Rose thinks of Edward’s daughter somewhere on the interstate from Atlanta, curious what this potential niece might be like. Rose was naïve to believe that the mansion burning down had brought an end to all the Temple secrets. Another layer is bubbling to the surface. Maybe her Temple ancestors will never rest in peace until that Book of Secrets is destroyed. Or should she say books?
Celebrations shouldn’t be stressful, she decides.
But she can’t quit thinking about those Temple ledgers. Does Regina have a copy of the secrets that Edward released to the Savannah newspaper in the weeks leading up to the fire? Maybe she knows exactly why Edward’s daughter is coming. Maybe Edward kept the juiciest secrets for a future release. Blackmail goes a long way in business negotiations or in generating cash. Rose isn’t sure why she should even care. However, if the books exist, they can potentially do harm, and the Temple family is not free.
Finally dressed, she checks out the tent and seating arrangements on the beach. Queenie will be pleased. She takes a moment to look out over the ocean, comparing it to her former view of the Rocky Mountains. Adjusting to East Coast living again has taken some time.
Rose hasn’t been able to paint since she got here, and this concerns her more than she wants to admit. Last week, Rose dreamed her mother hid all her paints and paintbrushes. She couldn’t sleep the rest of the night after that and has slept fitfully ever since.
Twenty-five years ago, Rose knew she had to leave Savannah or she would spend her life in her mother’s shadow and never recover her self-esteem. Even now, her presence still looms, if only in memory. How ironic that the hurricane out in the Atlantic carries her mother’s name. Is the storm reminding Rose that her mother is always watching, always lurking on the edges of her life? Rose takes a deep breath of ocean air to clear the past away. But will it ever go away completely?
Painting is the only time Rose feels like she is doing something she is meant to do. Two galleries in Sante Fe, New Mexico, carry her Western landscapes. But she doesn’t live in the West anymore, and moving back to the East Coast required more energy than she anticipated. If that wasn’t enough, the Temple mansion burned down, which was where they had planned to live. Followed by Plan B, the renovation and move into this house. Followed by 9/11. She hears herself making excuses and stops.
A blank canvas is sometimes a good thing, she tells herself. I can go in a totally different direction if I want.
However, new directions take time and patience, and she hopes she is up for the task.
When Rose returns to the house, Old Sally is sitting in the living room by the front window with Katie. Just seeing Old Sally makes Rose feel more settled. Katie rises when she sees Rose and excuses herself to go to the bathroom again.
“Can I get you anything?” Rose asks Old Sally.
“If you could return my teacup to the kitchen, that would be helpful,” she says.
It is only lately that Old Sally has been asking for help with little things, like taking a teacup or helping her stand if she’s been sitting. The cup rattles gently on the saucer, her hand not as steady as it once was.
Tea leaves deposit a message in the bottom of the cup. Do they spell out danger? Is the stranger coming to town going to change their lives forever? Rose has read enough novels to imagine the worst. If the stranger were anyone other than her brother’s offspring, Rose might look forward to meeting a new family member. But Edward was a carbon copy of their mother. Manipulative. Controlling. Always wanting to have the most power in a room. All attributes guaranteed to make Rose cautious about meeting his daughter.
When Rose returns, Old Sally pats her hand and thanks her. They are waiting for Queenie to come downstairs to start the procession as the guests continue to arrive and walk down to the beach.
“Earlier today, I remembered how you and Violet played on this beach as girls,” Old Sally says. “You called yourselves the Sea Gypsies. Remember?” Old Sally laughs a short laugh. “You two were the beginning of a promise to me. You gave me hope that someday color wouldn’t matter in this world.”
“Queenie was always around, too,” Rose says. “Now I know why.”
“Yes, you do,” Old Sally says, patting her hand again.
Rose can’t imagine how hard it must have been for Queenie, at nineteen, to have a child that she kept secret. A child that was sired by Rose’s father. A fact that still shocks her when she thinks about it.
