Epilogue

It was a splendid Sunday afternoon in May, highlighted by an azure sky, splendid views of snow-capped mountain peaks, and robin redbreasts hopping through budding daffodils. Warmth and happiness abounded.

Walter suggested that Margaret prepare a picnic basket and take the family to City Park for the evening band concert. The children could delight in the accompanying fountain display in the middle of the lake, which always garnered audiences’ “oohs,” and “aahs,” as sprayed plumes of water were illuminated by rainbow-colored lighting gels.

As soon as they had arrived and claimed a picnic table, Walter and Aunt Euphrates went to feed breadcrumbs to the ducks, while Anthony, home from Howard University for a brief visit with his parents, romped in the grass with Jake and Iris.

He had dubbed himself the children’s uncle, and though they hadn’t yet turned two years old, he spent as much time with them as his being in school in Washington, D.C., permitted.

Margaret was worried that Anthony still held himself responsible for Kyle and Amy’s deaths. She prayed daily that he would someday realize the truth … that he had saved the lives of two innocent babies.

She stretched out on the blanket and contentedly watched her new family. She couldn’t help reflecting on how much her life had changed, and, how much she was grateful for.

Jake and Iris were becoming quite the little personalities, and both were completely — thankfully — healthy.

Iris, the more curious one, always into everything, had Kyle’s pale skin color and dark brunette hair.

Jake, the fearless one, ever climbing up on or jumping off something, had Amy’s cocoa complexion and blondish hair.

They reminded her of how her father and his twin sister reflected each of their parents’ ancestry.

If only she could know that Kyle and Amy would approve of how she and Walter were raising Jake and Iris and of where she was raising them—East Denver in Five Points within the Negro community.

No one there ever questioned Margaret or Walter about the children, or about their marriage. Indeed, many of Margaret’s new friends assumed that she was colored. She had even begun to think of herself as colored.

And Walter, well, he treated Jake and Iris as if they were his own; true to his pledge to her upon his proposal of marriage.

Margaret was just as appreciative of Aunt Euphrates. In fact, she had forgotten that their lives hadn’t always been so intertwined. Furthermore, Euphrates made the ultimate sacrifice when her sister and family moved to California shortly after the house had burned down.

They had urged Euphrates to go with them, but she insisted that they get settled before she joined them.

Walter had guessed correctly that the real reason Aunt Euphrates had remained in Denver was to help Margaret raise Jake and Iris, and so, on the day of his wedding, he asked Euphrates to come live with them.

Margaret already loved him, for abundant reasons, but all that he did for her family made him her hero.

She wanted to believe that her father, Angus, would have—sooner or later—approved of Walter. Likewise, that Angus would have been very pleased that she was finally, and truly, happy.

A mother duck and her five ducklings waddled out of the lily pond, quacking excitedly, the mother guarding her brood closely as she led them across to the lake.

“I hope I’ll do as good a job as you, mother duck,” Margaret said to the feathered family as they ambled past.

While watching the feathered family continue onto the lake, Margaret noticed that the Municipal Band was beginning to assemble on the floating platform and that other picnickers were setting up atop and across the slope of Museum Hill, which overlooked the lake.

There were also numerous pedestrians, roller skaters, and bicyclists, including several unicyclists, enjoying the path around the lake.

Margaret was at peace with her life and herself.

She looked over at the children and laughed at their antics as they played, noisily and joyfully, with Anthony.

Walter caught her attention as he waved to her from the lake’s shore. Aunt Euphrates was still tossing food to the ducks. Margaret stood and waved back to him.

A letter fell out of her dress pocket onto the blanket.

She picked the letter up and went to sit under a nearby Cottonwood for a bit of privacy. It was Gwen’s latest, and this time, the envelope was postmarked Paris, France.

It was an entertaining report about Gwen and her new pals; a group of expatriate American writers and jazz musicians, many of them Negroes.

Gwen was most thrilled about having met Josephine Baker, a young colored woman, also from the states, who performed in dance revues and was all the rage in Europe. Gwen had heavily underlined that even royalty courted her.

Jake and Iris ran up to Margaret and fell into her lap, giggling.

She refolded the letter, returned it to the envelope, and put the envelope back in her pocket.

She felt great hope for the children’s future.

Mostly, Margaret wanted to believe that the time had passed that caused a person to feel the need to make a choice like the one her father had made—to lie about his true identity.

This meant that she, Walter, Aunt Euphrates, Anthony, and others must instill pride in the children and the truth about themselves.

Margaret looked at each child’s precious face and stretched out her arms to them.

“Jake, Iris, come give your Grandmother Margaret a big hug.”