Gullah Secrets

by Susan Gabriel

  “He was older than me,” Rose says instead. “He had a totally different set of friends than I did. We rarely played together.” Her pinkie finger vibrates where Edward cut it off with one of the Temple Confederate swords when she was five. Is that the kind of story Heather wants? Or does she want to hear how he would shove Rose against walls as he passed or try to trip her on the staircase or trap her in her bedroom?

  “Do you know about the fire that took his life?” Rose asks.

  “Yes. My mother had a copy of the newspaper article in her things.”

  Heather straightens her hair, blown by the ocean breeze. Rose can’t remember a single time her mother came to the beach, even with it being this close to Savannah. Meanwhile, Heather shows no remorse for Edward’s death. No apparent longing for what might have been. Or perhaps she is good at hiding it. Rose was good at hiding her emotion at her mother’s deathbed, too. It was the first time she had been back to Savannah since she married Max.

  Is Heather here to merely meet her long-lost aunt? Or is she here with a purpose in mind that she isn’t talking about? If she is, Rose is intent on finding out what it is.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Violet

  The reception is a hit. The crab cakes and shrimp cocktail are well received, and Violet’s cocktail sauce—as always—has guests asking for the recipe. When she was in Miss Temple’s employ, receptions were frequent. Mounds of seafood, finger foods, and fresh fruits were standard. Depending on Miss Temple’s mood, sometimes even a chocolate fountain was prepared, along with strawberries for dipping. At Violet’s new tea house, she bakes. Muffins and pastries. Banana and pumpkin bread. Pies and cakes. She must admit she has enjoyed putting together something that doesn’t involve quite as much sugar and white flour.

  With all the serving bowls and platters full again, Violet turns on the small television in her bedroom for the weather. Tia and Leisha and their friends stand in front of the mirror in her bathroom, putting on additional eye makeup. Tia will be sixteen soon, and Leisha will graduate from high school next week. In a little over two months, Leisha will be leaving for the College of Charleston, a school they never could have afforded a couple of years ago. Edward tried to prove in court that his mother had been out of her mind when she changed the will in Violet’s favor, but it was not overturned. Somehow Edward was the loser in the will. Something that surprised Violet considering how loyal he was to Miss Temple. At least she always thought he was loyal, until she found out that Edward was the person who was releasing all those secrets. Evidently, not everything and everyone is as they seem.

  On the news, a weather map shows a tight twist of clouds in the Caribbean. The hurricane has made landfall in St. Croix as a Category 3 storm. Violet still can’t believe the coincidence of a hurricane named Iris forming on the day of Queenie’s wedding. It sounds like something Miss Temple might have arranged just for spite. Do spirits have that much power? If any might, it would be Miss Iris Temple.

  “What are you watching?” Tia flutters her eyelashes, thick with mascara, in Violet’s direction.

  “Just the weather,” Violet says, seeing no need to excite them any more than they already are. Like Spud noted, Savannah has a history of predicted hurricanes that hit somewhere else. This storm is still far away. She imagines it will fizzle out after making landfall, which they often do.

  Honestly, what worries Violet more than a hurricane is the notion of Tia and Leisha leaving home. She’s not sure how to deal with an empty nest. Although even without them, their communal nest will be far from empty.

  When Violet returns to the kitchen, the party is full of life. Happy to be on the fringes, she loads the dishwasher and then washes a few things by hand. If anyone else knows about the storm, they don’t seem that concerned.

  Meanwhile, Queenie and Spud dance to Lionel Richie in the living room. Queenie waves for Violet to join them, but Violet smiles and waves her suggestion away. Even with all the preparations, there is still plenty to do.

  Rose enters the kitchen followed by a young woman. Violet stops washing dishes and her eyes widen. She shivers like the warm day has suddenly turned cold. Heather could be Miss Temple’s ghost, if she had died when she was twenty instead of eighty.

  Rose lifts an eyebrow as if to say, You see it, too?

