As for family related by blood, there are Queenie and Violet, Violet’s teenage daughters, Tia and Leisha, and Jack. Her soul family is Rose, her husband Max, their daughter, Katie, and Katie’s special friend, Angela. And after today, Spud will live here, too.
Old Sally even has soul pets. Keeping all their names straight helps her mind stay active. Lucy and Ethel are Rose and Max’s border collies. Katie’s little white dog is named Harpo. Angela’s two cats are Zelda and Gertrude. And Tia and Leisha’s pet turtle is named Jake.
Families live so far away from each other these days. Old people go to nursing homes instead of living with their families. Some are perfectly fine. But too many people die lonely. With this arrangement, they all live together yet have their separate spaces. Old Sally might die alone, but loneliness is impossible. Especially with her belief that her ancestors are waiting for her.
As they look out over the sea, Old Sally takes Jack’s arm. He is tall and handsome, a lovely black man.
Last fall, to get their minds off the 9/11 tragedy, Old Sally taught Jack and Max how to fish the Gullah way, with weighted casting nets. Now they catch fish, crab, and shrimp from the creeks on the island. Sometimes Old Sally watches them standing knee-deep in water throwing nets and realizes that Dolphin Island is becoming a part of them, too.
Old Sally enjoys having men around again. Her husband, Samuel, died in the Second World War, so she has been a widow for over fifty years. Their wedding was on the south end of the island at the small church, now in ruins.
“Do you want to stay here a while longer?” Jack says. “I need to get back. Guests will be arriving any minute.”
“I think I’ll walk a little more and gather my thoughts,” Old Sally says.
Before leaving, Jack kisses her hand as if they have just finished a dance. She offers him a slight bow.
Old Sally settles into the silence again, memories rising from her bones. Memories of playing on this beach as a girl, living in a house built for her mother by her uncles and grandfather, before Sally was born. Her mother had three children. Two sons and then Sally, the youngest.
Her mother would never recognize this house now. It is beyond grand. Before, it had only two bedrooms, but that seemed like a castle when Sally was a girl. Now it has seven, as well as a cottage in the back. It surprises her sometimes how big her life has become in the last year. Right when most old people’s lives are getting smaller.
In June of 1920, it was Old Sally who was preparing to wed. Of course, back then she was called Sally; there was nothing “old” about her. Her mother and her Aunt Polly decorated the small church on the island. Palm fronds lined the aisle, with white hydrangeas tied on the end of each pew. Aunt Sissie Mainer, her mother’s older sister, made Sally a beach-shell wedding bouquet with a bleached white starfish lying in the center of purple flowers. She still has the starfish in her collection of unique things.
Her wedding dress was stitched by hand by her grandmother who lived with them—her other grandmother died before Sally was born—who also made sugar cookies shaped like sand dollars, and a wedding cake with two white starfish sitting on the top of sea-blue icing sprinkled with brown sugar to look like sand.
Old Sally still remembers the look of the scars on her grandmother’s arms as she made these things. Injuries from a grease fire in the Temple kitchen while she worked there, back in the slave-owning days. She was finally freed in 1865, right after the war ended.
When Old Sally closes her eyes, she feels her mother’s gentle touch. Even though her mother always came home exhausted, she would fix Sally’s hair before bed to ready it for school the next day. All these years later she still misses her mother. To lose a loving mother is like a heartache that never goes away. However, it was her grandmother she was closest to growing up. Some would call her unlucky to be a servant all her life, but she was lucky to have such loving people around her.
Old Sally looks out over the ocean. Waves were a constant lullaby growing up. A continuous source of comfort. Even now she can recognize the sound of high tide, low tide, and everything in between. Right now, the tide is going out, the beach expanding in time for the wedding.
For seven years—after she married Samuel and before he died in the war—Sally didn’t live on the island. They lived in Savannah in a small apartment because Samuel wanted to break free of the old ways. Sally didn’t see the point of breaking free of something so central to her, but Samuel was her husband, so she did it anyway.
After his death, Sally moved back in with her mother, young children in tow. Ivy came much later, after Old Sally’s other children were already grown and out of the house. She was a change-of-life baby fathered by Iris Temple’s father. Making Iris and Ivy half sisters. No consent to it. Old Sally wanted to keep her job. But those days no longer hurt her. She wasn’t the one who did anything wrong.
Years later “Ivy” became Queenie, a name given to her by Rose and Violet when they were girls and called themselves the Sea Gypsies. An image rises in front of Old Sally of Rose and Violet running on the beach as girls, the sequined scarves she made for them flowing behind them. In her mind, they will forever be Sea Gypsies.
Old Sally takes a deep breath and walks back to the house. Memory works in strange ways. She can’t remember yesterday that well, but she can recall details from eighty years ago. Some memories are painful. Others surprise her with their tenderness. All are a gift.
On the front porch, Violet greets her with a cup of steaming ginger tea—Old Sally’s favorite. She places it on the small wooden table beside Old Sally’s rocking chair. They each take a rocker, though Violet looks about as harried as Old Sally has ever seen her.
