Chapter Eighteen The Watchdog
June 2022
“Okay, so who do we speak to first?” Olivia settled across from Aneesa, who had brought a tripod, camera, and small clipped microphones to her kitchen table.
“Slow down, Inspector Gadget,” Aneesa muttered under her breath while arranging her equipment on the table.
Olivia decidedly ignored Aneesa’s comment and pulled out her iPad. “I have a list of questions, which I’ve also emailed to you. I think these will help us get to the core of what happened to Aunt Indigo.” She slid the iPad just beneath Aneesa’s gaze.
Aneesa read the questions and shifted her studious attention to Olivia. “You know I’m old enough to be your mother, right?”
“Certainly. You’re my mother’s best friend.”
“And you know I’ve been a reporter for over thirty years.”
“Yes, but—”
“I know what I’m doing, young lady. I do not need your questions, which are rather direct, given the difficulty of the topic.”
Olivia’s stomach clenched. She handled difficult topics well, but this one was especially challenging. The letter in the local paper was quite a setback for her family.
“Okay, that’s fine and well, but how else do you expect us to understand who’s harassing my family?”
“Porch Stories,” Aneesa replied, as if those two words solved everything.
“I don’t understand.” Olivia grabbed her iPad. “You want them to tell a story on a porch?”
“Porch Stories is a video series in which the residents of Highland Beach are interviewed about its history. My friend started the series about a year ago, and it’s posted on the Frederick Douglass Museum and Cultural Center’s YouTube page.”
Olivia searched for the series on the iPad. “Are there a lot of subscribers?”
“No, just around one hundred. It’s a very niche audience, and most of our views are from residents and university students.”
Olivia quickly found the channel with a thumbnail picture of the Frederick Douglass Museum and subscribed. “So how are we helping with the series?”
“My friend, the host, will allow us to interview one of his residents on his behalf.” Aneesa tilted her head and folded her arms. “During the interview, we will observe, we will listen, and we will take in that resident’s knowledge and wisdom. Once the interview concludes, I’ll bring up old times.”
“Old times?”
“Yes, baby, old times. Like, ‘Remember that time when ole so-and-so pulled up that strange-looking fish out of the bay?’ Or, ‘You remember that time when Ms. Guthrie’s granddaughter went missing, and we all came together and found her, and then...’” Aneesa waved a hand. “Then we’ll talk about that time when one of our missing never came back. And they’ll tell us what they recall. You live in New York, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you know you don’t ask a New Yorker about 9/11. You bring up something related, and then someone else will share their story about what they were doing the day that tragedy struck their community.”
“Oh. I get it now.”
“That’s right. We aren’t aggressive. People will share in their own time and as they feel comfortable. Or at least, that’s how we want them to feel.”
She pointed at Olivia’s iPad. “If you come with a list of questions, and they feel like it’s a formal interview, they’re bound to get defensive. Just remember what you want out of the conversation, and a recorder is all you need. Trust me,” she added. “I’ve won a few awards here and there.”
Olivia nodded, tucking the iPad into her purse.
Aneesa flashed her a tight smile. “Now, once I broach the subject, and they tell us what they can recall, you can then ask them for a fond memory they have of Indigo. Bitter and sweet, but quick.”
“Okay, absolutely. I will follow your lead.”
“Whew, that’s good.” Aneesa mimed wiping sweat off her forehead. “I didn’t want to fire my honorary niece on the first day.”
She packed her equipment into a chocolate Tumi laptop bag. “Okay, for today we are interviewing the Francis family. Let’s go.”
Olivia followed Aneesa down the street as they walked toward the end of the run near Black Walnut Creek.
“The Francises are one of the oldest families in Highland Beach. They have a longer history than most families, so listen to their stories. They will also know where all the skeletons are buried.”
Aneesa knocked on the door. Within a few seconds Olivia noticed a woman dressed in a peach sundress open the door to her screened-in porch. “Hey, Ms. Leila.”
“Oh, hi, Aneesa. I forgot you’re filling in for Matthew today.”
“Yes, and I hope that’s okay. He’s off to visit the grandchildren.”
“Oh, of course. I know you are more than capable of telling our story well.” Leila smiled, but her voice conveyed: Don’t mess up.
“Where do I set up?”
“We can place these two chairs by the screen door. Let’s keep it open so we can film the yard. We can do some b-roll of Black Walnut Creek.”
“You have a creative vision, Ms. Leila?”
“Oh you know it.” She chuckled. Turning to Olivia, Leila said, “I know you’ve met a lot of us, but I’m Leila Francis. You are Mayor Jones and Cindy’s daughter, correct?”
“That’s right. I hope you don’t mind, but Aneesa’s asked me to help with the Porch Stories today.”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all.” Leila smiled at Olivia. “I think it’s a good way for you to understand your history and rich roots.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you officially.” Olivia offered her hand.
Leila took it without hesitation. “I have a good story that I think you’ll enjoy about your ancestor Frederick Douglass.”
Aneesa and Olivia arranged the chairs, then Aneesa sat down across from Leila. Olivia set the camera to Record, and Aneesa kicked off the intro for Porch Stories.
“Hello, this is Aneesa Williams with Leila Francis, for another edition of Porch Stories. Leila, thank you for having us this morning.”
“Welcome, Aneesa. And I’m so happy we have time to sit down and talk about the history of our wonderful community. Highland Beach goes back to 1893, incorporated in 1922, and my family is one of the first families here. It’s my extreme honor to share our stories with you today.”
“That’s right.” Aneesa smiled. “And you are the reason I purchased a home in this wonderful community.” Aneesa winked at her old friend. “Now tell me how your family came to Highland Beach.”
