“Yes. What about Jasmine? She’ll be relocating probably before the end of the summer to invest in a new business that is certain to become the talk of the town.”
“What about Jasmine’s love life?”
“Her love life will do well because the man she’s dating is on the same page as her.”
Crossing her bare feet at the ankles, Hannah stared at the bright pink color on her toes. “We have come a long way, Jasmine, but as you say, we are survivors. I had to wait until I was fifty-nine to marry the man I’d been in love with since high school, but the wait has been worth it. If I hadn’t married Robert, then I don’t believe I’d cherish what I now have with St. John. Grand-mère DuPont used to say one has to taste some bitter fruit in order to appreciate the sweet ones.”
“It is apparent marriage agrees with you because you look as content as Smokey when he’s stretched out on the floor.”
“St. John is the calm one in this marriage, and whenever I get upset about something all he has to do is look at me without saying a word so I end up talking to myself. I . . .” her words trailed off when her cellphone rang. A slight frown furrowed her smooth brow as the natural color drained from her face. “Someone’s calling me from a hospital.”
Jasmine heard the trepidation in Hannah’s voice as her hand holding the phone began trembling. Galvanized into action, she reached for the phone and activated the speaker. “Hello.”
“I’d like to know if I’m speaking to a Hannah DuPont,” said a deep male voice.
“Who’s calling?” Jasmine questioned, her eyes meeting Hannah’s.
“I’m Dr. Bloom from Baton Rouge Memorial Hospital. I need to speak to Ms. DuPont because a patient was brought into our facility and her documents list Hannah DuPont as her next of kin.”
“Hold on, Dr. Bloom, I’ll see if Ms. DuPont is available to talk to you.” Hannah nodded and Jasmine handed her back the phone.
“Dr. Bloom, I’m Hannah DuPont.”
“Ms. DuPont, I’m going to need you to come up to Baton Rouge to sign some documents so we know how to proceed with your relative’s medical treatment.”
“Is it possible for you to give me the name of your patient who claims to be related to me?”
“Our records list her as Mamie DuPont Haines.”
“How old is she?” Hannah asked.
“Ninety-nine. I know it’s a holiday weekend, but if it is at all possible I’d like you to come as soon as you can.”
Closing her eyes, Hannah sucked in a lungful of air. “I’m on my way.”
“I’ll be here all night, so when you get to the information desk tell them to page me and I’ll meet you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bloom.”
“You don’t know who she is, do you?” Jasmine asked when Hannah ended the call.
“Even though I’ve never met her I’m familiar with the name. She’s a distant cousin. Come with me. I’ll tell you about the DuPonts while I pack an overnight bag. I don’t know how long I’ll have to be at the hospital, and I’m not going to chance driving back here late at night. I’ll call St. John once I get to the hospital and let him know what’s happening. I’m going to give you a set of keys to the house and the code for the security system. If you want to leave the house, there’re keys to LeAnn and Paige’s cars on a hook in the kitchen—”
“Calm down, Hannah, and take deep breaths. Don’t worry about the house or Smokey. I’ll take care of everything until you get back.”
Hannah pressed her lips together. “St. John picked the wrong time to go away,” she said between her teeth.
Jasmine caught Hannah’s elbow and forcibly led her out of the sunroom and up the staircase to her bedroom. “Talk to me while you pack.”
Hannah appeared noticeably calmer when she retrieved a floral-print quilted duffle bag. “Are you familiar with the rituals associated with quadroon balls?” she asked Jasmine.
“Yes.” She’d read about the glamorous balls attended by wealthy white men looking to make beautiful mixed-race women their mistresses.
“I found a treasure trove of letters and diaries detailing there were a fewplacéesand children ofplaçagesbelonging to DuPont men. Some of them are descendants of distant cousins I’ve never met,” Hannah admitted as she filled the bag with lingerie, grooming items, and several changes of clothes. “It was Grand-mère DuPont who knew most of the family’s secrets. When I was a girl I’d sneak downstairs and listen outside the parlor when she’d whisper about mixed-race DuPonts who were fair enough to pass for white, and either left New Orleans for another parish or moved up North to escape Jim Crow. Some of them married into the white race, while there were a few women who gave birth to children of questionably darker hue, and that’s when they had to get out of town.”
“So, you’re sure Mamie is related to you?”
“Very sure, because I remember seeing her name in a journal.”
