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“Will you look at that… Burton Free, my third husband. Wasn’t he just the handsomest a all my husbands?” she asked, holding up the cracked
photograph for the rest of us.
“Prudence Jane, keep lookin’. This boy is testin’ our memory.” Aunt Grace was noticeably agitated.
“It’s right here, after the Statham Tree.”
I stared at the names I knew so well from the family tree in my dining room at home.
There was the name, the name missing from the family tree at Wate’s Landing—Ethan Carter Wate. Why would the Sisters have a different
version of my family tree? It was obvious which tree was the real one. I was holding the proof in my hand, wrapped in the handkerchief of a hundredand-fifty-year-old
prophet.
“Why isn’t he on my family tree?”
“Most family trees in the South are fulla lies, but I’m surprised he made it onta any copy a the Wate Family Tree,” Aunt Grace said, shutting the
book and sending a cloud of dust into the air.
“It’s only on account a my excellent record keepin’ that he’s even on this one.” Aunt Prue smiled proudly, showing off both sets of her dentures.
I had to get them to focus. “Why wouldn’t he make it on the family tree, Aunt Prue?”
“On account a him bein’ a deserter.”