Getting on her knees, Hallison crawled under her desk and snagged her new Victoria’s Secret pantyhose on a stray emery board. “My ten-dollar hose!” She groaned and continued gathering her things until she fingered something unfamiliar. She dragged it out of the shadow of the desk until she spied the magnifying glass. Picking it up, Hallison twirled the handle between her fingers as she sat back in her chair and recalled the day Malcolm had given it to her. It was a Friday and they had met for lunch. He was toting a small bag.
“I brought you something.”
“I know—you,” she had teased.
“Great minds think alike. I love it when you focus on me because God knows I enjoy every moment I focus on you.”
Malcolm wasn’t slack showering Hallison with traditional gifts—candy, flowers, perfume, and jewelry—but it was the personal things he shared about himself with her that were the most memorable.
He had lifted his bag. One by one, he pulled out items she needed in order to trace her family roots just as he had done and continued to do on both sides of his family: a magnifying glass to read old documents from hundreds of years earlier; a hand-size notebook that was filled with definitions that was a lifesaver for every genealogist; and a note that professed his love for the first time.
“It’ll take me until the end of our lifetime to stop needing and loving you. I don’t want any secrets between us,” Malcolm had said. His voice shook with emotion.
Hallison sighed as tears filled her eyes. Sniffing, she twirled the magnifying glass again. She closed her drawer and tapped on her keyboard.
She typed in www.slcl.org for the St. Louis County Library, a trick Malcolm taught her to access records from the comfort of any computer. From that moment on she was addicted to the hunt for her ancestors until she broke it off with him. Hallison smiled, remembering how she and Malcolm would celebrate her discoveries.
It had been from her office computer that she had Googled her maternal great-grandmother’s brother, Ellis Brown. Unbelievably, Hallison had discovered an article written a decade earlier. Ellis had perished in a house fire in Kansas City, Kansas. He was a hundred years old. After that Hallison went on to locate Ellis’ original draft registration card where his occupation was listed as a farmer on Wyatt Palmer’s property.
She couldn’t believe he was listed among 150 Ellis Browns on rootsweb.com. “Bingo,” she had screamed, grabbing her phone. After three attempts, she had punched in the correct numbers for Malcolm’s office.
“Winfield & Young Accounting, Mr. Jamieson’s office,” his sweet, older secretary answered.
“Hi, Lilly. Is Malcolm busy?” Hallison couldn’t contain her excitement.
Lilly laughed without knowing the joke. “Hi, Hali. Does it matter? He’ll always want to talk to you.” She transferred the call.
“Hi, baby,” Malcolm spoke into the phone after Lilly introduced the call.
“Malcolm! I found a great-great… I mean a great-uncle. He actually lived in Kansas City…” She rambled in fragmented sentences.
He listened between humorous grunts. “When did he die?”
“March 1993, in a house fire. What a bummer.” Her heart pounded in excitement and disappointment.
“I can’t believe Ellis Brown lived to be one hundred and was only three hours away. Why couldn’t he have held off that last cigarette until I found him before he set the house on fire while he slept?” The online obit had led her to cousins she had never known existed.
Those were moments of bliss she didn’t want to forget. It had been months since she searched through the Heritage Quest database. Although it held most records from 1790, Hallison’s search for Ellis’ grandmother, Minerva Palmer Lambert, prior to 1870 was stalled.
Minerva was born about 1848, and Hallison hadn’t determined if her third great-grandmother was owned by Monroe County, Arkansas, attorney Jno Palmer. So on the 1860 slave schedule, Hallison began searching for Minerva Palmer Lambert as a twelve-year-old slave girl. When she couldn’t find any matches with his slave girls, Hallison gave up.
Pecking away on the keyboards, Hallison gnawed on her lip as she uncovered another possible prospect—Eliza Palmer. She had traveled from North Carolina in the 1850s to take possession of Palmer slaves that included three mulatto fugitives. Hallison grinned at the possibility of renegade ancestors.
Moving closer to the screen, she peered through the magnifying glass. “C’mon, Minerva Palmer, where are you? Who owned you last?”
“Who owned whom?” Ursula asked as she breezed into Hallison’s office unannounced.
Hallison dropped her magnifying glass and lost her place. “Do you ever knock? I could’ve been in a meeting or interviewing a candidate.”
