Marian turned the page, and looked at Lena. “It’s often the case in bloodlines where the women are considered particularly powerful.”
I wanted to change the subject. I didn’t want to dig too deep into the powerful women in Lena’s family with Marian, especially considering Lena was definitely one of them. “Why were you and Mom tracing the Duchannes tree? What was the project?”
Marian stirred her tea. “Sugar?”
She looked away as I spooned it into my cup. “We were actually mostly interested in this locket.” She pointed to another photograph of Genevieve. In this one, she was wearing the locket.
“One story in particular. It was a simple story, really, a love story.” She smiled sadly. “Your mother was a great romantic, Ethan.”
I locked eyes with Lena. We both knew what Marian was about to say.
“Interestingly enough for you two, this love story involves both a Wate and a Duchannes. A Confederate soldier, and a beautiful mistress of Greenbrier.”
The locket visions. The burning of Greenbrier. My mom’s last book was about everything we had seen happen between Genevieve and Ethan, Lena’s greatgreat-greatgreat-grandmother and my great-greatgreat-greatuncle.
My mom was working on that book when she died. My head was reeling. Gatlin was like that. Nothing here ever happened only once.
Lena looked pale. She leaned over and touched my hand, where it rested on the dusty table. Instantly, I felt the familiar prick of electricity.
“Here. This is the letter that got us started on the whole project.” Marian lay out two parchment sheets on the next oak table. Secretly, I was glad she didn’t disturb my mom’s worktable. I thought of it as a fitting memorial, more like her than the carnations everyone had laid on her casket. Even the DAR, they were there for the funeral, laying those carnations down like crazy, though my mom would have hated it. The whole town, the Baptists, the Methodists, even the Pentecostals, turned out for a death, a birth, or a wedding.
“You can read it, just don’t touch it. It’s one of the oldest things in Gatlin.”
Lena bent over the letter, holding her hair back to keep it from brushing the old parchment. “They’re desperately in love, but they’re too different.” She scanned the letter. “‘A Species Apart,’ he calls them.
Her family is trying to keep them apart, and he’s gone to enlist, even though he doesn’t believe in the war, in the hope that fighting for the South will win him the approval of her family.”
Marian closed her eyes, reciting:
“I might as well be a monkey as a man, for all the good it does me at Greenbrier. Though merely Mortal, my heart breaks with such pain at the thought of spending the rest of my life without you, Genevieve.”
It was like poetry, like something I imagined Lena would write.
Marian opened her eyes again. “As if he were Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
“It’s all so sad,” said Lena, looking at me.
“They were in love. There was a war. I hate to tell you, but it ends badly, or so it seems.” Marian finished her tea.
“What about this locket?” I pointed at the photo, almost afraid to ask.
“Supposedly, Ethan gave it to Genevieve, as a troth of secret engagement. We’ll never know what happened to it. Nobody ever saw it again, after the night Ethan died. Genevieve’s father forced her to marry someone else, but legend has it, she kept the locket and it was buried with her. It was said to be a powerful talisman, the broken bond of a broken heart.”
I shivered. The powerful talisman wasn’t buried with Genevieve; it was in my pocket, and a Dark talisman according to Macon and Amma. I could feel it throbbing, as if it had been baking in hot coals.
Ethan, don’t.
We have to. She can help us. My mom would have helped us.
I shoved one hand in my pocket, pushing past the handkerchief to touch the battered cameo, and took Marian’s hand, hoping this was one of those times the locket would work. Her cup of tea crashed to the floor. The room started to swirl.
“Ethan!” Marian shouted.
Lena took Marian’s hand. The light in the room was dissolving into night. “Don’t worry. We’ll be with you the whole time.” Lena’s voice sounded far away, and I heard the sound of distant gunfire.
In moments, the library filled with rain—
The rain battered down upon them. The winds kicked up, beginning to quell the flames, even though it was too late.
Genevieve stared at what was left of the great house. She had lost everything today. Mamma.
Evangeline. She couldn’t lose Ethan, too.
Ivy ran through the mud toward her, using her skirt to carry the things Genevieve had asked for.
“I’m too late, Lord in Heaven, I’m too late,” Ivy cried. She looked around nervously. “Come, Miss Genevieve, there’s nothin’ more we can do here.”
But Ivy was wrong. There was one thing.
“It’s not too late. It’s not too late.” Genevieve kept repeating the words.
“You’re talkin’ crazy, child.”