Beautiful Creatures(26)

Treadeau. That was Amma’s last name.

“Was she related to Amma?”

“Of course she was. She was Amma’s greatgreat-grandmamma.”

“What about the initials on the locket? ECW and GKD? Do you know anything about them?” It was a long shot. I couldn’t remember the last time the Sisters had ever had a moment of clarity that lasted this long.

“Are you teasin’ an old woman, Ethan Wate?”

“No ma’am.”

“ECW. Ethan Carter Wate. He was your greatgreat-greatuncle, or was it your greatgreat-great-greatuncle?”

“You’ve never been any good with arithmetic,” Aunt Prudence interrupted.

“Anyhow, he was your greatgreat-greatgreat-granddaddy Ellis’ brother.”

“Ellis Wate’s brother was named Lawson, not Ethan. That’s how I got my middle name.”

“Ellis Wate had two brothers, Ethan and Lawson. You were named for both of ’em. Ethan Lawson Wate.” I tried to picture my family tree. I had seen it enough times. And if there’s one thing a Southerner knows, it’s their family tree. There was no Ethan Carter Wate on the framed copy hanging in our dining room. I had obviously overestimated Aunt Grace’s lucidity.

I must have looked unconvinced because a second later, Aunt Prue was up and out of her chair. “I have the Wate Family Tree in my genealogy book. I keep track a the whole lineage for the Sisters a the Confed’racy.”

The Sisters of the Confederacy, the lesser cousin of the DAR, but equally horrifying, was some kind of sewing circle holdover from the War. These days, members spent most of their time tracking their Civil War roots for documentaries and miniseries like The Blue and the Gray.

“Here it is.” Aunt Prue shuffled back into the kitchen carrying a huge leather-bound scrapbook, with yellowed pieces of paper and old photographs sticking out from the edges. She flipped through the pages, dropping scraps of paper and old newspaper clippings all over the floor.

“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 hundred-and-fifty-yearold 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.”

I wasn’t following. “What do you mean, a deserter?”

“Lord, what do they teach you young’uns in that fancy high school a yours?” Aunt Grace was busy picking all the pretzels out of the Chex Mix.

“Deserters. The Confederates who ran out on Gen’ral Lee durin’ the War.” I must have looked confused because Aunt Prue felt compelled to elaborate. “There were two kinds a Confederate soldiers durin’ the War. The ones who supported the cause of Confed’racy and the ones whose families made them enlist.”

Aunt Prue stood up and walked toward the counter, pacing back and forth like a real history teacher delivering a lecture.

“By 1865, Lee’s army was beaten, starvin’, and outnumbered. Some say the Rebels were losin’ faith, so they up and left. Deserted their regiments. Ethan Carter Wate was one of ’em. He was a deserter.” All three of them lowered their heads as if the shame was just too much for them.

“So you’re telling me he was erased from the family tree because he didn’t want to starve to death, fighting a losing war for the wrong side?”

“That’s one way a lookin’ at it, I suppose.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Aunt Grace jumped up out of her chair, as much as any ninety-something-yearold woman can jump.

“Don’t you sass us, Ethan. That tree was changed long before we were born.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” She smoothed her skirt and sat back down. “Why would my parents name me after some greatgreat-greatuncle who shamed the family?”

“Well, your mamma and daddy had their own ideas ’bout all that, what with all those books they read about the War. You know they’ve always been liberal. Who knows what they were thinkin’? You’d have ta ask your daddy.” Like there was any chance he would tell me. But knowing my parents’

sensibilities, my mom had probably been proud of Ethan Carter Wate. I was pretty proud, too. I ran my hand over the faded brown page of Aunt Prue’s scrapbook.