Leigh by Lyn Cote

some, and my family
     was house slaves. It was better than workin’ in the tobacco fields. But nothing was easy in those days. No matter what color
     you were born, life was hard. No electricity, no hot runnin’ water, no indoor plumbin’, no radio, no phones, no cars or tractors
     or washin’ machines. Men and women—white, black—worked themselves into early graves. And after the Civil War, money was scarce,
     and the KKK was ridin’ high.”
    Leigh sat down. Sometimes her grandmother would talk about the Carlyle family, her grandmother’s family, the oneswho built Ivy Manor, but never about this side of the family history. “It’s true then? We are related?”
    “I do mean it. Frank will never date Leigh.” Chloe edged closer to Bette. “Frank suffered when his parents got divorced and
     his mom left him to be raised by his father’s family. Do you think he’d do the same thing to his own children?”
    Bette looked away and began dredging the chicken through the flour mixture. “Then why is he writing to my sixteen-year-old
     daughter?”
    Chloe looked down at the highly polished, gray-speckled linoleum floor, praying for wise words. “It’s hard for Frank. He has
     an edge to him because of who he is. Minnie wrote me, he recently went against his family and entered the military. I think
     he’s done that because he wants to find someplace where he’ll be judged for himself alone—not because of who he’s related
     to, not because of his race. I don’t know if he will find that in the army or not. I hope—for his peace of mind—that he does.”
    Bette slipped the first piece of chicken into the hot oil, and it began to sizzle and spit. “What has this got to do with
     Leigh?”
    Chloe drew back from the stove. “Leigh is special. She doesn’t look at people with any prejudice. She’s open and accepting.
     And the two of them shared a special experience, going to the march together. You’re the one who forced that to happen.”
    “You mean because I was concerned about my daughter’s safety?” Bette asked in a snippy tone, continuing to add chicken to
     the skillet.
    “If your stepfather and I thought it was safe to go, you should have backed down and let Leigh go with us.” Anotherthing Chloe had held back from saying. “Then it wouldn’t have been Leigh and Frank alone. It wouldn’t have been Frank becoming
     Leigh’s hero for taking her to be a part of an historic event.
You
are going to have to learn when to bend, or your relationship with your daughter will be damaged forever.”
    “So it’s my fault Leigh is attracted to Frank, and I should just let them go on writing letters.” Bette bristled in concert
     with the snapping oil.
    “Yes, that is exactly what I’d prescribe for this situation.”
Listen to me, Bette. “
The more you try to control Leigh, the more she’ll pull away from you and the more rebellious she’ll become until she finds
     herself making terrible choices just because she’s so busy fighting you.” Chloe took hold of one of her daughter’s arms. “Stop
     it now, Bette, before you cause real harm to your daughter and your family.”
    “Yes, we share blood relatives. Another thing they didn’t have in slave days was that new-fangled birth-control pill,” Aunt
     Jerusha said dryly.
    Leigh was shocked in spite of herself. The nuns at school had lectured them all repeatedly about the sin of birth control—but
     without any reference to human biology, and without ever mentioning the word
sex.
And sex was a subject her mother wouldn’t discuss, either. When Leigh was eleven, Grandma Chloe—not her mother—had explained
     to her about her monthly flow and all about how babies were made. “Do you know how we’re related?”
    “I don’t know everything. After all, we were slaves here for almost a century before emancipation.” Jerusha kept rocking.
     “But I know for sure my father was an illegitimate son of your… let’s see… great-great