Gullah Secrets

by Susan Gabriel

  Red’s expression changes to one Rose can’t quite interpret. Does he not want her poking around? She chides herself for imagining things, the chiding something her mother did quite often.

  After unlocking the front door, Red leads the way up the stairs and then down a hallway. His loafers squeak on the marble floors, sounding almost comical. They enter a section of the building Rose never knew existed. The sign on the door reads archives.

  “What you’re looking for will be back here,” he says, opening the door.

  They walk into a musty room filled with old wood filing cabinets. Even with windows lining one wall, the place is dark. Red flips on a light switch and fluorescents hum and flicker until they bathe the room with unnatural light.

  The farther back they go, the older the furniture gets.

  “It’s like we’re walking through history,” Rose says, more to herself than to him.

  “Yeah, I guess we are.”

  At the end of the room is a large walk-in safe that takes up an entire wall. Red takes a small index card from his shirt pocket and turns the silver dial to the correct numbers like in every old movie she’s ever watched with a bank vault scene. She looks around to make sure they aren’t in the middle of a film set.

  “You have the number with you?” Rose asks.

  Red pauses, like he didn’t think she’d notice.

  “I had it just in case.” He beams his charm at her again, but this time it isn’t the least bit charming.

  “You acted surprised when I showed you the key,” Rose says, thinking something doesn’t add up.

  Red swings the door open and ignores her comment. A whiff of old papers and history rush toward them, suddenly disturbed. Rose steps into the vault and feels instantly claustrophobic. She steadies herself against the cold metal of the safe, taking deep breaths of the musty air, the smell something akin to old attics.

  Red asks her for the key that Rose had forgotten she was holding. He goes over to an iron box that looks like it could be pre–Civil War. A safe within a safe, the size of a small coffee table. He opens it with the key.

  “A couple of years ago, I let Edward in here,” he says, as if feeling a need to confess.

  “Edward was here?” Her throat tightens. “What was he looking for?” she asks.

  “No idea,” Red says. “But he was acting strange that day.”

  “What do you mean by strange?” Rose asks.

  “Like secretive, but full of himself at the same time,” he says. “Come to think of it, he was almost gleeful, and shortly afterward those secrets started showing up in the paper.”

  Rose imagines Edward’s delight was from knowing he was finally getting back at their mother. But Rose admits she didn’t see this need for revenge coming. She always thought Edward adored their mother.

  “Edward came in again a week before the fire,” Red begins again. “He stood right where you’re standing now. That was horrible about the fire,” Red adds, sounding genuine.

  Rose’s little finger tingles, remembering its sacrifice in the war with her brother. When he died, her grief was more about what could have been instead of what was.

  “Do you know what Edward was looking for?” Rose asks.

  “The same thing you are, I imagine.” He lifts an eyebrow.

  “But I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Rose says.

  “You don’t?” Red’s voice registers mild surprise.

  Rose wonders what Red knows that she doesn’t. Do bankers have access to every vault and safe-deposit box and what’s inside? Or maybe her mother was right about Rose imagining things.

  “This is where I disappear,” Red announces. “You can stay up here as long as you like. I’ll be in my office on the first floor.” He hands her back the key that she had already forgotten about.

  Red exits the long room, his squeaky footsteps growing softer in the distance as Rose’s sneaking suspicions grow. She reminds herself she is not a reliable witness as far as sneakiness is concerned. In the past, Rose imagined complicated plots and ulterior motives where nothing was confirmed.

  Alone now, Rose pulls a wooden office chair into the vault and sits in front of the open safe-deposit box, at eye level. Timid, she reaches inside the box, almost expecting to fall headfirst into the past.

  Inside the box is a metal drawer at the top, deep enough to hold an old fountain pen and a bottle of petrified ink. A blotter like the one that sat on her father’s desk when Rose was a girl sits next to it. Below is a stack of papers and different ledgers. She is surprised cobwebs aren’t strung between the pages. Except that Edward was here before her.

