In fact, no one said another word until we were home. I made sure to hide Garland Foxworth’s card in my desk drawer. Then, as soon as I was undressed and ready for bed, I dug out my personal stationery and began a letter to Great-aunt Nettie.

Dear Great-aunt Nettie,

I know I haven’t written in a long time, but I’ve been thinking about our family and how far apart we all are. I’m sixteen now, and I went to my first real gala at the Wexler mansion. Mr. Wexler is the chairman of my father’s bank. It was his ten-year anniversary. My father and mother bought me a beautiful new dress. I wish you had seen me in it.

I was sitting here wishing all that when I suddenly thought it would be wonderful to visit you. Perhaps I’ll bring along my new dress to show you. Years ago, when you were here, you told my mother she should let me come visit you. I have time to do so now, especially in the next two weeks. Would you like that?

Please let me know as soon as you can so I can make plans.

Your loving great-niece,

Corrine

I checked the letter three times to be sure there were no grammatical or spelling mistakes. Great-aunt Nettie had been a schoolteacher before she had met her husband, Clyde Lloyd, when she was in her mid-twenties. He was in shipbuilding and eventually became a part owner of the company. Unfortunately, he died at fifty-eight, and with their sons dead, Great-aunt Nettie was left alone with her lifelong housekeeper, an African woman named Hazel Waters, whom Nettie’s husband had brought back with him from England not long after they married. Hazel was still with her, but other than that, I knew little more, and she probably knew next to nothing about me now.

Nevertheless, she’d surely be surprised and happy to hear from me, I thought, and I gave my father the letter in the morning to post. I did it when my mother wasn’t around so we wouldn’t have to go through her multiple questions and negative comments. He looked at it, tapped it on his palm, and smiled.

“Now, this sudden interest in family doesn’t have anything to do with a certain Mr. Foxworth who happens to live in Charlottesville, does it?”

“Why, Daddy,” I said, batting my eyelashes. He laughed. I paused to think. “How old is he anyway?”

“He’s twenty-three. He inherited a great deal, but he’s made smart use of his money. But my advice is don’t take a bite of the first apple that falls off the tree into your lap, Corrine. You have many good years before you get yourself tied down in a marriage. I know you. You want to enjoy those years,” he added, and pinched my cheek.

“I certainly do, Daddy,” I said.