“Lottie.” Gabriel reached for her, and she leaned away from him.
“For eighteen years, I have trusted you, lived with you, loved you. And for eighteen years, you have been traitors. You withheld information from me that changes who I am. Changes the course of my life. You forbade me to pursue what I loved, and you demanded that I love what you pursued. You were marrying me to that man knowing I wasn’t white.” Lottie spoke as if each fragile word had to be carefully placed on the table dividing them. She wanted to fling them at everyone who hurt her, but then they’d just crash and get lost in the broken confusion.
Her grandfather removed his cravat and paced behind where he and Grand-mère sat. “Paul didn’t know at first. I am ashamed to admit that we thought your children would pass. If they didn’t, then we would have the money to bring you all home. Then, after I heard about his gambling debt and confronted him, he threatened to tell you the truth before we had a chance to.”
“Paul knew? How did he find out?”
“From Serafina,” Gabriel said, his voice low.
Lottie stood, no longer caring that she screamed. “What kind of people are you? Who gave you the right?”
“Your mother.” The answer and that it came from her grandmother stunned her. She held onto the arm of the couch as she sat. “At first, we were relieved by her wishes for you. It made everything easier for us.” She looked at Grand-père. “Most of all for me. I blamed your mother for what happened. I didn’t want you to be like her. As time went on, it became increasingly more difficult as you grew and so much resembled her. Finally, I realized that Charles would have rather been happy for a short time with your mother than miserable for the rest of his life without her. But I know that doesn’t make up for the way I treated you. For how I distanced myself from you.”
Grand-père sat next to Grand-mère and held her hand as she continued. “I loved your father so much, and I lost him. If I allowed myself to love you with the same passion I loved him, I didn’t know if I would survive if something happened to you. I don’t expect you to forgive me now for what I have done. But I hope we can find a way to love one another.”
“My mother? You’re blaming this on my mother?”
“No, Lottie, not blaming. They were respecting your mother’s wishes and mine,” said Rosette. “They wanted to tell you, but it wasn’t time.”
Lottie turned to Agnes and Abram. “Am I going to hear your names too?”
“No, Miz Lottie,” Abram said. “Your grandparents asked us here cuz we raised Charles too.” He didn’t try to wipe his tears. “We knew Mignon. We loved both them. And we love you.”
Lottie directed her attention back to Rosette. “So how can you know this came from my mother?”
“Because your father died in my house, in your mother’s arms. And once she knew you were safe, she died the next day. In my arms.” She walked over and sat next to Lottie. “I promise to tell you everything, but first this….” She handed Lottie papers that had been folded in three. “She wrote that to you hours before she died. All she told me was I would know when it was time to give it to you, and she made me promise that no one else would read it.”
Lottie turned the papers over, and on one of the sections read her name, Genevieve Charlotte. In a handwriting she had never seen. Her mother’s.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
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To my dearest Genevieve Charlotte,
I am certain, my p’tit, that you feel desperately alone at this moment. But, oh, my sweet, please know that even in God’s heaven, your father and I are with you as if we sat next to you now. As we have been every day. Watching your life unfold without us. Waiting for this day.
If you are reading this, then everyone who loves you—your grandparents, Rosette, Agnes and Abram—have all respected my wishes. What more could a mother want than to know how deeply her child is loved? For why else would these people, the ones whose arms have held you for all the times your father and I could not, have been so sacrificially committed to honoring the request I made? How many times must they have wanted to tell you what you did not know and yet they did not. Never forget how they loved you, and I pray you live in such a way that makes their sacrifice worthwhile.
Charlotte, for reasons you now understand, I did not know your grandparents. Your father and I lived in Paris because we could be married there and could have a life, for the most part, where our skin color did not determine our options. Of course, we hoped the same for you. Now, about to lose my own, I have to decide the course of your life alone and trust that my decision will not curse the very one I want it to bless. In a few days, Rosette will carry you to the door of two people who are strangers to you. She will have to tell them that their son and his wife died. She will have to tell them that you are their granddaughter. And she will have to tell them that you will live with them. If they could raise you as white, how much less would they need to battle. And if your growing up in their care could be made easier by that, then so be it.