Do children ever know who their parents really are? Rose wonders.
Family secrets in the South are like kudzu; they grow like crazy and are nearly impossible to get rid of. For years she thought her father was an honest and kind man. Never would she have imagined that he might take advantage of Queenie in that way, or in any way.
Dear, sweet Queenie, Rose thinks.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t the first white man to take advantage of the people who worked for him. Nor can Rose imagine Old Sally’s life—living in the South as a black woman for over a hundred years. A servant most of her life. A servant to Rose’s family.
A familiar guilt rises and flushes her face. While her mother wore entitlement every day of her life like a set of pearls, privilege has never sat well with Rose. Old Sally has more integrity in her pinkie finger than Rose’s mother had in her entire body. Rose looks at her hand, where her fingertip is missing. A small sacrifice to the past, thanks to Edward and a Temple sword.
“You know how much I love you, don’t you?” Rose kneels next to Old Sally’s chair so they can be eye to eye.
Old Sally covers Rose’s pale hand with her dark one. “You be my English Rose. My beautiful girl.”
Tears come to Rose’s eyes. A moment of peace amidst all the wedding preparations.
Old Sally turns her gaze to the objects on the table, her ritual for as long as Rose has known her. Mementos that stand in for people Old Sally sends healing to and protection from the harshness of the world every single day.
“I have a favor to ask,” Old Sally says.
“Anything,” Rose says, and she means it.
“There be only a few people left that I watch after these days. Most of them are right here in this house. Would you take over when I’m gone?”
Rose pauses with new tears. It is another day of moisture in the low country. At breakfast, Violet said that she was more emotional than usual today, and Queenie admitted the same. The three of them agreed to not question it and flow with it.
“I would be honored to carry on for you,” Rose says to Old Sally.
Old Sally thanks her and takes a deep breath, as if this is one more thing she can let go of before she goes.
Although Rose and Old Sally have never spoken of the key, she is sure Old Sally noticed it there. Rose placed it on the table the day she met Regina, Edward’s secret wife. Regina gave Rose an unopened envelope that contained correspondence between her brother and her mother. If Regina had known what was inside, she might never have given it to Rose. Along with the key, there was a letter that told of a second, older safe-deposit box that contained another Book of Secrets. Rose’s first instinct was to throw the key away and let that old book rot in the vault until all those secrets could die away, along with her mother and Edward.
Old Sally picks up the key and hands it to Rose. “It be time to lay all the ghosts to rest.”
“Lay the ghosts to rest?” Rose repeats, wondering if Old Sally heard her thoughts.
“You’re the next in line in the Temple family,” Old Sally tells her. “The responsibility falls to you.”
Rose has trouble meeting Old Sally’s eyes. It’s not like a person can choose their lineage. Rose is tired of being a Temple and lugging around all the history that comes with it. Old Sally talks about her ancestors in such a positive way, but Rose wishes hers would leave her alone. She grew up with their lavish portraits staring at her in every room of the mansion. Meanwhile, Old Sally’s family seems less encumbered, despite being fated to live in the shadows of wealthy white people.<
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Rose offers a reluctant nod and places the key in the pocket of her dress. She has no idea what Old Sally means by the Temple history being Rose’s responsibility. She has watched Old Sally pass on the Gullah ways and their rich history to Violet—at times, almost enviously. But the Temple traditions are about amassing power and more money than you could possibly spend in a lifetime. Is that a heritage that needs to be passed on?
Despite the warm breeze moving through the house, Rose shivers.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Violet
The wedding nearly under way, Violet takes a last look at the reception table. She adjusts a serving spoon here and there before deciding it is as good as she can make it. Meanwhile, Tia and Leisha escort guests to the white folding chairs under the rented white tent. The girls wear matching dresses, and their hair is in matching beaded braids that Old Sally fixed for them yesterday, like she fixed Violet’s hair when Violet was their age. They were each allowed to invite one friend to the wedding, and wear makeup, which they are usually not allowed to wear. They appear more grown-up than usual. They are beautiful young women.