“You okay?” Old Sally says, a shared greeting in their family.
“Just need to catch a breath,” Violet says. “Guests are arriving.”
“How’s Queenie?” Old Sally asks.
“Nervous,” Violet says. “She’s touching up her makeup.”
“And the groom?”
“Nervous, too.”
“Marriage be nerve-wracking when you’ve never done it before,” Old Sally says. Can you hear me? Old Sally adds, thinking this instead of speaking.
Violet smiles. “I heard you.”
“Good,” Old Sally says, feeling pleased. “Good,” she says again, more to herself than Violet.
Sometimes an opening occurs between two souls where thoughts can get through. It can happen with mothers and daughters, grandmothers and granddaughters, or two people who have been joined together in a common fate. Like Old Sally helping Iris Temple transition to the next world, although that didn’t entirely work. Old Sally and Violet are hearing each other’s thoughts more often these days. That’s because Old Sally’s time to leave this world is getting close.
“When you get quiet, what are you thinking about?” Violet asks her.
“I be visiting the past since there’s not much future left,” she tells Violet. “Lots to explore there.”
Old Sally is surprised that Violet is taking the time to be with her with so much going on around them. Cars pulling in the driveway. People walking to the wedding tent on the beach. Max and Jack taking turns telling people where to park or running to get something they need. Yet, it is all getting done, and somehow Violet has accepted that. Anyone who knows Queenie knows that her wedding will not start right on time. It would be out of character.
“You know, if this wedding is too much for you, Queenie will understand,” Violet says.
Violet’s protection of her means a lot to Old Sally.
“I’m not about to miss this wedding,” Old Sally says. “I was honored that Queenie wanted me to take part in the ceremony.”
From inside the house, Queenie lets out a frantic call to Violet.
“I’d better go see what’s up,” Violet says.
Old Sally agrees that may be best.
Violet leaves her on the porch, and Old Sally raises the tea to her lips. Her hand has a slight shake
to it these days, like she is getting ready to wave goodbye.
She looks forward to laying her burdens down, as the old spiritual goes. But first, Old Sally must bless Queenie’s wedding.
CHAPTER SIX
Queenie
Queenie fans herself with an issue of O magazine sporting Oprah’s smiling face on the cover. Oprah has Stedman but has never officially married, and for years Queenie was convinced that she was destined to follow in her footsteps. Now she wishes she could call her up and ask her if she knows something Queenie doesn’t know. Maybe marriage isn’t something enlightened women choose to do in the twenty-first century.
A gentle knock on the door breaks her steady stream of second thoughts.
“You okay, sweet pea?” Spud’s voice is muffled through the closed door.
Queenie has forgiven Spud for being in love with Iris for all those years, although she still has trouble understanding it.
“You aren’t supposed to see me before the wedding,” Queenie calls. “It’s bad luck.”
“We got all our bad luck out of the way years ago,” Spud says.
That little devil sure knows what to say and how to say it, Queenie thinks. “Well, if our marriage only lasts a week, it will be your fault,” she says, opening the door.
The look on Spud Grainger’s face makes Queenie quit second-guessing herself. Tears spring to his eyes, and hers, too, and she dares them to mess up her mascara.
“You are the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth,” he says.
Queenie’s glee gives her a quick shiver. She is too old to feel like a teenager in love, but there you go. If she has learned anything in the last year, it is not only to seize the day but seize any moments of happiness she can grab.
“Where in the world did you find a purple suit?” Queenie feels the fabric of his lapel to see if it is velvet and then looks on the back to make sure there isn’t a picture of Elvis.
“I have my sources,” Spud says. “I know your favorite color is purple, and I wanted to make you happy.”
Queenie pulls him inside the bedroom and gives him a kiss that steams up his glasses. It still surprises her how her heartbeat quickens every time she sees him. Finding true love with a skinny white vegetarian butcher was not something she saw coming. Ever.
“Why do you smell like lemons?” she asks. “You been cleaning with Lemon Pledge or something?”
“Rose had me cutting lemons to keep me distracted.” Spud smiles, sniffing the backs of his hands.
“I guess a wedding wouldn’t be a wedding without Mama’s lemonade,” she says.
He agrees.
“You think we should go ahead and start the honeymoon now?” she asks.
He matches her grin and gives her a loving pat on her ample backside. “I still can’t believe I get to do that,” he says.
Spud stretches an arm toward the zipper on the back of her wedding gown, and Queenie stops him.
“Come to think of it, honey, I guess we’d better wait. I may never get back in this dress once I take it off.”
With a sigh, Spud agrees and takes a handkerchief from his pocket to rub the steam from his glasses.
“How’s it going out there?” Queenie asks.
Spud looks away, a sure sign that he isn’t telling her something.
“Out with it.” Queenie places her hands on her hips. She is not to be underestimated. Something about wearing a wedding gown makes her feel like a superhero. Powerful and gracious at the same time. She may have to wear this more often. Maybe in a slightly bigger size. But then she imagines dragging her train everywhere—through the Piggly Wiggly and the Gladys Knight and the Tints beauty parlor—and thinks better of it.
