Chapter 10
Tamryn stood off to the side of the lecture hall, just to the right of two huge, double-paned windows of the stately administration building on Xavier University’s historic campus.
She could not suppress her excitement as she took in the rapt expressions on the students’ faces.
Their eyes were bright with interest as Ezekiel Marsh gave an overview of the research Tamryn was doing here in Louisiana.
“Dr. West has agreed to take time out of her busy research schedule to talk with you all today, so don’t embarrass me by asking asinine questions,” Ezekiel said with a grin. He gestured for her, and Tamryn started for the front of the classroom.
She assumed a relaxed pose against the podium and expanded on Ezekiel’s description of her overall research, getting much more in-depth when she started to speak about what led her to Louisiana.
The air around the room hummed with a sense of anticipation as she discussed the clues she’d uncovered about Adeline West and other women of color whose impact on the history of African Americans had been ignored.
Tamryn was motivated by the engrossed looks on the students’ faces, their captivated expressions spurring her on.
As she fielded their inquiries and joined in on their discussions, she felt a sense of purpose that she had not experienced in a long time.
This was what had been missing.
This was what she loved; it was why she’d gone into teaching.
Seeing the enthusiasm on the students’ faces, witnessing their eyes light up as they learned of the abundance of rich history right here in their midst—that was what made her job special.
Gaining renown within her field had always been a goal, but Tamryn realized that she’d allowed it to become everything to her.
Just as she’d allowed this overwhelming desire to prove herself to Reid to consume her this past year.
None of that mattered. The only thing that truly mattered was shaping the minds of young students who had that same zeal for history that had been instilled in her by her grandfather.
And finally uncovering the truth about her great-great-great-grandmother—not for the esteem it would bring her when she published her book, but because she owed it to Adeline West. This project was not about her career, it was about a young, brave freed slave getting the recognition she deserved for her courageous actions nearly two centuries ago.
Once the class ended, Tamryn followed Ezekiel back to the suite of offices that housed the History Department.
He offered her a coffee and carried both cups to his office, handing hers to her as she sat in the chair in front of his desk.
Instead of going around his desk to his comfortable leather desk chair, Ezekiel sat next to her.
“Thanks for doing this,” he said. “I think the students enjoyed hearing someone other than me for a change.”
“Are you kidding? I’m the one who should be thanking you.
I enjoyed every minute of that.” She took a sip of her coffee, cradling the foam cup in her hand.
“You know, it’s been a while since I taught students so young.
For the past couple of years, my classes have been senior level.
The upperclassmen just don’t have that same enthusiasm as the young ones who are just starting out. ”
“This is the best age. They haven’t become cynical yet,” he said with a good-natured chuckle.
He tilted his head slightly, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes.
“I can appreciate your teaching style. You do more than just lecture—you tell a story in a way that captures the imagination and lures them in. Brimley is lucky to have you, Tamryn.”
“Thank you,” she said with genuine gratitude. His praise was a balm to her tattered confidence. The recent developments within the department at Brimley had her feeling like the redheaded stepchild with pockmarks. She needed to hear that she was good at her job.
“I’ve been mulling over the Indigenous Women’s Studies course ever since you mentioned it,” Ezekiel continued. “Female students outnumber males two to one. I think it’s something that would garner much interest from the students here.”
“It’s a fascinating and much understudied field,” she said. “If I had more time, or assurances from the higher-ups at Brimley that they would support it, I would develop the course more fully.”
“You don’t think they would be interested in adding it to the curriculum?”
Tamryn gave him a hapless shrug as she took another sip of coffee.
Actually, she was almost certain that they would add the course to the curriculum. She just didn’t think she would be there to teach it.
She returned to the table in the archives room that had become like a second home over the weeks she’d been in Louisiana. But as she tried to concentrate on the information found within the tomes, Tamryn couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in her stomach.
What did she really want to gain from all of this?
She had set out on this journey with single-minded determination, her goal clearly spelled out. But during the course of a simple sophomore history class, her world had undergone a seismic shift.
She wanted to return to what she’d first loved about her job. She wanted to fulfill the promise she’d made to herself the day she learned that her doctoral dissertation had been accepted: that she would spend her life molding young minds and instilling in them a love for history.
She could argue that she was still doing that with the work she conducted while cocooned within the walls of this library, but Tamryn knew it wasn’t the same. She needed to be hands-on. She needed to see the wonder in her students’ eyes as she opened their world to the history surrounding them.
She needed to follow her heart back to what she truly loved.
A broad smile broke out across Matt’s face as he drove up to Belle Maison and spotted Tamryn lounging on the wooden porch swing.
He parked next to a van that was shrink-wrapped with the logo for a local swamp tour company.
He walked over to where she sat with one leg up, her foot planted on the slated swing.
Matt folded his arms over his chest as he leaned against an ornately carved porch column. “Looking pretty busy there.”
“And you’re looking mighty gleeful,” she returned, setting her iPad on top of the notebook on the table next to her. “What’s with that smile? Did Patrick Carter wind up in a coma this morning?”
Matt grinned. “I’m not that lucky.”
“Just as well. You wouldn’t want to win that seat by default.”
“I’ll take that win any way I can get it,” he said, wringing a laugh from her. He pointed to the tablet. “Find anything interesting?”
“Just the opposite,” she said with a sigh.
She picked up the iPad and swiped her finger across the screen.
Then she turned it so that it faced him.
There was a colorful chart with various offshoots extending from it.
“This is a timeline I created from the significant events I’ve been able to uncover about my grandmother’s past. Do you see this big gray area?
That’s when the school was created. I just can’t find anything linking her to it. ”
“What about Nicolette Gauthier? You said you believed she played a part in it.”
She nodded, picking up the notebook and flipping through a few pages.
“I was able to find a couple of articles from several newspapers that mentioned her support for the school, but none of them indicate her involvement in actually creating it. They just say that she and Micah were both strong supporters once the school opened.”
Matt blew out an uneasy breath. “Look, Tamryn. I don’t want to throw a wet blanket on all the work you’ve done. I know you’ve put years into this, but…”
“But?” she asked.
Before the words even came out of his mouth, Matt had already decided that he could never hate himself as much as he did right now.
“Did you ever think that if the evidence is so hard to find, maybe there isn’t any?”
The dejected look that traced across her features made the impossible possible—he actually hated himself even more than he had just a second ago.
“If I had a dollar for every time a colleague or well-meaning friend told me that, I could buy that huge mansion you live in,” she said.
“But I can’t shake the feeling that’s in here, Matt.
” She flattened her palm against her stomach.
“Or here,” she said, moving her hand up and covering her heart.
“I can’t explain it, but I know the evidence is there somewhere. I can’t stop until I find it.”
Matt blew out a breath. “Is there any way I can convince you to stop for at least tonight?” he asked.
She started to shake her head. “I have so much work to catch up on.”
“You don’t want to turn down this opportunity,” he said. “Trust me.”
“I don’t doubt that whatever you have planned is spectacular, but—”
“You’re going to tour Rosemead,” Matt said.
She stopped short and stared up at him. “What?” she said in a barely audible whisper.
Matt pushed away from the column he’d been leaning on and went over to her. He crouched down until he was level with her face. “I decided to put some of my clout as a Gauthier to good use and called in a couple of favors.”
“But Rosemead isn’t open to the public. It isn’t even occupied. I thought the owner lived somewhere in France?”
“She does, but the curator lives here in Louisiana. She contacted the owner on my behalf, and was granted permission to give us a private tour. You’re going to see the plantation where your great-great-great-grandmother was enslaved.”