The Photograph

This story is by Sherry Avery and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The ride home was silent – the weight of revelation kept us from speaking thoughts we were not yet ready to put into the universe.  I drove with two hands gripping the steering wheel while Marcus clutched the tattered hospital documents.  Our core of self-identity was shaken by what we discovered and only his father could settle the ground for us now.

Just a few nights before, I sat deep in thought about my mother passing.  It was by her bedside while I sang her to sleep that I heard the softness of her last breath.  Although she always beseeched me to trust her about the past, I made no promises to her.  What did a bunch of old black and white photographs of two little boys mean to her, and why did she covertly tuck them away until now?  I had to unravel the secret she held so dear to her heart.

We called ahead about our coming. Marcus put everything out on the table, and we waited from the patio, watching anxiously as James Wilson shuffled through the photographs and clippings. When he finally held the one of Cora Jean, we stepped inside the room.

“What happened Dad?” Marcus demanded.  “Did you love her?”

I was right on his heels with the next question. “Who are the little boys Mr. Wilson?  Please explain all this to us!”

“Dad, we promise to hear you out.  Whatever it is, we need to hear it now!”

James Wilson sat penitently while the surprise of alarm eased into relief across his face – as if he could finally let the buried secret free to live in the open, but he did not know where to begin.

 

The hot sun was high the day we wheeled into the peaceful Southern town. Two well-paved roads crossed to mark the center of community life where the old store still stood. Unbelievably, the sign also hung above the weathered porch of Medford’s Food Shoppe – established 1954.

Marcus and I were best friends who shared college days of healthy mischief and were now focusing on our careers and honing our skills as bachelors.  He had good instincts and loved a challenging mystery.  He was right on board with the idea of discovering as much as we could about the town of Medford.

Marcus chuckled when the cowbell announced our entrance, and an older gentleman greeted us.  Everything about him seemed welcoming.

“Hope you two can help me move this heavy sign outside so everyone can take all this produce off my hands.”

Marcus quickly jumped right in to help.  The entire day was spent meeting the townspeople of Medford who wandered in and out.  None was more special than the spinster Addie Cotler who owned the boarding house across the street.  She invited us over and promised beds for the night.

The more I learned about Medford, the more I wanted to know. Marcus was already making his own deductions from the conversations he overheard.  I understood his caution.  Medford seemed to sit under a layered lack of enlightenment.  Everyone was friendly enough, but I sensed mistrust lying beneath their tolerance.

“I see very few folks who look like me around town.”  I wanted to spark a conversation that might open the door.

The shopkeeper stopped sweeping but did not look up. “You two sure come across real nosey.  We like our visitors to come and go without causing a raucous.”

Marcus spoke up, “It’s such a curious place. We will step more lightly from now on.”

 

Addie Cotler was already full of life by the time Marcus and I trumped into the room which was wallpapered with years of newspaper clippings and old posters of town gatherings.  Addie eagerly brought over a crochet-covered basket filled with a collection of her memories. Right on top was a photograph of a group of men that caught Marcus’ eye.  He recognized a tall well-dressed man as one of his father’s oldest friends.  They had once been business partners, but Marcus had not seen him in years.

Addie quickly recognized him too. “That’s the carpenter’s son from across the pond where the Coloreds live. That group was always stirring up something… mixing in places that were not allowed… always wanting to change things.  It was like they didn’t see they were different.  Couldn’t keep those kids apart from each other.”

“You got any more photos of them together?  We’d like to hear the whole story.”

Marcus was beginning to loop the connection that troubled him about the town.  Open-mindedness was definitely not a practice here. I slowly pulled another photo from the pile. There was my mother as a young woman sitting in the middle of the group, smiling the way I always remembered her whenever she was excited about something.  As I showed it to Marcus, Addie looked over his shoulder and began chattering about knowing her from the old days.

“I always liked that young Cora Jean.  She had such a queenly air about her that all the fellows loved… especially that Jimmy Wilson.  Some folks thought they were too cozy.  I saw them once behind the church holding hands and leaning against each other kinda close like. There was even talk of them getting married. Something like that could never happen in Medford – them being different colors and all. That’s when Mr. Wilson sent Jimmy away to work in the next county.  Cora Jean even had some babies. Her two boys were as thick as thieves… doing everything together.  One day the whole family just up and moved away.”

I was shocked into dumbfoundness.  Marcus helped me stand and walked me towards the door. We both needed a moment to absorb some fresh air. He was quickly piecing the puzzle together, but the link was too incredible to be true.

“James Wilson is my father’s name.”

“Your father?  Was he intimate with my mother?”

“I don’t know.  He never talked about Medford.  Do you think he knows anything about the other boy in the picture?”

There were so many questions racing through our heads. What began as curiosity was now unfolding into a shared journey of emotional upheaval.  Addie offered a suggestion that we look for more information about the birth of Cora Jean’s two babies.

“I think the church archives can help you there.  All the old records of Medford’s Coloreds were stored there for safekeeping.”

I kept staring at the photo I found in my mother’s hidden box.  My name was all that was written on the back. Who was the happy fair-skinned boy playing with me?  The only answer that made any sense was punishing me to wrap my brain around it.  How could I ever believe my mother could keep such a reality from me and take it to her death.  Did she truly believe such a secret could stay buried?

Across the room, Marcus sat quietly near his father as he repeatedly whispered pleas for forgiveness.

“We tried to do the right thing.  We could never marry, but we could not deny our love.  For a while we were able to secretly hide our relationship.”

“Why hide it?  Why not live like a real family?  Did the hateful people of Medford push you out?” I tried wholeheartedly to understand.

“Cora Jean tried to keep you boys together, but it was too hard to deal with the questions about how different you were.  We lived in times of ignorant unrest, so we agreed that separate lives would be safer.  We promised to never tell the truth – though it cost us all the family we could not have.  Eventually Cora Jean left town with David because he looked more like her color, and I decided to raise Marcus in the white community because he was fair skinned.”

James Wilson leaned against the wall and buried his face in his arm.  Marcus stopped holding his breath and a slow release of confusion left his soul.  Sobbing, he embraced his father, and I stepped closer to rest a firm hand on his shoulder.  A feeling of peace engulfed the room. Everything had changed, but instead of resentment, the truth carried a warmth of belonging and acceptance.

Marcus spoke with a calmness, “No matter how we grew up on different sides of the track, the bond we shared for years has always owned a space in the world.”

I fondly agreed, “There are a lot of pages to turn in our story, but all that really matters is that we still arrived where we knew we were meant to be.”

James pulled a creased photo from his wallet and centered it on the table over the other pictures. Standing arm in arm as brothers, Marcus and I smiled. There in an open field of tall grass the four were waving… Cora Jean and James… with two little boys between them.