Queenie regains her focus and waits for Spud to answer.
“It’s kind of funny when you think about it,” he says, still not looking her in the eye.
Queenie pulls him toward her by the same lapel she admired earlier. They are almost the same height, but she has a good fifty pounds on him.
“Spud Grainger, don’t even think about lying to me.”
“Two things.” His eyes soften as he looks at her. “First, it seems that Edward Temple has a daughter who is coming to visit today.”
Queenie laughs. “You are such a joker,” she tells him. “This is not April first, and I am nobody’s fool.”
When he doesn’t join in the laughter, she tightens her lips. Queenie has despised Edward Temple with a passion ever since he cornered a teenage Violet in the garden shed at the Temple mansion.
“Since when does Edward have a daughter?” Queenie asks.
“Evidently, it’s a recent discovery,” Spud says.
“What’s the second thing?” she asks, though she isn’t so sure she wants to know.
“A hurricane is forming in the Atlantic.”
“And why should I care?”
“It’s probably nothing,” Spud says, “and I hesitate to even mention it, but—”
“But what?”
Spud hesitates.
“All I’ve wanted for the last six weeks is for this wedding to come off without a hitch. Is that too much to ask?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Spud responds.
Queenie lets out a sound that is a cross between a scream and an oomph. She drags her train to the window and sees blue skies.
“Seriously, is this a joke?” Queenie asks again. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“There is a funny part to it,” Spud says.
“Funny, ha-ha, or funny strange?” Queenie asks, narrowing her eyes at him.
“Funny strange.”
Queenie puts her hands on her hips again, but it isn’t the same as before. She doesn’t feel powerful or graceful at all. She feels plus-size, awkward, and hot-flashy.
“Tell me before I bust a zipper or something,” Queenie says to him, her voice low.
Spud pauses as if being careful of his word choice. “You know how the National Weather Service names storms when they have a certain wind speed and reach hurricane status?”
“Yes, I know that,” Queenie says. “Where in the world are you going with this?”
“Well, the letter they’ve worked their way up to is I.” He looks at her as though waiting for a lightbulb to go off over her head.
“I?”
“Yes, I.” Spud winks.
“What in heaven’s name are you trying to tell me?” Queenie taps her size nine shoe.
Spud’s face turns a light shade of red and begins to glisten from the beads of perspiration forming.
“Well . . .” Spud stutters, “they’ve named the hurricane Iris.”
Queenie laughs like she has just heard the funniest joke of all time, but then realizes that she is the only one laughing.
“That witch will not ruin my wedding,” Queenie says, thinking the b-word would suit Iris better. When it comes to spoiling a special event, Queenie will not put anything past Iris Temple—dead or alive.
Queenie feels like one of those cartoon characters whose face turns fire-engine red right before the steam shoots out of their ears. Spud tells her not to panic, but it seems that that ocean liner has already sailed. Holding up her dress so she doesn’t trip, Queenie pushes past him into the hallway and down the steps that lead to the kitchen.
When they see her coming, Rose and Violet exchange a look that says the hurricane coming starts with a Q, not an I, and her name is Queenie.
“Try to stay calm,” Rose says, meeting Queenie at the entrance to the kitchen. “You look beautiful, by the way,” she adds.
“Try to stay calm?” Queenie’s voice rises, skipping right over the compliment. She drops the skirt of her gown and enjoys a brief rush of cold air up her legs.
“Don’t worry,” Rose says. “Edward’s daughter isn’t due for a couple of hours. It will be the middle of the reception by then.”
“Since when does Edward have a daughter?” Queenie asks.
“It was news to us, too,” Rose
says. “Evidently that was another one of those Temple family secrets.”
“God help us,” Queenie says. “When in heaven will those secrets finally stop haunting us?”
“Good question,” Violet says.
“Do you think she’s a fake and just trying to get Edward’s money?” Queenie asks.
“She supposedly has a birth certificate that proves his paternity,” Rose answers.
“Well, why is she coming here?” Queenie asks.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Rose says. “I think Regina wanted to get rid of her. But I could be wrong.”
“Well, I’ll get rid of her,” Queenie says with another tap of her shoe.
Spud places a calming hand on her shoulder. When she looks at him, she is reminded of Barney, that purple dinosaur that all the kids love. Except this Barney is skinny.
“And that’s not even the biggest news,” Queenie says. “What about this storm?”
“Hurricane Iris is nowhere near here,” Violet says, trying to untangle the train of Queenie’s wedding dress.
Queenie huffs when she hears the name of the hurricane again.
“Is my wedding a cosmic joke?” Queenie asks Rose. Tears threaten to come next. Ugly tears, as Oprah calls them.
Spud, Rose, and Violet look at Queenie as though she is a nuclear reactor threatening a meltdown.
“It’s going to be a wonderful wedding,” Violet says. “The sun is shining, and we’ve got plenty of food—”
“Oh my Lord, what time is it?” Queenie shrieks before swooping up the stairs for her last-minute preparations, cussing Iris on every step.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rose
Gullah Secrets Page 4