“Is Queenie ready?” Rose asks Violet in the kitchen.
“She’s in her room sitting in front of three oscillating fans to keep from sweating,” Violet says. They exchange a smile.
“Should we take her a glass of wine or something?” Rose asks.
“She’s fine, just a little nervous.”
“It’s amazing how much time and energy goes into a twenty-minute ceremony,” Rose says.
Violet agrees and pulls a baking sheet of peach turnovers that she had almost forgotten out of the oven.
Rose asks what she can do to help.
“Maybe put these on a serving plate once they’re cool?”
Rose nods.
Violet and Rose have agreed that they will be so relieved when Queenie’s wedding is over. It has been the topic of conversation between them for weeks—that and the birth of Katie’s baby.
Fortunately, the day is sunny, with no hurricanes in sight. The weather people have been wrong plenty of times. Countless storms have been predicted to hit the Georgia/South Carolina coast that never did, and this one is merely a projection, too—so far.
Jack calls Violet from the front door. She doesn’t like the tone of his voice. Not upset, but concerned.
Violet meets him on the porch, where he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Have you seen Spud?”
“No,” she whispers back. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” he says.
“When did you last see him?” Violet lowers her voice another notch.
“I was getting the parking area set up, and he left in his car. Mumbled that he had forgotten something and took off in a flash.”
Reflexively, Violet rubs her shoulder, though it doesn’t seem to be speaking to her right now.
“He was awfully nervous when I saw him in the kitchen this morning,” Jack says. “He isn’t the type to leave Queenie at the altar, is he?”
“No,” Violet says. “He values his life more than that.”
Jack chuckles.
Violet and Spud have been friends for years. It isn’t like him to abandon someone, especially at the altar.
“Spud loves Queenie,” Violet says. “He would never hurt her like that.”
“I didn’t think so, either.”
“Well, maybe he forgot the rings or something,” Violet says.
Jack pulls two silver bands from his suit pocket. “He gave them to me this morning, so he wouldn’t lose them.”
They exchange concerned looks.
“Is his family here yet?” Violet asks.
“Both his sister and brother are sitting in the first row, groom’s side,” Jack says. “But Spud left before they even got here.”
Violet glances at her watch, thinking how out of character this is. It’s time for the ceremony to begin. If Spud doesn’t get back soon, the aftermath of Queenie being stood up at the altar may be more devastating than anything they can imagine.
“I’d better tell Rose, just in case,” Violet says.
“She’s at the tent already, greeting guests,” Jack says.
Violet takes off her apron and hangs it over the back of a rocking chair. She finds Rose greeting people at the entrance of the tent. Rose has done a beautiful job creating a simple, elegant beach-themed wedding. White tent, white chairs, white flowers tied to the end of every row. Large potted plants of peace lilies in full bloom on each side of the altar. All very elegant.
Rose talks to a woman wearing a canary-yellow hat who must be Spud’s sister. She looks like Spud but with more hair and minus the bow tie. When Rose is free again, Violet steps in and steers them to a section behind the chairs, where they can have more privacy.
“Could you tell that was Spud’s sister?” Rose asks with a wink.
“Spud’s missing,” Violet whispers.
“What?” Rose says, full-voiced.
People turn to look. Rose smiles and waves to convey that all is well.
“Where is he?” Rose asks, her tone matching Violet’s whisper.
“Jack saw him leave in his car. He said he forgot something.”
“What in heaven’s name did he forget?”
Violet shrugs, but not without concern.
“This is not good,” Rose says, looking at her watch again.
“It may be nothing,” Violet says, looking at her watch, too. They have been checking the time all morning, rushing to get everything handled. Now they may not even have a groom.
“Does Queenie know?” Rose asks.