Shrugging unapologetically, Ursula claimed a chair. She sported an auburn pageboy wig that happened to complement her tan suit. “Hey, I tapped on your door a few times. When your assistant walked by, she said it was okay for me come in.” She twisted her thin lips. “Now, who owned somebody, and since when do you need bifocals?”
Shaking her head, Hallison shoved the instrument back inside her desk drawer. “Oh, nothing.”
Ursula pointed an unpolished finger, which meant she had an upcoming manicure appointment. “If it’s ‘oh nothing’ from you, then I interpret that to mean it’s ‘oh something.’”
Hallison cleared her throat. “I had a genealogy urge, and I found something that might be connected to my ancestors, but I’m not sure. Malcolm could’ve found it in less than thirty seconds,” Hallison mumbled.
“Malcolm. Umm-hmm, that name sounds familiar.” Ursula worried one wayward hair strand that religiously sprouted on her chin the day before her hair appointment. Suddenly, she sat straighter and leaned forward. “Because it is familiar. Why don’t you call the man?”
“And say what? Malcolm, you’re perfect and I’ve turned you into a monster since I chose God over you. I’m sorry, you’re more important. Have you found a replacement for me, yet? Well, I haven’t either, so do you want to get back together until God tells me to dump you again?”
“Humph, sounds good to me. You never know. A brief fling might do you two some good. Listen, Hallison, even I know what you want even if I never hear you say it.”
Rocking back in her chair, Hallison closed her eyes. “Yeah, but it ain’t what God wants.”
Ursula stood and slammed her palms on Hallison’s desk to get her attention. When she did, Ursula pointed from her eyes to Hallison then back again. “Explain this to me again. How do you know it was God talking to you? What exactly did He say?” She shook her head, not waiting for an answer. “Personally, I still think it was just your imagination.”
“Believe me, if it was my imagination, it would be filled with things I could do with Malcolm, not without him. Plus, there is a scripture in the Bible that says God’s sheep know His voice. Same as a pet who after having got away, hears its owner’s voice and comes running.”
Ursula tsked. “So God has reduced you to a pet, huh? Hallison, this almost sounds like a cult.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.
As if for the first time, Hallison saw Malcolm’s confusion through Ursula’s eyes. Ursula wasn’t convinced God would or could reach out and touch an individual. Hallison had failed to win over Malcolm; she hoped she did a better job with Ursula. “Believe me, I heard a personal message from God. I had to choose between my lifestyle or God’s.”
Ursula frowned, unconvinced. “Well, I think you made the wrong choice.”
“I brought you something.”
“I know—you,” she had teased.
“Great minds think alike. I love it when you focus on me because God knows I enjoy every moment I focus on you.”
Malcolm wasn’t slack showering Hallison with traditional gifts—candy, flowers, perfume, and jewelry—but it was the personal things he shared about himself with her that were the most memorable.
He had lifted his bag. One by one, he pulled out items she needed in order to trace her family roots just as he had done and continued to do on both sides of his family: a magnifying glass to read old documents from hundreds of years earlier; a hand-size notebook that was filled with definitions that was a lifesaver for every genealogist; and a note that professed his love for the first time.
“It’ll take me until the end of our lifetime to stop needing and loving you. I don’t want any secrets between us,” Malcolm had said. His voice shook with emotion.
Hallison sighed as tears filled her eyes. Sniffing, she twirled the magnifying glass again. She closed her drawer and tapped on her keyboard.
She typed in www.slcl.org for the St. Louis County Library, a trick Malcolm taught her to access records from the comfort of any computer. From that moment on she was addicted to the hunt for her ancestors until she broke it off with him. Hallison smiled, remembering how she and Malcolm would celebrate her discoveries.
It had been from her office computer that she had Googled her maternal great-grandmother’s brother, Ellis Brown. Unbelievably, Hallison had discovered an article written a decade earlier. Ellis had perished in a house fire in Kansas City, Kansas. He was a hundred years old. After that Hallison went on to locate Ellis’ original draft registration card where his occupation was listed as a farmer on Wyatt Palmer’s property.
She couldn’t believe he was listed among 150 Ellis Browns on rootsweb.com. “Bingo,” she had screamed, grabbing her phone. After three attempts, she had punched in the correct numbers for Malcolm’s office.
“Winfield & Young Accounting, Mr. Jamieson’s office,” his sweet, older secretary answered.
“Hi, Lilly. Is Malcolm busy?” Hallison couldn’t contain her excitement.