“My great-grandfather was John Richard Francis Sr. He was a surgeon who owned and operated a hospital for Black folks in Washington, DC. He built a home in 1896. Now he and the Douglass family were friends,” Leila said, briefly smiling at Olivia. “And they sold him a lot across the street from where we live now, which is now the Frederick Douglass Museum. Major Charles Douglass had selected this lot by the creek because of the views of Chesapeake Bay. But Frederick Douglass wasn’t too keen on building a house at that location because he was afraid his grandchildren would drown in the creek. So he asked my great-grandfather, Dr. Francis, if he would switch with him, and he did. And we’ve lived here ever since.”
Drown.
Unease moved quickly throughout Olivia’s body. Did Aunt Indigo drown in this creek? The very waters her great-grandcousin wanted to avoid to keep his family safe?
Another interesting fact that Leila shared about her family was that she was related to E.B. Henderson, the grandfather of Black basketball, who’d been inducted into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. But Olivia hardly took in that information. She was finding it hard to concentrate.
Twenty minutes passed quickly, and the interview concluded. Aneesa thanked Leila for her time, and soon the conversation transitioned from the past to the present.
“Are you okay, dear?” Leila asked Olivia. “Do you need any coffee, tea, lemonade?”
“Oh no. I’m sorry. I really enjoyed listening to your family’s legacy. It’s so inspiring.”
Leila smiled. “We both have a lot to be proud of. Did you enjoy the story of the creek switch?”
“Yes! And I love that he cared enough for his grandchildren to be cautious about the water.”
“Yes. I think he wanted to exercise caution considering his family had experienced enough tragedy with the deaths of his daughter and his wife, and then his house burning down. We have a book about it at the Douglass Museum if you want a copy.”
“I would love that.”
“Then I’ll make sure that CJ gets you your own personal copy. He has one at home as well.”
Leila leaned closer to Olivia while Aneesa took off her microphone and repacked her gear. “Are you sure you’re okay?” the woman whispered. “You seem... distracted. Sad even. It’s too beautiful a day for sadness.”
Olivia stole a glance at Aneesa, who shrugged as if to say, Go ahead.
“Well, it’s just that I find it tragic that my father’s sister... my aunt Indigo... may have drowned in the creek. The very place Frederick Douglass tried to avoid for the sake of his grandchildren.”
“Woo. You know I had that same thought, too, back when it happened. It was a tough time for our community. And Indigo, she loved the water. She asked me all the time if she could just sit on my back porch and stare at the creek.”
“She did?”
“Oh yes. She was a good girl and didn’t make a lot of fuss, so I didn’t mind it. My children are a few years older, so they were off to college most of the time. I enjoyed having someone around the house, and she knew just when I wanted company.” Leila smiled and rocked back in her chair.
“I liked that she found my house peaceful. She didn’t seem to have a lot of... peace.”
Olivia nodded, now knowing that her aunt and grandmother both suffered from depression.
“But she was smart, too. Loved history, like me. I would tell her stories about my family. Stories that were passed down about the Douglass family, too. She seemed curious about very peculiar things regarding her family.”
Olivia leaned forward. “Curious about what exactly?”
Leila sighed. “Honestly, a bunch of rubbish, if you ask me.”
“Well, I’m asking.” Olivia softened her question with a smile.
“Frederick Douglass married his much younger white secretary, Helen Pitts, after his first wife died, and people criticized him for moving on too quickly. Frederick’s kids weren’t all that keen on having a white stepmother, as you could imagine, especially back then. And Indigo, well, she said she’d heard a rumor about Frederick and the second wife having kids. This was never documented, mind you.” Leila waved a finger in the air. “In fact, it was documented that the second wife was barren. I told Indigo to hush. I didn’t want to hear it.” Leila dropped her hand. “Someone must’ve told her that lie, but I should’ve been kinder to her. She was just curious and... I didn’t mean to crush her spirit.”
“Ms. Leila.” Aneesa stood and grabbed her hand. “You and I know it’s not your fault. There was something much deeper going on with Indigo. But it’s good to know she had a place of refuge when things got tough. Hold on to that memory. Not the memory of you checking her on unfounded gossip.”
Leila nodded, but her eyes still held sorrow. She looked at her watch. “I can’t believe it’s already noon. I have a lunch date with an old friend. You all can sit out here for as long as you like.”
Aneesa shook her head. “We’re going to edit this wonderful interview, and I’ll be sure to share it with you and Matthew before I post it on YouTube.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Aneesa and Olivia walked in silence back to Aneesa’s home. As soon as she closed the door, Aneesa placed her things on the kitchen table.
“Did you catch what Ms. Leila said?” Aneesa asked.
“I couldn’t miss it.” Olivia crossed her arms. “You know, Christine said something the other day—that people wanted to be like the family, but they can’t be us. I thought she was just being superior, but maybe there’s something there.”
“Someone is uncovering more skeletons in the Douglass-Jones closet. You should have another conversation with Christine and CJ.”
Olivia let out a breath. It’d been only three days since Christine’s breakdown. She didn’t think enough time had passed to be asking her grandmother hard-hitting questions.
But I can check in... have lunch.
“I’ll give Christine a call tomorrow.”
“Good. You can get with your family, and I’ll do some research. I’m sure Christine is on edge, so you’ll need to be careful with how you frame your questions.”
“Where are you going to do research?”
“The library, the internet. Not to mention I have a few historian friends I can tap. But for now, let’s keep this little tidbit to ourselves.”
“Including my parents?”
“Yes, even your parents. Cindy means well, but she’s in that lovey-dovey stage where she’ll tell CJ everything. Besides, there’s no need to shake any tree until we know it bears fruit.”