“It’s way too quiet in the house for Queenie to know,” Violet says. “There would be screaming and wailing.”
“You want to tell her?” Rose asks.
Violet’s eyes widen.
“I didn’t think so,” Rose says.
“Let’s give him ten minutes to show up,” Violet says. “We have to trust that he’ll be back. We have to.” She pauses, wondering what the best strategy might be in this situation. “I guess I’ll go up and try to prepare Queenie for it, just in case,” she says.
“Good luck with that,” Rose says.
A minute later, Violet approaches Queenie’s bedroom and realizes she has no idea how to tell her mother that her fiancé is missing. When she knocks on the door, Queenie yells for her to come in over the hum of the electric fans. Violet steadies herself and garners her courage before stepping inside.
When Violet enters, Queenie is holding two magazine, one in each hand. She uses them to fan her face, while Oprah’s image flutters on the covers, a chaotic photo montage.
“Vi, I’ve got flop sweat. It’s a hundred degrees in here, and I can’t stop sweating!”
To Violet, the room is chilly with all the oscillating going on, and the unsynchronized movement makes her feel dizzy. Where did Queenie find all these fans anyway? Maybe Spud is in line at Walmart this very minute buying Queenie a few more, chatting it up with the cashier about the pros and cons of orthopedic socks.
“Please tell Spud I need him,” Queenie says. “And tell him to bring clean beach towels. I need to mop up some of this perspiration.”
Should she tell Queenie that Spud has vacated the premises? Or that he was called away for a family emergency, even though his only remaining family is sitting in the front row of the wedding tent? She has never been good at lying. But she also has things left to do before she dies.
“What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?” Queenie asks. “Don’t you see I’m melting here? I’m like the Wicked Witch of the West. Get Spud!”
“I need to tell you something,” Violet says finally, her voice reaching for the calmness Queenie lacks.
Queenie stops fanning herself and tosses the magazines on the bed. She approaches Violet in a whoosh of white that feels slightly intimidating. The fans oscillate toward her to observe what will happen next.
“What do you need to tell me?” Queenie asks.
/> It is the soft volume of Queenie’s voice that alarms Violet the most. It can only get louder from here.
“Well—” Violet pauses and holds her right shoulder, even though she has no pain despite the possibility of another Chernobyl. “We can’t find Spud.” Anticipating an explosion, she cowers. But instead, Queenie rolls her eyes.
“You scared me there for a minute. I thought something horrible had happened. Spud is around here somewhere.”
“He left in his car,” Violet says.
Queenie hesitates. “Why would he leave in his car?”
“He told Jack he forgot something.”
“Well, maybe he did.”
“He’s not back yet,” Violet says.
Queenie looks at the clock and then crosses the room to look out the window. Squinting, she scans the crowd as if looking for a purple beacon of hope.
“He’ll be here,” Queenie says, but her certainty seems to have taken a hit. “Help me put myself together again, Vi. By the time I get downstairs, I bet Spud will be here. At least he’d better be,” she concludes.
While the electric fans toss intermittent waves of coolness in their direction, Violet helps Queenie dry her face and freshen her makeup. Then she straightens Queenie’s yellow scarf and red hat. A dash of color, indeed.
They leave Queenie’s bedroom for the bride to take her place and begin her procession, no groom in sight.
CHAPTER NINE
Queenie
Queenie walks down the stairs and finds Old Sally standing at the front door, waiting to walk her daughter down the aisle. A small bouquet of white roses is tied around Old Sally’s slender left wrist.
At the door, Rose hands Queenie the wedding bouquet Violet made for her—white roses mixed in with seashells. Though Spud is nowhere in sight, the three of them act like nothing is wrong.
“That man had better show up at the altar in the next two minutes,” Queenie says to Violet, who gives Queenie’s stubborn wedding train a final straightening.
Clearly, if Spud doesn’t show up, Queenie’s heart will be broken. Perhaps along with his neck, Queenie thinks.
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