Iris gave her husband a venomous look; she didn’t need to say a word to him, he knew to keep his peace. She turned back to Jackson. “You’ve given Maisie your ring. That means your mind has been made up, understand?”
Jackson lowered his eyes.
“Do you understand?” she pressed.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded.
“And if you haven’t in fact decided, you need to make up your mind once and for all, right quick,” Oliver added.
Jackson looked at me, his face betraying that he hadn’t really made up his mind, not at all. I thought of my sister crying upstairs and realized that the part of me that might have been happy about his indecision was long since gone.
“Show’s over,” Oliver said to the assorted group who had gathered to witness the drama. “Meet you all right back here in an hour for the drawing.”
FOURTEEN
Instead of a few strays, this time the entire clan was gathered as close as possible to the foot of the stairs. On each side of the foyer, the doors to the library and the formal living room had been thrown open, so that those who couldn’t manage to crowd in and see could at least strain an ear to hear. The stairs and the landing were also littered with cousins. As the eldest family member present, Michael MacGregor had been chosen to serve as the master of ceremonies. He stood near the grandfather clock, whose pendulum had been stopped so as not to distract from the proceedings. The golem, nearly as tall as the clock, stood silently beside him.
Michael had always been a man of action, so none of us was shocked to hear him start by saying, “Y’all know why we’re here. No need to drag this thing out.” His backwoods accent might make an outsider think of him as slow, but his mind was razor sharp. He may have been rough around the edges, but roughness belied an intellect worthy of the Ivy League. “No disrespect to Ginny, but I’m ready to get back to Tennessee.”
“We’ll go in alphabetical order. Not one of the traditions,” he added, “but since I suspect we all know how this is going to play out, it will add to the drama.” His comment was met with chuckles and nods from some and overtly angry glances from others. The anchor had been a Savannah Taylor for generations, and most of the group seemed to feel pretty sure that the tradition would not be broken. There were others, especially some of the younger cousins, who were positively itching to get their hands on the line’s power.
“Now it’s time for the representatives to come forward. Who is representing the Duval family?” he asked loudly.
“I am,” Lionel, a slight, middle-aged father of three raised his hand and came forward. The Duval branch had been dealt a heavy blow to their egos when Katrina ravaged New Orleans. They were hungry to reestablish themselves, hoping that the line would select one of them, restoring honor to the family. I liked the Duvals. It would be nice to have that branch return to Savannah.
“My son Micah has been selected to represent us MacGregors,” Michael stated proudly as a younger version of himself pressed forward. The MacGregors couldn’t care less who got picked. They were simply fulfilling a duty by being here. Checking the box. “I believe I overheard that Teague Ryan is representing your group?”
“That’s correct,” a decidedly non-southern accent responded, as Teague stepped forward to shake MacGregor’s free hand. Teague scanned the room, doing his best to meet the eyes of every member of my immediate family, as if he were issuing an open challenge. The intensity of his desire for control scared me. Even though I prayed that the line would indeed pass my family over as Teague had suggested it would, I prayed that it wouldn’t pick him. He wasn’t a man who would use the power well.
“I’m here for the Taylors. The ‘hick’ Taylors, that is, not the fancy city Taylors,” said Abby, an ample yet kind-looking woman about Ellen’s age. It was true, the extended Taylors were pretty rustic in their manners and dress. But we really didn’t look down on them, at least not much. As she brushed past Connor, his eyes latched onto her. He seemed genuinely amused by her comment, and more than a bit drawn to her curvy figure. He made no attempt to hide his appreciation from Iris, nor from Iris’s family. My aunt had long ago grown accustomed to her husband’s wandering eye, and Abby wasn’t interested enough in Connor to notice him, so his leering didn’t cause anyone undue concern.
“And the Savannah Taylors?” MacGregor asked.
“I will do the honors,” Oliver said, looking at his sisters, who offered their consent through silence.
“All right. Let’s get to it. Thirteen lots in the bag. Five people to draw and for you young ones out there, I can guarantee you the red lot will be picked by one of them. ’Cause it ain’t the person that’s choosing the lot, it’s the lot that’s choosing the person. Lionel,” he said, offering the bag to the Duval branch.
Lionel closed his eyes and reached into the old pillowcase that was being used to hold the lots. His shoulders fell as he drew one out. He handed it to MacGregor, who proclaimed, “White. The lot is white. The Duval family has been exempted.” He dropped the lot back into the cloth and shook it before extending it toward his own son. Micah reached into the bag and pulled out an identical white lot, holding it up for all to see. The hint of a smile crossed Michael’s face, and his shoulders relaxed. “White. The lot is white. The MacGregor family has been exempted,” the elder MacGregor called out loudly enough for everyone to hear.
I scanned the room for Maisie and spotted her in the corner next to the library doors. She was whiter than any of the lots in Ginny’s old pillowcase. I smiled at her, and tried to send out waves of reassurance, but she didn’t seem to notice. I could hear the lots click against each other as MacGregor shook the case vigorously before offering it to the Ryan’s envoy. Teague reached inside and drew out a lot.
“White. The lot is white. The Ryan family has been exempted.”
“Wait,” Teague nearly shouted. “I need to go again.”
“Sorry, son,” Michael said. “One draw per family head.” He held the case out to Teague, who dropped the lot back in, angry disappointment coming off him in waves.
As soon as the lot had been returned to the case, Abby pushed forward and shot her hand into the bag. “Anyone care to make a little wager before I pull this out?” she asked, laughing. When no one responded, she added, “Well then y’all are smarter than y’all look.” She whisked out the lot. MacGregor started to speak, but Abby cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, we all get the drill. It’s white, and the white trash Taylors are exempt.” She tossed it carelessly back into the bag and it clicked loudly against its companions. “Preliminaries are over; let’s get on with the main event.”
MacGregor shook the bag once more and offered it to Oliver. His manicured hand moved carefully in and retrieved the lot. “It’s red,” he said quietly. MacGregor took the lot from him and held it high. “Red. The lot is red. Not much of a surprise, but we had to follow through with the ‘preliminaries,’ to borrow Abby’s term.” He returned the lot to the case and handed it to Oliver. As he returned to the center of the crowd, he patted Oliver on the back. “It’s all yours, cousin.”