  Her gesture reminds Violet of when she and Queenie used signals during the long meals with Miss Temple at the Temple mansion. Meals where silence was required of them.

  “Heather found out recently that Edward was her father,” Rose says. “She’s come here to meet us.”

  Heather is taller than Violet and looks slightly down on her. A position that feels all too familiar. She decides not to bring up the fact that she is Heather’s half aunt. That would require too much explanation on a day when she is so tired. Besides, she can barely keep all the family connections straight as it is.

  “You have a beautiful home,” Heather says to Violet.

  She wonders if Heather thinks that she and Rose are a couple. Their living situation has perplexed many people, especially those who could never imagine living with a collection of souls who are in some ways related by blood, and in other ways not related at all.

  “I’d better check the food,” Violet says, telling Heather that it was nice to meet her, though she isn’t so sure it was.

  Compared to Tia and Leisha, who aren’t that much younger, Heather seems sophisticated, worldly. Violet isn’t entirely convinced it isn’t all just an act. She has known families where genetic traits appear to skip a generation, but this is almost creepy. Violet recalls dusting early photographs in solid gold frames in Miss Temple’s bedroom that could be of Heather instead of Miss Temple.

  Violet stands at the sink overlooking the wooden walkway that connects the big house to Rose and Max’s cottage. The sky is a deep blue with no clouds in sight, but according to the weather reports that could change as the storm progresses.

  Katie walks into the kitchen with Angela not far behind. Katie’s Lamaze classes usually meet here on Saturday afternoons. Right about now they usually have a living room full of pregnant women and their husbands or partners, pushing and blowing until Violet thinks she might give birth herself from all the encouragement. Because of the wedding, they won’t be meeting today, which is probably a good thing. That crowd would have devoured all the food by now.

  Angela steps up to dry the dishes Violet recently washed. “Have you heard about the storm?” she asks.

  “I doubt there’s anything to worry about,” Violet says. “We never get hurricanes around here.”

  She bases her confidence on how her left shoulder would be aching by now if there was a danger. Although, her shoulder has never predicted weather-related incidents before. Probably because there haven’t been any.

  “We never get hurricanes where I’m from, either,” Angela says.

  Katie dips a cucumber slice into the avocado dip that Violet will soon return to the reception table. “I guess it’s safe to say we’re all novices in the hurricane department,” she says, offering to help, too.

  When all the dishes are dry and put away, Katie and Angela join the party in the living room. Tia and Leisha are now dancing with their friends, eyes brilliant with shadow, mascara, and thick eyeliner, and circles of wine-colored rouge on their dark cheeks.

  The music stops and the bride and groom collapse, smiling, onto the sofa. The wedding, as far as Violet can tell, is a complete success. Thanks to Old Sally, the ceremony was lovely and meaningful. Afterward, she heard several people say that they felt part of something extraordinary. They were also complimentary about Violet’s singing. Most importantly, Queenie was pleased.

  It has only been two years since Violet found out that she is Queenie’s daughter. Given how close they always were, it seems obvious now. But sometimes the obvious isn’t noticeable at all. Sometimes the truth is hidden right in front of you. She wonders what other secrets have been kept from her, and what secrets are in this room
right now. Besides possibly Heather.

  Meanwhile, Old Sally is nowhere in sight, and Rose and Heather have moved to the back patio. What could they possibly be talking about that has Rose looking so somber? Somber like she was as a girl whenever she was around Miss Temple, who corrected her almost nonstop. Violet would have asked Heather to leave by now simply because of the creepiness factor, but Rose has always had trouble telling people no. Especially people who look like Rose’s mother.

  Violet should have known that the Temples weren’t the type to rest in peace. Even though Edward’s ghost isn’t hanging around the rafters, now his daughter has shown up.

  Let’s hope it’s not to make trouble, Violet thinks.

  Violet is too tired to deal with trouble. Too tired to deal with anything other than letting her thoughts wander.

