson unsnapped his satchel and took out a folder stuffed with graded papers, notes and the lesson plan for his upcoming class. He checked his
watch. He had about ten minutes. He leaned back in his seat and went over his notes, making sure that he had plenty of material to cover during the ninety-minute session. Some days his class arrived fully prepared and were totally engaged. Other times, it was like talking to comatose patients. He hoped today wasn't one of those days. He wasn't up for it. It was taking all of his concentration to stay focused on what he needed to do and not what had happened earlier.

He expelled a long, slow breath, dropped the folder on the desk and swiveled his chair around so that it faced the window.

She was out there. The tug of a smile arched his lips. All the circumstances that had led him to leave Louisiana and move to Atlanta weren't coincidences at all. Did she know? Did she believe as he did that they were destined to be together?

He pushed back from his chair and stood. Totally crazy, he thought as he shoved his papers back in his satchel and snapped it shut. Had someone told him he'd give up everything that was familiar and move to a new city in search of a woman he'd never seen before, he would have had them committed. But here he was.

Jackson opened the door and stepped out into the now busy corridor, teeming with eager young men and women bent on making a difference in the world. It was only a matter of time, he thought,
before the two of them would meet again. He felt it in the marrow of his bones.

Just as he approached the entrance to his classroom, his teaching assistant, Victoria Rush, stopped him. Victoria was a doctoral student whose dissertation was on ancient and African art—his passion. She'd campaigned hard for the position and beat out several other candidates. Victoria was good. She was thorough and professional, but it was becoming clear to Jackson that Veronica spent a little too much time trying to prove herself to him. She always offered much more than the assignment called for, needing just a “few minutes” of his time a bit too often, even asking if there were any errands that he needed her to run.

On the surface it was all pretty harmless, but he was beginning to get an uncomfortable feeling. He hoped that this relationship wouldn't become a problem. Besides, one would think that her schedule would be pretty full without having to add his agenda to hers.

“Hey, Victoria, class is about to start.”

“I know. I was hoping that I could talk to you after your class.”

That uncomfortable feeling began with a tightness in his insides. “Is it the research paper?”

“Actually—” she lowered the books she was holding to her chest to reveal a low cut top “—it's personal.”

“Personal? Victoria—Ms. Rush, if this has nothing to do with the course…”

“I know this may seem inappropriate, professor. But I don't know who else I can talk to.” She blinked away the water that began to well in her eyes.

Aw, man. The last thing he needed was a crying grad student. “Okay, after class. Meet me in the cafeteria.” At least the cafeteria was public.

She beamed a smile, flashing deep dimples in a nut-brown face. “Thank you.” She turned and hurried away.

Jackson lowered his head for a second and blew out a frustrated breath then opened the classroom door. Hopefully his students would be awake, otherwise this was going to be a long hour and a half.

 

The ninety-minute Art History class wound down on an up note. The scheduled trip to the High Museum for the unveiling of the fertility statues was all set. The students actually seemed excited. Jackson left the class feeling good until he remembered his meeting with Victoria. Reluctantly he walked through the corridors until he reached the cafeteria. He couldn't imagine what Victoria could want or better, what he could do about it.

The tables were dotted with students huddled over textbooks and Styrofoam containers of French fries and half-eaten sandwiches. Jackson surveyed the brightly lit room and didn't see Victoria.

Deciding whether to duck out before she turned up, he started to leave and ran smack into her. Her books tumbled to the floor.

“I'll get that.” Jackson bent down and so did Victoria, leaning provocatively over the tumble of books and loose papers.

“It's my fault. I shouldn't have walked up behind you like that,” she said, gathering her papers into a neat pile.

Jackson picked up the two textbooks and stood. “Sorry about that.” He looked around then back at her. “I've got to make this quick. I have another class.”

“I know. It won't take long. Can we sit down for a minute?'

“Um, sure.” He lifted his chin in the direction of an available table. “Over there.”

“Great.” She sauntered toward the table and sat down.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, cutting to the chase. He set his briefcase on the floor near his feet.

“I know I've only been working with you for a short time, professor. And the experience has been wonderful. I enjoy the work and all the research.” She paused. “But I'm going to have to give up my position,” she blurted in one long breath.

Jackson didn't know if he should be relieved or annoyed. Victoria had practically begged her way into the position, one that didn't come easily to
many grad students, especially women. With some urging from the search committee, he'd passed over several other equally qualified male prospects and finally settled on her.

“I see. Would you care to share your reason?”

She lowered her head for a moment. “It's personal.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers with a beseeching look in her eyes right out of the soap operas. “Believe me, I don't want to go, but it's best.” She pushed out a breath. “I'll finish up the project that I was working on for you and hand over all the notes.”