  One after another, Rose carefully lifts out the papers crisp with age. Ledgers. Deeds of different properties dated before the Civil War, along with stacks of receipts for various goods: furniture, weapons, the chandelier that used to hang in the Temple mansion. Then an entire folder holding receipts for large deposits to different people—the faded ink a light gray—for services unknown. Payoffs?

  Rose regrets she hadn’t stopped at Violet’s shop to order a large coffee to go. She needs caffeine if she’s going to sift through the Temple past. An abundant and dark past, if she imagines correctly.

  Minutes later she comes across an old ledger that looks familiar. Wasn’t this in her father’s office when she was a girl? The Book of Secrets was leather like this one. Could the second book be the same? And how did Edward even know there was a safe here full of Temple papers? Did their mother tell him about it? Or perhaps their father? Rose can’t remember a time when so many unanswered questions rushed at her.

  When she opens the ledger, she realizes it is actually the Book of Secrets that Edward used when he leaked the confidences to the Savannah newspaper before their mother died. This information was never shared with Rose, but maybe as the male heir, her brother had access. It seems the quest for secrets and leverage was generational and never-ending until now.

  Rose is relieved that Regina doesn’t have the book. At least in this old safe, it can’t do any more harm to reputations. Power is a fascinating thing, and if you combine power with secrets, it can be both dangerous and advantageous for whoever has access to the secrets.

  Rose puts the ledger back where it was for safekeeping. She will give some thought to what she wants to do with it now. A bonfire at the beach is still a possibility.

  Rose goes through more papers, digging through the Temple past. Mostly records of everything acquired and ample evidence of status. It is hot in the safe, the air conditioning unable to reach inside. She tires quickly, not even knowing what she is looking for. Then she stops, deciding on a different tactic. She pauses and closes her eyes, asking her ancestors what they want her to find. This is something Old Sally or Violet might do.

  Rose waits, feeling silly at first and then recommitting to the question. When she opens her eyes, she is drawn to something about halfway down in the right corner of the large safe-deposit box. It is another thick ledger, similar to the Book of Secrets, except the pages are more yellowed, and the cover is faded. She opens it to find that the pages are indeed more brittle, the ink even more faded. The dates are from the early 1800s. Pages have fallen out and been stuck back in. If this is the precursor to the Book of Secrets Rose saw as a girl, she feels she should be wearing gloves. It is like a museum piece. It seems to be a diary containing dates and meetings. Some of the things are written in her great-great-grandfather Temple’s hard-to-read scrawl. Page after page gives a list of names and dates of transgressions. It’s not the second Book of Secrets. It is the original one. Confirming that the secrets Edward leaked to the press were much newer.

  After thumbing through several more pages, Rose comes across a list of names, knowing immediately what it is. A shudder passes through her that feels as old as the names. Does she want to see the evil deeds of her ancestors? She thinks of Old Sally and Queenie and Violet—people who are dearer to her than any family member other than Katie and Max—who are the descendants of
the people listed in this ledger. Page after page.

  Most of the names are written in the same hand, but with varying dates and shades of ink. A first name only. Age. Children. Where they were assigned to work. Near the middle of the third page, Rose recognizes the name Sadie, Old Sally’s grandmother, whom Rose has heard stories about her entire life. A child is listed. A boy named Adam. Sent to the Temple plantation near Charleston at ten years of age.

  Rose pauses and closes her eyes. “Forgive us,” she whispers.

  Even if the people are no longer living, an apology is inadequate. She closes the book to erase the truth written in the ledger. A boy was taken away from his mother at age ten? Old Sally’s grandmother must have been heartbroken. And what must it have been like for the boy?

  Rose covers her mouth, feeling queasy, and leaves the vault to find a restroom. Her footsteps echo on the marble floors.

  How does someone several generations later make up for the sins of her family’s past? she wonders.

