Sophie said, “Will you open that, please?”
“I don’t see why I need to wear a ring at all,” Anna grumbled as she loosened the ribbon. “Men don’t wear engagement rings. And I’ll have to leave it off for most of the day while I’m at the hospital.” She unfolded the tissue, her whole face creased in a combination of irritation and worry.
“Well,” she said after a moment. “It’s not so bad as I feared.”
? ? ?
WHEN THE MEZZANOTTE sisters had gone and everyone else had retired, Sophie knocked on the door of the little parlor and went in without waiting. Aunt Quinlan slept very little—she claimed it was one of the few advantages of old age—and Sophie often sought her out like this when the house was quiet. Now she sat beside her aunt and for a moment took comfort in the familiar.
Sophie’s memories of her earliest days in the house were very clear. In the beginning this spot had been the only place where she felt truly at ease. Desperately homesick and grieving for her family, Sophie was at first surprised and then relieved to find that Aunt Quinlan understood: silence was sometimes what was needed.
Within weeks Anna and Cap had won her over, but she continued to visit Aunt Quinlan to hear her stories, which were Sophie’s stories too, of her grandmother Hannah, who had been Aunt Quinlan’s half sister, and of other aunts and grandmothers from Montreal to New Orleans. One underlying idea repeated itself in all the stories: Sophie’s grandmothers had been great healers, brave women who dealt with the worst fate had to offer and never became bitter.
The women who went before her—the dark-skinned women—had lived on the very edge of the white world, in places and times where survival was not guaranteed, even to women with paler skin. The stories Aunt Quinlan told were something Sophie needed in a city where she was reminded that she was not white, day in and day out. As she had been reminded by Sam Reason, who thought her not black enough, and by Jack Mezzanotte’s sisters, who had seen her as too black.
Now Aunt Quinlan rocked quietly and waited for Sophie to find the words she needed.
“Everything is changing at once,” she said.
A low hum of agreement was all the reply she got.
“And I’m worried about Anna.”
“You don’t approve of her choice?”
“His sisters are the issue.”
“Not really,” Aunt Quinlan said. “Not unless you allow them to be a problem.”
But Sophie would never forget the look on Bambina Mezzanotte’s face when she realized that the black woman being introduced to her was Anna’s cousin.
“Do you think Anna saw?”
Aunt Quinlan didn’t seem to have an opinion. It was true that Anna was unlikely to stand quietly by while someone was being treated badly, but whether or not she had witnessed the exchange, the issue remained.
“If his sisters disapprove, then his parents—”
Aunt Quinlan’s hand pressed Sophie’s shoulder firmly, cutting her off. “If Jack Mezzanotte is the man I think he is, he won’t let himself be derailed so quickly. Do you want to talk to Anna about this?”
Sophie tried to imagine the conversation, and could not begin to put what needed to be said into words. She shook her head.
“Better to wait, I think,” Aunt Quinlan agreed. “It might never be necessary. Now tell me about Cap’s cousins.”
It wasn’t so much Cap’s cousins as his aunts on behalf of his cousins. When it became clear that Cap would not live long enough to have children, they had begun a tug-of-war for his worldly goods. Cap thought the primary battle would be over the house on Park Place, which had come down to him through the female line when his mother died without a daughter. There were other properties, some more valuable, but the house on Park Place held special meaning in the family.
“Then let them have it,” Sophie had said. They sat with Conrad going over the complicated provisions of a last will, something she had neither heart nor patience for. But Cap insisted because, he said, she needed to know what battles would come.
“I don’t want the house if it means a battle,” she told him. It was a sore subject between them, the house he loved so much and wanted her to love. If he had had his way, they would have married and raised a family in the house where he had been born and raised, and damn the disapproval that greeted them every time they went out onto the street. The things he took for granted—the things he loved about his life—would be gone, and not be available to their children.
Aunt Quinlan wanted to know how the question had been resolved.
“Cap thinks I can turn the house into a school or infirmary. At any rate, he refuses to change the provision in the will. Once we are married it will come to me. Along with all the rest of the property and all his holdings. I never realized how much work money could be.”