  If Edward hadn’t accidentally started the fire that burned down the mansion, they would be living in that grand old house in Savannah. Yet, despite the tragedy, everything seems to have worked out for the best. Violet is honored to be learning the Gullah secrets and her family’s history. Honored to be entrusted with what Old Sally knows. Their Gullah ancestors have been here for almost two centuries. They brought with them a rich ancestry from Africa and built a culture here. A culture based on ancient medicines, rituals, and folk magic. Preserving that history is essential. What they don’t know, however, is where their Gullah story will go from here.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Queenie

  With all the guests finally gone from the reception, Queenie and Spud sit on the couch, their arms entwined. Queenie wants to bottle this happiness and drink from it the rest of her life.

  “Hello, Mrs. Grainger,” Spud says, his voice soft and affectionate.

  “Hello, Mister Grainger,” she responds, marveling at how skinny his arm is compared to hers.

  What she doesn’t tell Spud is that she wants to keep her old name, but she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. It is the twenty-first century, after all. If Oprah ever marries Stedman, Queenie doubts she’ll change her name, either. It occurs to her that maybe she could ask Spud to change his name to Spudman, but then thinks better of it.

  Marrying Spud has taught her something about change. Mainly that you never know what will be good for you until you try. Before falling in love with Spud, Queenie rolled her eyes at interracial couples. She is sorry about that now.

  People can change their minds, thank goodness, otherwise the world wouldn’t evolve at all, she thinks, her lightheartedness taking a turn. Heaven knows we need the world to change.

  Last fall, on September 11, the world changed the instant the first plane hit the towers. Now all these white people think that dark-skinned foreigners are the enemy.

  Well, aren’t we all foreigners? she asks herself. Didn’t every single one of us come from somewhere else?

  “What are you thinking about, lemon drop? You suddenly went away.”

  “Those towers,” she says with a sigh.

  Spud looks puzzled and perhaps surprised she would be thinking of 9/11 on their wedding day, but then he lowers his eyes. After those towers came down, he stayed quiet for days. Queenie likes that he is sensitive. Musicians are often like that, at least the best ones are. But for the life of her, she can’t figure out how he was ever a butcher. He will capture a mouse and relocate it instead of killing it.

  People are a mystery, Queenie thinks.

  Spud squeezes her hand and smiles at her. “Let’s not ruin our wedding day worrying about the state of the world,” he says.

  Queenie agrees, though he’s done plenty of worrying as far as she can tell. She shifts her thoughts and looks at him lovingly.

  To her unending surprise, Spud Grainger is every bit as sexy to her as her longtime heartthrob, Denzel Washington. Turns out it doesn’t matter what a person looks like as long as your two hearts match up.

  Queenie gives Spud a full-out kiss right there on the couch. Her shoes drop to the floor and her toes tingle. When Spud played “Here Comes the Bride” on his saxophone she thought she might keel over in the dunes from the surge of love that came through her like a lightning bolt.

  A young woman comes in the back door with Rose. A stranger. But someone who looks somehow familiar.

  “Who’s that?” Queenie asks Spud, motioning toward the kitchen.

  “That’s Rose’s brother’s daughter I told you about. Heather.”

  Queenie’s eyes narrow in instant distrust. Mean people should not be allowed to reproduce. Especially someone like Edward Temple.

  Queenie pulls her glasses from her cleavage and puts them on. When Heather comes into focus, Queenie covers her mouth and lets out a scream. Mostly it is covered up by the music playing, but a few people turn.

  “What is it?” Spud straightens his bow tie with a flash of alarm.

  “Edward’s daughter is the spitting image of Iris before she got old!” Queenie says.

  Spud squints in the direction of the kitchen. If he notices the resemblance, he doesn’t let on, which—come to think of it—is a brilliant move. He gives Queenie’s love handles a squeeze as if to remind her that they are here to celebrate. But Queenie is not ready to let this go. Violet joins them in the living room and Queenie motions toward the kitchen.

  Violet nods, confirming Queenie is not imagining things.