  In the restroom, Rose splashes cold water on her face and dries it with paper towels. The bank is as quiet as the Temple crypt in Bonaventure Cemetery. She could probably spend weeks in the bank vault exploring the past. But for now, she needs to figure out what Edward was searching for. She guesses that it is somehow linked to Heather being here.

  After returning to the vault, she takes another deep breath of history and allows herself ten more minutes to look through the ledger to see what she can find. It isn’t fair to keep Red here much longer.

  Rose wonders what else her ancestors want her to see.

  Near the middle of the book, she finds more secrets. She recognizes the name Rivers. Bo Rivers was her mother’s attorney. But this is a Harrison Rivers who was living in 1834 and had an unlawful child named CeCe, who was sent to Vicksburg to live with a maiden aunt. She imagines how scandalous it would have been and thinks of Edward’s daughter. A present-day scandal hardly worth noting.

  Another name comes to her attention: Mason. She imagines this is one of Red’s ancestors. She leans forward to read the faded ink. Several dates follow the name along with a series of numbers, all to do with embezzling from the bank. This bank. The oldest bank in Savannah.

  “You about done?” Red says, suddenly behind her.

  Rose jumps. “You scared me!”

  His apology sounds sincere, but she wonders why she didn’t hear him walk up. Perhaps he knows what secrets concerning his family may be in there. Or perhaps it is simply a coincidence.

  “I promised my wife I’d spend time with her and the kids today,” Red says.

  “Of course,” Rose says, momentarily flustered. “Sorry, Red. I lost track of time. Can I take this?” She holds up the faded ledger with the yellowed pages stuck in here and there.

  “Everything in there is yours,” he says, his eyes on the papers, not her. “You can take anything you want.”

  She closes the fragile ledger and then carefully puts it in her purse, grateful that she is carrying one of her bigger bags today.

  “Find anything interesting?” Something about the way he asks makes her question his intention.

  “Just a bunch of old papers.”

  Rose realizes how inconsistent this is to her calling him on a Sunday morning with a special request to get into the bank.

  “Your family is one of the reasons this bank has survived,” he says, as if no apology is needed.

  For years Rose didn’t question how her mother could get anything she wanted from just about anybody. She wouldn’t have thought twice about keeping a banker from his family for an entire Sunday for weeks or months on end. Her mother’s needs trumped anyone else’s.

  They walk down the marble stairs, Red holding her arm. Manners are essential in Savannah. Important all over the South. Southern men have impeccable manners, even while embezzling, siring illicit children, or laundering money.

  Instead of going home, Rose drives to Violet’s Tea Shop. After she parks, she pulls the faded ledger from her purse. Rose has no idea why she is bringing it home. Or why she is sitting here in the car wanting to hold it. But something about this record of the past feels significant, and she is determined to find out why.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Violet

  When the bells jingle to announce the next customer, Violet looks up to see Rose enter the tea shop.

  “What are you doing here?” she says when Rose reaches the counter.

  “I need coffee,” says Rose, who seldom looks this weary in the afternoon.

  Violet reaches for the pot, but Rose insists on fixing it herself and is even more adamant than usual. Rose has helped Violet out enough to know where everything is and comes behind the counter for a coffee cup.

  “How did it go at the bank?” Violet asks.

  “You don’t want to know.” Rose doctors her coffee with cream and two sugars, cleaning the counter after she finishes.

  “You seem upset,” Violet says. She was surprised that morning to hear Rose’s plan to visit the bank on a Sunday and when a storm was coming, but she trusts her friend had a good reason.

  “I’ll fill you in later when we have some privacy,” Rose says.

  Violet agrees and then nods in Heather’s direction. Rose looks and then quickly turns away. They stand behind a display of pastries and cookies, keeping their voices low.

  “What is she doing here?” Rose whispers. “And who is that guy with her?”

  “He came in a few minutes ago. I guess he’s a friend.” Violet looks out into the tearoom at the two people, who are deep in conversation.

