Donna Hill - Legacy of Love

“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.