“No.” She shook her head. “Not anymore. A number of people know about the book I’m writing.”
His eyes widened. “You’re an author, too?”
“Nonfiction,” she clarified. “Much of the research I’m conducting in Gauthier will go into a book I’m writing about my great-great-great-grandmother, Adeline West. Several years ago, my father’s side of the family had a reunion in Oxford, Mississippi, where he grew up. While we were there, I stumbled upon several documents in my grandfather’s home office—he was a history professor.”
“Runs in the family,” Matt commented.
“It’s not on the scale of the Gauthiers’ attorney lineage. My grandfather and I are the only professors. Anyway, many of the documents I found appeared to be written in code, but as I delved deeper into her past, I discovered that Adeline was not the typical former slave turned housewife. She was also a schoolteacher.”
“So itdoesrun in the family.”
Tamryn smiled. “I guess you’re right. But Adeline West was much more than just a schoolteacher. I believe my great-great-great-grandmother, with the help ofyourancestor, Nicolette Gauthier, opened the first school for Black children in the United States.”
Matt didn’t have the kind of reaction Tamryn was hoping for. His eyes were expressionless, his countenance completely neutral.
The tiny part of her that had hoped he would confirm her suspicions the minute she mentioned Nicolette died a swift death.
“From your lack of response, I assume there were no stories of sweet Aunt Nicolette’s school for slave children told around the Thanksgiving table back at the Gauthier house.”
He shook his head. “Sorry.” After a moment, he cleared his throat and continued. “The only thing I’ve heard about Nicolette Gauthier is that she was a bit of a society woman. Loved to throw parties.”
“Oh, there was much more to her than that. Granted, so far I haven’t been able to find much written about her past, but from what little I have uncovered, it’s more than obvious that she was an activist. The fact that she and Micah Gauthier hid runaway slaves in their home gives you a glimpse into the kind of people they were.”
He only shrugged a shoulder.
Tamryn couldn’t squelch her disappointed sigh. “I was really hoping that you would be able to confirm some of the stories that were told inmyfamily around the holidays in the last few years. Some believe it’s just folklore, but the more I research, the more convinced I am that my great-great-great-grandmother changed the history of African Americans in this country.”
“And you think the town of Gauthier played a part?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “The lettersNFGwere written in the margins of some of the documents I’ve uncovered. I believe those letters stand for Nicolette Fortier Gauthier. I suspect she aided Adeline in starting the school. I just haven’t found the type of definitive proof that would pass muster when presenting my findings to a potential publisher. My grandfather believes that either Nicolette or Adeline kept a diary, but I haven’t found any proof of that. So far, everything I’ve discovered is anecdotal.”
“Maybe it is,” he said. “Maybe it’s all just circumstantial. I’ve never once heard anything about a school for slave children, especially the first one ever in the entire country. That’s the type of stuff the Gauthier family would boast about.”
Tamryn shook her head with a vehemence she couldn’t curb. “It’s there,” she said, slapping her palm flat on the table. “I know it is. I just have to find it.” She glanced at him, and heat climbed up her cheeks. “I’m sorry. As you can probably tell, I get a little passionate about this.”
“Nothing wrong with showing a little passion for something you believe in,” he said. A glint of humor lit his eyes. “If you’re this enthusiastic when you teach, there must be a waiting list to get into your classes. I think if I’d had you for a professor I would have paid a lot more attention in freshman history.”
Tamryn cursed the blush that she knew was coloring her cheeks. “You must be a very effective attorney, because you certainly talk a good game.”
“It comes in handy in more than just the courtroom,” Matt quipped.
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to prevent the grin that was threatening to unleash itself. So much for keeping this interview professional.
The theme fromRockystarted playing from the vicinity of his chest.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling his phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “That’s my campaign manager’s special ringtone.”
Matt answered the phone and immediately frowned. He lifted up the sleeve of his jacket and glanced at the silver watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m over at Emile’s. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He ended the call and repocketed his phone. “My campaign manager is waiting for me back at the office. We were supposed to leave for Baton Rouge fifteen minutes ago. I’m officially filing my intent to run today.”
“Congratulations,” Tamryn said. “You should have mentioned that it was such a big day for you.”
He shrugged and signaled for the waiter. “Just a part of the process.”
“Are you always this cool, calm, and collected?”
“Another trait of a good attorney. Never let them see you sweat.” He winked at her as he reached inside his jacket for his wallet, but Tamryn captured the leather folder from the waiter before he could sit it on the table. “What are you doing?” Matt asked.
“Paying for lunch. I was the one who asked for the interview,” she said.