“Victoria, are you sure you don't want to talk about it? Maybe I can help.”

He watched her throat move and the words come up and then get swallowed. She pushed back from the table and stood. Then without another word she turned and nearly ran away. Several heads turned in her direction and then his. Questions hung in their eyes before they turned back to what they were doing.

Jackson sat there, not sure what had just happened. There was a part of him that was relieved but another part that left him with a bad feeling. Her entire demeanor had shifted in a little more than an hour. She hadn't given him any idea that she was planning to leave her position.

He shook it off, grabbed his briefcase and started out. Whatever her reason, he concluded, pushing through the glass door, it was probably for the best.

That last scene in the cafeteria was a little too dramatic for his taste. Meanwhile, he was going to have to find another assistant. He'd speak to the dean in the morning. Next time he was going to stick with his gut and get a guy.

 

Zoe hung up the phone with Sharlene. She'd booked her flight and said she was leaving her office early to do some shopping and go home and pack. They were all set to leave in the morning.

Zoe turned on her computer and reviewed the schedule. Mike would handle everything in her absence and assured her to take as much time as she needed. But the opening was in a week. She'd worked so hard to make it all happen and she wanted to be there. But if Nana Zora… Her mind wandered. She wouldn't think about that. Nana was going to be fine.

“Just hold on 'til I get there, Nana,” she whispered.

“D
id you talk to your mom again?” Sharlene asked as they took their seats.

“I called last night. She said Nana was resting, still asking for me.” She stuck her carry-on into the overhead compartment and slid into her window seat.

Sharlene followed suit. She grabbed Zoe's hand. “It's gonna be fine. Nana Zora is as tough as they come.” She offered a reassuring smile.

“I know. My heart says that Nana will outlive us all. But reality is a different story, Sharl. She's been getting weaker year after year. She's ninety.”

“Keep positive thoughts. Don't let your imagination run wild.”

The pilot's easy drawl floated over the public address system. “Good morning. Welcome to Flight 1109 to New Orleans. I'm Captain Harris and I'll be your pilot today. The temperature in The Big Easy is a sultry 98 degrees.” He chuckled. “And it's still early folks. We're third in line for takeoff, so sit back and relax and we'll be up in the air and back down again before you know it. Attendants, please prepare the cabin for takeoff.”

Two blonde flight attendants strolled down the aisle, checking seat belts and telling passengers to put their seat backs upright. Moments later they were coasting down the runway then up in the air.

Zoe settled back and glanced out of the window watching the city of Atlanta grow smaller in the distance until the plane rose above the clouds and the earth disappeared.

“Speaking of imagination. I saw him,” Zoe said.

“Huh?”

She turned in her seat. “I saw him. Actually saw him. Yesterday.”

“What? Him, him?
The
him? Where? And why didn't you tell me?”

“It was yesterday morning and—”

“Yesterday!”

“Would you keep your voice down?” she hissed from between her teeth.

Sharlene looked around. “Why didn't you tell me?” she hissed right back.

“There was so much going on and I guess I
forgot.” But she hadn't forgotten. Between worrying about her grandmother and preparing for her trip, her mind was on the man she'd met on 9th Street. She'd tried to convince herself that it was the stress of the moment, her feeling light-headed from the smoke. But her spirit told her differently and so did the dream she'd had. This time, her suitor, her lover was not a faceless man who teased and taunted her. It was him.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell happened or sit there staring with that silly grin on your face?”

Zoe blinked away the images and her gaze settled on Sharlene's face, with her lemon-puckered lips.

“Yesterday,” she began. “I decided to walk to work…”

When she'd finished they both stared at each other in silence.

“Are you starting to believe, even just a little?” Sharlene asked.

Zoe breathed deeply. “I don't know what to believe. I mean, it's all so crazy, you know?” She gave a little laugh. “Destiny and legacy, and the man of your dreams come to life. Crazy.” She reclined in her seat and stared out at the clouds. She propped her elbow on the armrest and pressed her fist to her mouth. “Crazy,” she whispered.

 

Barely an hour later, flight 1109 was taxiing on the tarmac at Louis Armstrong International Airport.

“My mother said she'd meet us at baggage claim,” Zoe said as they rode the escalator to the lower level.

“Mom still driving that big old Caddie?” Sharlene teased.

Zoe laughed. “You know she's not letting that thing go.”

“How much gas do you think that bus guzzles?”

“Enough to pay off the national debt, especially at these prices.”

“I know that's right.”

“There she is. Ma!” Zoe called out and waved catching Miraya's attention.