  The lights flicker, and Queenie jumps. “You don’t think that’s Iris, do you?”

  Spud laughs and shakes his head like this is the last thing he wants, too.

  Even though the spirits of the Temple mansion were silenced in the fire, she wouldn’t put it past Iris to figure out a way to haunt her on her wedding day. In fact, it seems the entire Temple clan is conspiring against her. What with Edward’s daughter showing up out of the blue, and the news this morning that a hurricane named Iris is hovering somewhere out in the Atlantic. Odd coincidences, at best. Every now and again, Queenie finds herself missing her half sister, which is even more bizarre.

  “I’ve been thinking about the past today,” Spud says.

  Queenie is so distracted, she forgot Spud was even there. She turns to give him her full attention. Is he going to tell her that his love for Iris goes beyond the grave?

  “What is it?” she asks, telling herself not to panic.

  “I need to tell you something.” Spud looks more solemn than Queenie likes.

  “Uh, oh.” Queenie holds her breath.

  “No, no. It’s nothing bad.”

  She exhales. “You want me to have your love child?” Queenie asks. They laugh, and she thinks about Katie, ready to burst with new life. When Queenie was pregnant with Violet, she did her best to hide it. Mister Oscar told Queenie that if she ever told anyone that Violet was his child, he would have to fire Old Sally and make life difficult for Queenie and Violet. Mister Oscar was weak compared to Iris and could be kind, but he was still surprisingly good at delivering a threat.

  “You sure it’s nothing bad?” she asks.

  “Positive.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise. Now can I tell you what I wanted to say?”

  Queenie pauses while Spud clears his throat.

  “I’ve been thinking about Iris today—”

  Queenie puts a hand over her heart to keep it from breaking.

  “Let me finish, please,” Spud says, his look stern, yet loving.

  The lump in her throat tightens with the fear that an annulment is looming.

  “When I was with Iris, I was so young I didn’t even know what love was,” Spud begins again. “It was infatuation if anything, but what you and I have, Queenie, is love. Real grown-up love.”

  Her eyes mist and she kisses Spud. A passionate kiss meant to curl his bow tie, not caring if anyone sees it.

  All those years she was single, she has missed kissing the most, and wants to make up for all that time lost. In an hour, she and Spud are scheduled to leave for their week-long honeymoon in Hilton Head.

  A hot flash fans th
e flames of Queenie’s love, followed by a sudden chill that cools her sweat. She breathes in sharply. The last time a chill climbed her spine was before the Temple mansion was destroyed and all those ghosts got displaced. Now she seems to see Iris everywhere she looks. Has her half sister found a new way to haunt her?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Old Sally

  Waking from her nap, Old Sally remembers why she felt so tired before. A heaviness set in after the wedding. She senses that dark forces are coming together. For the last three nights, she has slept fitfully. Her tea leaves this morning spelled disruption, too.

  People wonder how she can read the future from a few leaves left in the bottom of a cup. But the otherworld talks to her whenever she lets it, using anything that is around as a messenger. Sometimes a tree leans in the direction she is to go. Sometimes the mood of the ocean tells the story. Sometimes a whisper hides in the breeze, telling her everything she needs to know.

  Old Sally returns to the empty living room. What is left of the party has moved outside. From the front window, she sees Jack and Violet walk arm in arm down the beach, with Tia and Leisha and their friends behind them. Violet stops on the beach and looks back at the house.

  Do you need me? she asks, sending her thoughts in Old Sally’s direction.

  No, Old Sally responds. But thank you.

  Are you sure? Violet asks.

  I’m sure, Old Sally answers.

  Old Sally and Violet have begun to converse this way only recently. It is how she knows her time is growing short, and that the opening between this world and the next is growing wider. Old Sally sees this as a blessing. Her spirit is ready to be released.

  Rose sits on the front porch with a young white woman. Old Sally narrows her eyes before widening them again. She shouldn’t have been napping. A fox has entered the hen house while she wasn’t looking.