  “Isn’t he one of those Goth people?” Rose asks.

  “Complete with trench coat,” Violet says.

  “Doesn’t he know it’s ninety degrees outside?”

  “I don’t think he cares,” Violet says. “They’re a very odd-looking couple, aren’t they?”

  Rose agrees. “But in a weird way, they look kind of related.”

  “I think that, too,” Violet says. “It’s like they wear the same mascara and eyeliner.”

  Rose laughs. “I’m serious.”

  Violet apologizes. “Maybe they’re in on something together,” she says.

  “You sound like me,” Rose says. “I hate thinking the worst of people.”

  “You’re not thinking the worst, you’re cautious,” Violet says. “It’s okay to be cautious.” Violet narrows her eyes while looking in their direction, a model of cautiousness.

  The bells on the door jingle again, and Violet leaves Rose still blowing on her coffee. While Violet fixes an order, Rose watches the corner table near the window.

  “I think I’ll confront them,” Rose says after Violet finishes the order. A sentence Violet doesn’t think she has ever heard Rose say.

  Before Violet has time to stop her, Rose is already approaching the table. From a distance, Violet tries to decipher what they are saying. Regarding their body language, it is the young man with the black lipstick who appears to be the most ill at ease. Rose seems to be holding her own. Every now and again her childhood friend surprises her. She didn’t expect Rose to be this bold.

  The door jingles again and Tia and Leisha enter, pulling Violet’s attention away from Rose. Jack is behind them. When Violet worked for Miss Temple, her family never stopped by. Not once. But now, since Violet owns the tea shop, they visit often.

  “Mom, the storm is coming straight for us!” Tia’s excitement is tangible.

  Jack gives Violet a quick kiss.

  “Is it true?” she asks, her shoulder offering a twinge for the first time in months.

  Jack nods. “We’re under a hurricane watch.”

  From Violet’s understanding, a hurricane watch means that the storm is still only a possibility. It is a hurricane warning they fear, saying the wind is imminent.

  Leisha eyes the pastry counter. This adventure might require a lemon poppy seed muffin.

  “When is the storm supposed to be here?” Violet refuses to call it I
ris. It is too strange.

  “Sometime in the early morning,” Jack says.

  Mondays are her slowest days, so at least the storm may not affect her business too much.

  “Have you been busy?” Jack asks.

  “Not really,” she says. “I guess the possible hurricane is keeping people away. Even the threat of a tropical storm has people standing in line at the Piggly Wiggly, their carts full of canned food, bread, and milk.”

  “You’re right, it’s a zoo. We picked up bottled water just in case,” Jack says. “Max has plywood in the truck to board up your windows. He’s right outside.”

  Violet glances at the large window, the most beautiful and fragile part of the shop. The door jingles again and Max comes in, waving to her and Jack.

  “Isn’t it a little early to board up windows?” Violet asks. “It’s only a hurricane watch. Still a long shot.”

  “Better safe than sorry,” Jack says. “Max is dropping off the plywood. We’ll be back right before closing, and if it looks like it’s not going to happen, we won’t do anything.”

  “I still think you’re overreacting,” Violet says.

  Everyone gathers at the counter—the girls and Max and Jack—and then Rose returns, looking flushed. “What did they say?” Violet asks.

  Rose greets the others before pulling Violet into the back room, keeping her voice lowered like they did when they shared secrets as girls.

  “Evidently he’s a friend that goes to Savannah Art and Design,” Rose says. “Heather said they grew up together.”

  “Okay, so nothing to worry about, right?” Violet asks.

  “Something still feels fishy to me,” Rose says.

  “What are you two doing back here?” Jack asks.

  “Just talking,” Violet says. She will fill him in later about the Heather saga.

  “We need to catch the latest weather report,” Jack says.

  “Did I miss something?” Rose asks.

  “Looks like we may get that hurricane after all,” Violet says.