At fifty-two, Miraya Beaumont was a stunning woman. She'd been mistaken for Lena Horne more times than she could count and still carried herself like the star she longed to be. Miraya had a string of suitors a mile long. And although she wasn't touring the country like she once did, she still sang in the lounges in the French Quarter.

Miraya took off her dark glasses and waved back.

Zoe instantly saw the heaviness in her mother's wide eyes and the waning of her smile. Her heart raced.

“Mom.” She embraced her mother and realized for the first time how petite her mother was, fragile almost. Had she always been this thin? When had she seen her last—five, six months? She held her a moment longer then kissed her cheek. She stepped
back and held her mother at arms length, searched her eyes. “Nana?”

Miraya's smile was tight. “She's hanging on.” She took Sharlene's hand. “Good to see you, Sharl. It's been too long.” She pulled her into an embrace. “How did you manage to get on a flight with such short notice?”

“I heard my family needed me,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks for coming,” she said softly. “Well, come on. Let's get you girls to the house and fix some breakfast. I know they didn't feed you on the plane.”

They walked through the terminal to the airport garage arm in arm.

The short ride from the airport was spent in light conversation, and on the slow progress of rebuilding the Lower Ninth Ward. Much of the area had still not been rebuilt, as many residents had moved away along with their hopes of returning slowly fading.

Miraya pulled onto their street in the Garden District. Even in the early morning heat, neighbors were out and about, sweeping front porches or doing yard work, mostly because it was too hot to work as the day progressed.

“There's Ms. Ella,” Zoe said, pointing to the octogenarian who knew everything about everybody on the street.

“The whole neighborhood will know you're home before the clock strikes nine,” Sharlene teased.

“Be nice, girls,” Miraya playfully warned as she pulled up and parked in front of the house.

The trio got out and Zoe and Sharlene took their bags from the trunk. “'Morning, Ms. Ella,” they chorused and waved.

Ms. Ella pretended that she hadn't spotted them from the moment the big blue caddy came onto the street and craned her neck. She gave a delicate wave. “That you, Zoe?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she called out.

“That Sharlene you got with you?”

“It's me, Ms. Ella.”

She bobbed her wobbly head. “Zora's waiting for you,” she said, her simple declaration carrying the weight they all held in their hearts.

The door of the row house on Sixth Street opened up and Zoe's aunts Flo and Fern stood in the doorway all dolled up in flowing, bright, floral-print caftans. The sisters were variations of the same face in shades of sandy brown to milk chocolate. It was the unpredictability of the genes, Nana Zora always said of her daughters.

Zoe's heart suddenly overflowed with emotion. The strain of caring for their ailing mother had taken its toll on her mother and aunts. Zoe could see it in their eyes. Yet, they still appeared formidable standing side by side against come what may.
Zoe hurried toward them, embracing both of them in her arms.

“Auntie,” she whispered in each ear and against butter-soft cheeks.

“Welcome home, chile,” Flo whispered.

“Come inside,” Fern urged. She reached out her hand to Sharlene. “I knew you'd come.”

The Beaumont women and their surrogate daughter went inside to see Nana.

From the front door of the two-story house, you could see straight through to the backyard, which was in full bloom thanks to the loving hands of Aunt Fern. Long, narrow windows with sheer white curtains filtered in the morning sunlight that reflected off of the oak floors. The furniture hadn't changed since the sisters were in their teens. Lovingly worn overstuffed armchairs were upholstered in a sea-green, brocade fabric, and antique, maple side tables with white doilies dotted the room. In the chair near the window, Nana Zora dozed as the rays of morning light warmed her face. Her lids fluttered and slowly opened. She turned her head. A slow smile spread across her face. “Zoe.”

Zoe hurried across the room. She dropped her bag on the floor and knelt down beside her grandmother. She took her hands. “Nana.”

“I knew you would come.” Her eyes sparkled. She glanced around Zoe and saw Sharlene. “Come here and let me see you.”

Sharlene did as she was told and knelt on the other side of the chair. “How are you doing, Nana?”

“Fine now that my Zoe is here.” She patted Zoe's cheek. “And you, too, sugah,” she said to Sharlene.

“Breakfast is ready,” Aunt Flo called out.

“I'll bring your plate, Nana,” Zoe said.

“Oh, no, you won't! I'm not an invalid,” Zora insisted, as she seemed to regain her old strength in her voice. She reached for the cane propped up against her chair. Zoe grabbed her grandmother's elbow and helped her to her feet.

The three sisters moved back and forth between the stove and the round kitchen table bringing plates of fluffy eggs, fruit, sausage, bacon and grits.

