Frank Kincaid couldn't conceal his delight at his daughter's open-mouthed expression. The Vermeil brothers couldn't conceal their disgust.

“Devora darling, are you shocked? You seem shocked.”

“ You're telling me you openly grow marijuana for the United States of America?”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“And you're practicing slavery here on the plantation with government sanction?”

"Proud to say I am, in keeping with fine Kincaid tradition. Come. Sit. Let's have some supper.”

Frank rang a small porcelain bell and Sichee appeared with the first course.

It was Brish, a hearty gumbo, served with *johnny bread slathered with butter. Devora hadn't realized how hungry she actually was until Sichee brought in the steaming bowls of stew. The okra and tomato floating on the top gave the dish a festive appearance. Taking her large, silver spoon in hand, she scooped unladylike portions into her mouth, tearing off chunks of johnny bread and dipping them into the stew. If her mouth was full, she couldn't say anything in response to her father's admission.

She noticed Jubal Vermeil staring intently at her. She didn't like his eyes. They were dark and bottomless with no discernible separation between iris and pupil. He seemed to be sneering at her when he said:

“Didn't I see you in the car with Josef this morning? Riding up front?”

“Yes. I was there. I didn't notice you, however.” Devora, hastily swallowing, replied.

“Josef saw me though. Frank, I didn't know your daughter was allowed to ride up front with the help.”

“She's not. Josef knows I have strict rules about that. He been getting outta line a lot lately. I'm gonna have to have a word or two with him.”

“I'd be happy to handle that wording for you, Frank” Leon Vermeil said.

Juice from the gumbo ran down his chin. He dabbed at it almost daintily with his napkin.

“I know y'all don't think I take a hard enough tack with my servants but I can assure you, this will be handled properly.”

“Well, I hope so. Your niggers is out out of control and damn near taking over the place!” 

“Please, Frank, don't punish Josef for something I've done. He told me you wouldn't like it, but I insisted on riding up there with him.”

“I'm sorry but he knows the rules, and he knows better than to to let anyone, and I do mean anyone, override what I say.”

“But Frank he didn't mean--”

“Not another word about it! It's settled. Sichee? Sichee? Where's that girl at? She's lazier than a tick full of blood, that one. Come on in here, girl an' bring me the rest of my dinner!”

Devora, sensing her father's obstinacy in front of the Vermeils, decided she would speak to him later on Josef's behalf. She felt ill at the prospect of him being punished for something that was her fault. She'd promised him that everything would be alright and now she had to do something to protect him from her father's misplaced wrath.

Sichee came in carrying a huge platter of fried chicken. Large,fluffy, buttermilk biscuits surrounded the chicken on the dish. She placed it on the table while another girl brought in individual bowls of sopping gravy for the biscuits. Yet another servant carried in a steaming bowl of turnip greens with *fat back. Conversation was curtailed for the moment as they dug into the food. When they finished and the table was cleared,

Frank announced he wanted Devora to join him and the Vermeils for coffee and brandy in the library. Devora was surprised at this breakaway from southern tradition.

The women were never asked to join the men at their after-dinners, so she wondered why he'd make such a request. Nothing he'd done or said since she'd arrived made any sense. She supposed this was just one more thing that didn't.

“After you, Miss Devora” Leon Vermeil said as he ushered her in front.

“Thank you, Mr. Vermeil.” Devora replied as she followed her father into the room.

                                ****

The library/study was a man's haven with floor to ceiling bookshelves, large overstuffed chairs, and heavy, dark furniture. The thick brocade curtains added to the room's somber and masculine appearance. The one appealing thing this room had that the others did not, was a telephone. It sat on a small oak table in the corner. Frank walked over to the sideboard where there were several decanters of liquor. He chose one, held it up to the light, smiled, and began to pour auburn liquid into snifters. She took a seat on one of the smaller sofas, while Jubal and Leon sat opposite her on the larger one. Frank handed out glasses of brandy and settled into a large wing chair next to the fireplace.

“Devora, I've invited you to join us because I have some news that concerns you. Here. I'd like you to read this. You need only concern yourself with the codicil on the last page.”

As Devora began to read the papers Frank handed her, surprise and shock were evident. Her jaw dropped, her mouth was agape, and her hands shook violently.

The document was a copy of Frank's last will and testament. In the attached codicil, everything that Frank owned was being left to her as his only living heir. The main house and grounds, the prize horses, his fifty-one percent holding in the Sugarbush farm, and a cash settlement of three and a half million dollars. Included in the property settlement were all of the servants, and their offspring. In addition, there was 1.5 million dollars worth of jewelry that now belonged to her that came from Frank's mother. The grandmother she'd never even met.

“Frank you can't be serious. There must be some mistake. Surely there's someone else to whom you can give this...this conspicuous wealth?”

“Girl, let me be correct on this. Are you saying you don't want the money or anything else I've offered you?”

“I just don't understand why you want to give it all to me, someone you've just met and barely know.”

“You're my flesh and blood, the best and brightest of the bunch, so there it is. What's your decision, daughter? I need to know soon.” he said, pointedly.

"Why? Why do you need such an immediate decision, Frank? I've been here less than forty eight hours. I need time to think it over.”

“You've got until tomorrow afternoon. In the morning, You, the Vermeils, and I are heading out to Sugarbush, so you can kinda get an idea of what goes on, what it takes to run such a big operation. Sam Kittridge and I are partners. You'll like him and his wife, Sara Ann. They're real down home people.”

He can't be serious. This is a joke, of course. But in her heart, she knew her father meant every word.

Lord give me a sign. Anything. I'm about to become the black owner of a slave plantation and a controlling partner in a marijuana growing business. What am I supposed to do?
                                   ****

Devora did not hear the Vermeil brothers when they rode out, hell bent for leather toward Sugarbush farm. They reported to the Kittridges on a need-to-know basis, and the Kittridges needed to know that Frank Kincaid had lost his damn mind, and was giving controlling interest in the business and the farm to that nigger daughter of his.

He'd told them she was half white, but no matter. One drop of black, tainted blood and that's all she wrote.

They couldn't wait to tell the boys at the Willie Lynch Society about this one. The WLS would put a stop to Frank's plan for sure. 
                              ****