Lilly laughed without knowing the joke. “Hi, Hali. Does it matter? He’ll always want to talk to you.” She transferred the call.
“Hi, baby,” Malcolm spoke into the phone after Lilly introduced the call.
“Malcolm! I found a great-great… I mean a great-uncle. He actually lived in Kansas City…” She rambled in fragmented sentences.
He listened between humorous grunts. “When did he die?”
“March 1993, in a house fire. What a bummer.” Her heart pounded in excitement and disappointment.
“I can’t believe Ellis Brown lived to be one hundred and was only three hours away. Why couldn’t he have held off that last cigarette until I found him before he set the house on fire while he slept?” The online obit had led her to cousins she had never known existed.
Those were moments of bliss she didn’t want to forget. It had been months since she searched through the Heritage Quest database. Although it held most records from 1790, Hallison’s search for Ellis’ grandmother, Minerva Palmer Lambert, prior to 1870 was stalled.
Minerva was born about 1848, and Hallison hadn’t determined if her third great-grandmother was owned by Monroe County, Arkansas, attorney Jno Palmer. So on the 1860 slave schedule, Hallison began searching for Minerva Palmer Lambert as a twelve-year-old slave girl. When she couldn’t find any matches with his slave girls, Hallison gave up.
Pecking away on the keyboards, Hallison gnawed on her lip as she uncovered another possible prospect—Eliza Palmer. She had traveled from North Carolina in the 1850s to take possession of Palmer slaves that included three mulatto fugitives. Hallison grinned at the possibility of renegade ancestors.
Moving closer to the screen, she peered through the magnifying glass. “C’mon, Minerva Palmer, where are you? Who owned you last?”
“Who owned whom?” Ursula asked as she breezed into Hallison’s office unannounced.
Hallison dropped her magnifying glass and lost her place. “Do you ever knock? I could’ve been in a meeting or interviewing a candidate.”
Shrugging unapologetically, Ursula claimed a chair. She sported an auburn pageboy wig that happened to complement her tan suit. “Hey, I tapped on your door a few times. When your assistant walked by, she said it was okay for me come in.” She twisted her thin lips. “Now, who owned somebody, and since when do you need bifocals?”
Shaking her head, Hallison shoved the instrument back inside her desk drawer. “Oh, nothing.”
Ursula pointed an unpolished finger, which meant she had an upcoming manicure appointment. “If it’s ‘oh nothing’ from you, then I interpret that to mean it’s ‘oh something.’”
Hallison cleared her throat. “I had a genealogy urge, and I found something that might be connected to my ancestors, but I’m not sure. Malcolm could’ve found it in less than thirty seconds,” Hallison mumbled.
“Malcolm. Umm-hmm, that name sounds familiar.” Ursula worried one wayward hair strand that religiously sprouted on her chin the day before her hair appointment. Suddenly, she sat straighter and leaned forward. “Because it is familiar. Why don’t you call the man?”
“And say what? Malcolm, you’re perfect and I’ve turned you into a monster since I chose God over you. I’m sorry, you’re more important. Have you found a replacement for me, yet? Well, I haven’t either, so do you want to get back together until God tells me to dump you again?”
“Humph, sounds good to me. You never know. A brief fling might do you two some good. Listen, Hallison, even I know what you want even if I never hear you say it.”
Rocking back in her chair, Hallison closed her eyes. “Yeah, but it ain’t what God wants.”
Ursula stood and slammed her palms on Hallison’s desk to get her attention. When she did, Ursula pointed from her eyes to Hallison then back again. “Explain this to me again. How do you know it was God talking to you? What exactly did He say?” She shook her head, not waiting for an answer. “Personally, I still think it was just your imagination.”
“Believe me, if it was my imagination, it would be filled with things I could do with Malcolm, not without him. Plus, there is a scripture in the Bible that says God’s sheep know His voice. Same as a pet who after having got away, hears its owner’s voice and comes running.”
Ursula tsked. “So God has reduced you to a pet, huh? Hallison, this almost sounds like a cult.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs.
As if for the first time, Hallison saw Malcolm’s confusion through Ursula’s eyes. Ursula wasn’t convinced God would or could reach out and touch an individual. Hallison had failed to win over Malcolm; she hoped she did a better job with Ursula. “Believe me, I heard a personal message from God. I had to choose between my lifestyle or God’s.”
Ursula frowned, unconvinced. “Well, I think you made the wrong choice.”