“Let me help,” Zoe insisted, taking a platter from her aunt Fern and bringing it to the table.

“Sharl, sweetie, would you get the juice from the fridge?” Miraya asked.

“Sure.”

Finally, when everyone was settled at the table, the food was passed around and the plates were filled. They joined hands, bowed their heads and Nana Zora blessed the food.

“Thank you for this food and bless the hands that made it. Thank you for my family and for bringing Zoe home. Watch over her in the coming months, give her guidance and open her heart and her spirit to what will happen in the months to come. Amen.”

Zoe opened her eyes and looked surreptitiously at her family.

“Amen,” they chorused.

“How long can you stay?” Aunt Flo asked, directing her amber eyes at Zoe.

“As long as I need to.”

“This will be a short visit,” Nana said. “You have things to do.”

“Nothing is more important than you, Nana Zora. Work can wait.”

Nana waved a thin hand. “Yes, but not work in the way you mean. Rather the kind of work you need to do and you can't do it here.”

All eyes turned to Zoe.

“I… I don't know what you mean.”

“You will,” said Aunt Fern.

“Let's eat, and leave that talk for later,” interrupted Miraya. “You know how Zoe is about all that.” She flashed her daughter a quick look of understanding.

“So what have I been missing around here? Are you ladies staying out of trouble?” Sharlene asked, changing the subject.

The sisters alternated telling stories about their neighbors, their new aches and pains and the changes in the world around them.

Nana Zora sat at the head of the table, observing her family like a queen on the throne.
There wasn't a lot of time,
she thought. She had so much to tell her granddaughter. Zoe needed to be prepared. Her own dreams were becoming stronger and she knew Zoe's were as well.

Her daughters were worried about her, about her health and her mental state. She wasn't slipping. Some days she simply preferred to live in the past, at the moment when things could have almost been different had she only used her gift. But she didn't. Now it was up to Zoe and the man who awaited her.

The glass of juice slid from her hand and onto the floor.

Everyone jumped up, practically tripping over each other, cleaning and wiping and checking on Nana.

“I'm tired,” Nana said, her voice frayed and worn like an old housedress washed too many times.

Zoe's pulse leaped. “I'll take you to your room, Nana.” She wrapped her arm around her grandmother's narrow waist and let her lean her nearly waiflike body against her own.

Zora's bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house overlooking the garden. Zoe opened the bedroom door and led her grandmother across the room with the intention of putting her in bed.

“No, I want to sit by the window.” With surprising strength she shook loose of Zoe's hold and walked unaided to the chair by the window. “Come sit near me,” Nana said, patting the window seat next to her. “Close the door first. Don't want those nosy daughters of mine listening to what I need to tell you.”

Zoe crossed the room, which always smelled of
baby powder, and closed the door. She came back and sat down on the window seat.

“Your birthday is soon.”

“Yes. Three months.”

“Seventy-eight days.”

Zoe lowered her head and laughed. Only her grandmother knew exactly how many days until her thirtieth birthday. “Okay, seventy-eight days.” She tucked her feet under her and let her gaze travel slowly over the history of her grandmother's face—from the thick silvery hair that hung in two braids down her back, her high forehead, thin arching brows, her wide, almond-shaped, all-knowing eyes, to the aquiline nose, high cheekbones and full lips. Zora Beaumont was still a stunning woman.

“You don't have much time. He's already here.”

Zoe's pulse began to race.

“Isn't he?” Zora leaned forward.

“I…”

“You've seen him in your dreams.” She smiled and looked off toward the garden. “It's how it begins you know. It happened with my mother and with me. It skipped right over my girls. But not you,” she said, her voice taking on an air of storytelling. “You are the one.
The one,
Zoe.”

Zoe leaned forward and clasped her grandmother's hands. “The one to do what, Nana?”

“Fulfill the legacy, Zoe. Bring happiness back to the Beaumont women. He's been searching for you, too.”

A shiver ran through her and the fine hairs on her arms tingled. “What do you mean he's been searching for me?” Her breath quickened.

Zora smiled. “I want you to open your mind and listen to me.”

Zoe slowly nodded her head.

 

Zoe gently closed the bedroom door so as not to disturb her grandmother. She had been numbed by everything she'd heard. Although the story of the Beaumont women and the family legacy was something that had been talked about while she was growing up, she'd never really
heard
the story. She had listened to the tales of love between her great-great-grandparents who'd been torn apart and swore to find each other again. Zoe had always dismissed the stories as simply a romantic tragedy, one of many that happened during slavery. But she'd
heard
it this time, saw it in her mind, understood it and felt it in her heart in a way that changed her.