Anyone passing by Walter and Claire Drake’s vast farm property in the Louisiana countryside just east of New Orleans would have thought a public festival was in full swing. Or maybe that a mini carnival had been set up for the Fourth of July holiday. A few excited would-be patrons had, in fact, been turned away from the private event by security manning the gated entrance.

Only those related to or invited by a Drake family member could attend the family’s twenty-fifth biennial reunion, where descendants of former slaves and the owners who held them came together to honor their shared heritage and the enduring legacy of friendship between the slave Nicodemus Drake and his owner, Pierre. The story that forever bonded them had been passed down for generations.

The two men had grown up together, more like brothers than anything else. While making the journey to relocate from New Orleans to California, Pierre had fallen ill. Nicodemus’s knowledge of herbal remedies and holistic healing had saved his life. Pierre was forever indebted to Nicodemus. In his will, Pierre deeded over to his lifelong friend more than a hundred acres of pristine land in tony Temecula, California—Southern California’s wine country. He’d also stipulated that upon his death, Nicodemus and his immediate family would be given their freedom. This indeed occurred, and while the families dispersed across the United States—including Nicodemus’s son who settled in Northern California—the ties that bound them, black and white alike, remained strong. In 1967, amid social unrest and war protests, Walter’s grandparents had joined with Pierre’s side of the family and held the first Drake reunion. Fifty years later, they still reunited every two years—bigger and stronger than ever.

Julian Drake, the youngest son of the fourth-generation Northern California clan, sat among a group of his relatives in the large, cool tent that was centered among colorful bounce houses, carnival rides and games. They were being entertained by a group of brothers and cousins going up against wives and girlfriends in a friendly yet competitive game of Family Feud. As often was the case, Julian sat quiet, contemplative, taking in everything going on around him. He’d been this way since childhood—his brothers loud and boisterous, Julian observant. Saying nothing, and missing nothing, either. So much so that during a visit to Louisiana his mother, Jennifer, had voiced her concern to his grandmother Claire.

“Almost eighteen months and still not talking,” Jennifer had whispered, afraid to say the words out loud.

Claire had given Jennifer’s hand a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry none about that child. He’s a special one. Not in that way,” she’d quickly added when Jennifer’s eyes grew wide. “Not that we would love him any less if that’s the case. But I mean special as in gifted, maybe even like Nicodemus, as I am told, able to see into the future. Don’t worry. He’ll talk when he’s ready, and when he does, he’ll have something meaningful to say.”

Claire had been right. Two months later Julian uttered his first words, a complete sentence, to his next-oldest brother, Terrell. Julian had been reading a book. Terrell wanted to play a game. Julian had looked up and pointedly demanded, “Leave me alone.”

Jennifer had breathed a sigh of relief. His interactions with siblings and friends gradually increased. But to this day, he was still mostly a man of few words. Although when spoken, his statements usually had value.

Terrell was the exact opposite. He was a talkative extrovert who commanded attention everywhere he went and was the perfect host for these rounds of family fun.

“Next question,” Terrell said, holding up a card while standing between his cousin Diamond and her husband, Jackson, whose hands were poised below bright red cowbells that served as buzzers.

“Name a side—”

Jackson clanged his bell. “Patricia!”

Men groaned. Women laughed. Julian smiled.

Terrell

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