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“We should focus on our assignment,” I say, changing the subject. “Let’s find something to take a photo of.”
He goes along with my conversation change and we both start walking. “How about one of those creepy statues in the rose garden behind the library?”
I almost want to laugh at him calling the statues creepy. “Most of those statues are of my ancestors.”
“No shit?” He seems surprised. “I never really paid much attention to them.”
“There are nameplates on almost every single one of the statues.” And I’ve examined every single one of them over the years because I’m related to those people. It’s odd, to look at statues and know you come from a long line of Lancasters. That our family name has carried on for generations—centuries. There’s so much history there. There are even books written about my family—especially Augustus Lancaster, the first one to make a name in the US.
“And you’re related to them all, huh?” We approach the library, taking the sidewalk that veers to the right and leads to the gardens.
“They’re all Lancasters and I am too,” I say with a nod.
“What’s that like, being part of a family that goes back so far?” He sounds genuinely curious.
“It doesn’t feel like anything really. Our lineage is just part of my life.”
“You make yourself sound like a well-bred dog.” He nudges my side with his elbow, and I take a step to the right, vaguely offended. “A cute dog. Like a golden doodle.”
I roll my eyes, but I see what he’s saying. “It’s the word lineage.”
“Exactly.”
“You come from a legacy family yourself,” I remind him.
His brows shoot up in question. “Someone did their research.”
“I’ve heard your family history mentioned before.” I shrug, trying to play it off.
“Uh huh. I’m guessing if I checked out your search history, I’d find my name typed in. It’s cool,” he says when he notices I’m about to argue with him. “I googled you too.”
“You did?”
“I was curious.” He shrugs.
We’re quiet as we enter the rose garden and I take a deep breath, the scent of the roses lingering in the air. I stop at the row of bushes covered in peach-colored flowers, scanning the plaque that sits in front of them.
“Dedicated to Rose Albright. Forever in our hearts.” Rhett glances over at me. “You related to Rose?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but kind of? My father’s cousin Arch married Rose’s daughter Daisy. Rose died when Daisy was twelve.”
“Sad.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring at the flowers for a moment. “I can’t imagine life without my mom.”
“I can’t either,” I murmur, banishing the horrid thought. “Come on. Let’s go find a creepy statue.”
We venture deeper into the garden, the sun beating down upon us, the soft buzz of bees filling the air. I come to a stop in front of one of the oldest statues in the garden, tilting my head back to look at it. It’s of Ezekiel Lancaster, Augustus’s brother. His expression is stern, his nose prominent and his lips thin. He looks terribly unhappy. I would probably never admit this out loud, but this statue?
It creeps me out a little—well, more than anything, I feel sorry for him.
“Who’s this dude?” Rhett asks as he comes to a stop beside me.
“Ezekiel Lancaster is the younger brother of Augustus.”
“And Augustus was the one who started all of this, right?”
I nod. “Ezekiel was younger by only a year. Supposedly they were always close, though Ezekiel was also envious of his brother’s success. Everything came naturally to Augustus, while Ezekiel worked extra hard and was rarely awarded for his efforts.”
“Typical brother against brother shit is what you’re telling me.”
