dismay, she was too emotionally numb to feel it. He had the baby with him, and Dana wanted to hold her. She felt an instinctive need to protect her, even from her own father, if need be.
She started to sit up, but Hugh gestured her back. His hands appeared absurdly large under the baby. She cradled the infant, savoring her warmth. Other than remnants of ointment in her eyes, her face was clean and smooth. Dana was enthralled.
‘Look at her cheeks,’ she whispered. ‘And her mouth. Every thing is so small. So delicate.’ Even the color. Light brown? Fawn?
Carefully fishing out a little hand, she watched the baby’s fingers explore the air before curling around one of hers. ‘Did your parents hold her?’
‘Not this time.’
‘They’re upset.’
‘You could say.’
Dana shot him a glance. His eyes stayed on the baby.
‘Where are they now?’ she asked.
‘Gone home, I assume.’
‘They’re blaming me, aren’t they?’
‘That’s a lousy word, Dee.’
‘But it fits. I know your parents. Our baby has dark skin, and they know it isn’t from your family, so it’s from mine.’
He raised his eyes. ‘Is it?’
‘It could be,’ Dana said easily. She had grown up on questions without answers. ‘I have one picture of my father. You’ve seen it. He’s as white-skinned as you. But do any of us really know what happened two or three generations ago?’
‘I do.’
Yes, Dana acknowledged silently. Clarkes did know these things. Unfortunately, Josephs did not. ‘So your parents blame me. They expected one thing and got another. They’re not happy with our daughter, and they blame me for it. Do you?’
‘“Blame” is the wrong word. It implies something bad.’
Dana looked down at the baby, who was looking right back at her. She was peaceful and content. Elizabeth Ames Clarke had something special, and if that came from genes they hadn’t expected, so be it. There was nothing bad about her. She was absolutely perfect.
‘This is our baby,’ Dana pleaded softly. ‘Is skin color any different from eye color or intelligence or temperament?’
‘In this country, in this world, yes.’
‘I won’t accept that.’
‘Then you’re being naïve.’ He let out a breath. Looking exhausted, he pushed a hand through his hair, but the few short spikes that habitually shadowed his brow fell right back down. When his eyes met hers, they were bleak. ‘My clients come from every minority group, and, consistently, the African Americans say it’s tougher. It’s gotten better – and it’ll continue to get better, but it isn’t going away completely – at least, not in our lifetime.’
Dana let it go. Hugh was one of the most accepting people she knew. His would be a statement of fact, not bias.
So maybe she was being naïve. This baby was already familiar, though Dana would have been hard-pressed to single out any one feature that was Hugh’s or her own.
She was mulling that when the door opened, and Dana’s grandmother peered in. Seeing her face, Dana forgot everything but the exhilaration of the moment. ‘Come see her, Gram!’ she cried. Her eyes filled with tears as the one woman she trusted more than any other came to her side.
Handsome at seventy-four, Ellie Jo had thick gray hair, secured at the top of her head with a pair of bamboo needles, soft skin, and a spine still strong enough to hold her tall. She looked as if she had lived a stress-free life, but her appearance was deceptive. She had become a master at survival, largely by crafting for herself – and for Dana – a meaningful, productive, reverent life.
She was all smiles as she approached. Her hand shook against the pale pink blanket. She caught in a breath and exhaled with awe. ‘Oh my, Dana Jo. She is just the most precious thing I’ve ever seen.’
Dana burst into tears. She wrapped an arm around her grand mother’s neck and held on, sobbing for reasons she didn’t understand. Ellie Jo held Dana with one arm and the baby with the other until the tears slowed.
Sniffling, Dana took a tissue. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong.’
‘Hormones,’ Ellie Jo stated, wiping under Dana’s eyes with a knowing thumb. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Sore.’
‘Ice, Hugh,’ Ellie Jo ordered. ‘Dana needs to sit on something cold. See what you can get?’
Dana watched Hugh leave. The door had barely shut when her eyes flew to her grandmother’s. ‘What do you think?’
‘Your daughter is exquisite.’
‘What do you think of her color?’
Ellie Jo didn’t try to deny what they could both so clearly see. ‘I think her color is part of her beauty, but if you’re asking where it came from, I can’t tell you. When your mother was pregnant with you, she used to joke that she had no idea what would come out.’
‘Was there a question on your side of the family?’
‘Question?’
‘Unknown roots, like an adoption?’
‘No. I knew where I was from. Same with my Earl. But your mother knew so little about your father.’ As she spoke, she peeked under the edge of the tiny pink cap and whispered a delighted ‘Look at those curls.’
‘My father didn’t have curls,’ Dana said. ‘He didn’t look African American.’
‘Neither did Adam Clayton Powell,’ her grandmother replied. ‘Many black groups shunned him because he looked so white.’
‘And did whites accept him as an equal?’
‘In most instances.’
But not all, Dana concluded. ‘Hugh’s upset.’
‘Hugh? Or his parents?’
‘His parents, but it spread to him.’ Dana’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘I want him to be excited. This is our baby.’
Ellie Jo soothed her for a minute before saying, ‘He is excited. But he’s trying to deal with what he sees. We might have known to expect the unexpected. He’s been primed to see the newest Ames Clarke.’
‘He’ll want answers,’ Dana predicted. ‘Hugh is dogged that way. He won’t rest until he finds the source of Lizzie’s looks, and that means going over every inch of our family tree. Do I want him to do that? Do I want to find my father after all this time?’
‘Hey!’ came
