Genny caught up with her grandmother exactly where she’d expected. Gram stood before the Weeping Wall in what had originally been the plantation’s front parlor. Though connected to the family living room by a curved arch, it was wholly different in character. Favorite chairs and stacks of books and board games gave way here to a state-of-the-art office. The cooperative was managed from here, workers and their families welcomed right into the main house if they needed anything.
Now, in the light of a single lamp, all of that was but shadows. Desks, phones, copiers, computers, none of that mattered. What mattered was the powerful woman and the wall covered with hundreds of photos, each memory preserved in a small wooden frame.
Genny came up beside the Beauchamp matriarch, wrapped her arm a
