The two women smile at each other with the familiarity relatives share so easily. “The Dalcour name is Creole.”
“Seems right,” I reply to Deidre.
She hands us some small paper plates and coffee cups and nods toward my thermos.
Deidre passes us a sheet of paper. “I found a contract Honoree Dalcour signed for Dreamland Cafe in October 1925.”
Lula and I share a grin.
“Cool as hell.” I rub my hand over my mouth. “I don’t know if Lula mentioned, I have video footage of Honoree dancing at a nightclub in the twenties.”
“Also cool, but I have more.” Deidre removes a folder from one of the piles on her desk. “I understand you have photos of Honoree with some historical figures. We found a collection of photography from a man named Kenny Miller. He was a student at the Art Institute of Chicago, a painter and a photographer.” She hands me photocopies of the photos. “He knew Honoree and Oscar Micheaux. Several of the photos include captions that name the dancer, Honoree Dalcour, and Micheaux while working on a film project. See the camera setup.”
“Amazing. This is close to being the proof I need that Honoree was in a Micheaux film,” I say to Lula eagerly. “And if that film is a lost Micheaux?”
Lula smiles, throwing some significant pride in my direction. “I’m thrilled for you. No way you won’t finish it and pass with flying colors.”
“Yep.” I make a fist and tap Deidre’s desk. “I think so.”
“Not done yet, guys. I have more. One of Kenny Miller’s photos is of a guy named Jeremiah Bailey and Honoree. It looks like a bunch of photos taken at a party.”
“Wait, wait, wait. How’d you get this done so fast?” I ask.
“Summer interns, darling. Summer interns.” She grins. “We checked the African American newspaper database and found two news stories about Jeremiah Bailey. One in theDefender. He was questioned about a shooting at a speakeasy in 1926. Then his obituary was in theBaton Rouge Post, a Black newspaper. He died in 1928 and was survived by two brothers, a younger brother, Marcus, and an older brother, Ezekiel, and Jeremiah’s fiancée—Bessie Palmer.”
“Jackpot,” I say. “The same name my father told me was on the deed for the house in Baton Rouge. The one my grandmother sold. I have a copy of the bill of sale. I mentioned the Baton Rouge house to Miss Honoree. She was not happy.”
“Not happy? She became unhinged,” Lula says bluntly. “I could hear them yelling from the other end of the hall.”
Deidre looks bewildered. “I didn’t find anything about a house in Baton Rouge owned by Margaret Hendrickson or Honoree Dalcour.”
“Just Jeremiah and Bessie Palmer?”
“Jeremiah must’ve left her the house in his will before he died. I didn’t find a will, though.” Deidre chews the inside of her cheek, watching me with something on her mind. “Can’t you ask your grandmother how she came to own the house? Did she buy it from Bessie Palmer, or did this Palmer woman give her the house?”
“Yes, it would make things easier if I talked to Maggie.”
My laugh is short and troubled because now I feel like a bad grandson. “I don’t know. She’s always been Mrs. Margaret Hendrickson, or Maggie White, widow to Robert Hendrickson, who died of Alzheimer’s, and Norman White, who died during the Korean War. I didn’t know she had any connection to Baton Rouge until I discovered Maggie was paying the bills for an Honoree Dalcour, who lived in a senior facility in Chicago.”
“That’s not all of it.” Lula’s glare pointedly saysspeak up.I oblige.
“Honoree told me yesterday she’s my great-grandmother. Maggie’s birth mother—something I never heard before.”
Deidre blinks. “Is it true?”
“I believe so.”
“You’re not sure? I heard some hesitancy in your voice.”
I shrug, averting my eyes because she’s not wrong.
Deidre pulls her glasses down on her nose and says, “Sounds like you should ask your grandmother some questions, Sawyer.”
CHAPTER 32
HONOREE
Monday, November 30, 1925
