“And just as that old Temple ledger be buried at sea, the Gullah Book of Secrets be born.”
Violet holds up her notebook, held together with a sturdy rubber band, and filled with everything Old Sally has told her over the last two years.
“I be relieved it wasn’t lost in the storm,” Old Sally says.
Violet agrees. “I had it stuck in my shirt, as close to my heart as I could get it,” she says.
“That be very smart,” Old Sally says. “You want to finish up our lesson out here?”
Violet pulls a pen from her pocket and opens her book to take notes. Old Sally notices that it is near the end of the book, and Old Sally is at the end of what she needs to share.
“Ready?” she asks Violet.
Violet nods, her book open, pen in hand.
Old Sally pauses again, gathering her thoughts. She tells Violet how very few people remember the funeral rituals used when Old Sally was a girl in the early 1900s. In those days it was believed that if a dead person didn’t have a proper funeral, their spirit would be unable to join the ancestors and be doomed to wander around and cause trouble as ghosts. In the Temple mansion, this unfortunate dilemma played out all the time.
“I remember that dilemma quite well,” Violet says. The two of them exchange a smile.
“When I be four years old,” Old Sally begins again, “I be passed over the open grave of my Grandpa Joe at the cemetery. Several times, in fact.”
Violet’s expression is one of disbelief, but Old Sally crosses her heart that it is true.
Violet shivers. “What if they had dropped you?”
“That happened to one of my cousins once, but thankfully not to me.”
“But why would they pass you over an open grave?”
Old Sally pauses again, remembering how her grandmother explained it to her.
“I be his favorite grandchild,” Old Sally begins. “There was a worry that our attachment was so strong that he might pull me into the spirit world and that I would die, too. Passing me over the coffin was the Gullah way of cutting our connection to each other so that he could go to the ancestors, and I could stay here and finish out my time on earth.”
Violet writes swiftly to capture every word.
“Children can hear the voices of the dead, you know,” Old Sally begins again. “Even more if they are close to the person who died. I remember my Grandpa Joe talking to me long after he was buried.”
Violet gasps but doesn’t let it deter her from writing. The sound of Violet’s pen flowing across the paper, documenting her words, gives Old Sally a sense of deep satisfaction. A written record will exist now, instead of only a spoken one. As a girl, she was proud of herself for learning to read and has read books her entire life. She was the first in her family to learn to read, and after her everybody did.
“Rituals were part of everything, especially deaths,” Old Sally continues. “The night before he died, my Grandpa Joe had a ‘sit up.’ A vigil that goes on all night. Relatives and friends sang and shouted over him.”
“They shouted?” Violet’s eyes widen.
“You bet they did,” Old Sally says. “My grandmother told me the reasoning behind it all later, but with Grandpa Joe I was old enough to see it with my own eyes.”
Old Sally remembers how hot it was that night. It was high summer.
“First they said prayers to strengthen him as he passed by death’s door,” she continues. “Then the instant he died everyone in the room shrieked and shouted to scare off the spirits of hell that always roam the earth and search for a soul to claim.”
“Oh my,” Violet says, still writing. “What happened next?”
“After the shouting, there was all this sobbing and grieving from everybody there,” Old Sally says. “I remember sitting in my grandmother’s lap, who cried so much my little dress was soaked straight through.”
Old Sally waits for Violet’s ballpoint pen to slow and then finally stop.
“This is fascinating.” Violet smiles and looks at Old Sally as if receiving an unexpected gift.
“That’s not all,” Old Sally begins again. “After that, several women came to our house to wash and dress Grandpa Joe and prepare his body. Coffee was placed under his arms, legs, and open spaces, then his body was dressed and kept for three days.” Old Sally pictures it as she describes it, remembering more of the ritual. “They used water in an earthen pot to clean him, and they made a big deal about how the water inside must never touch the ground. The water was sacred. Later, the pot and remaining water would be placed on the top of the grave.”
Like her dreams these days, the scene she describes is so real Old Sally can almost smell the coffee grounds. She waits again for Violet’s pen to stop and gives her a moment to rest. Violet nods when she is ready to begin again.
“Some of his favorite things were placed on his grave,” Old Sally continues. “The knife he used his entire life. His favorite coffee cup. His plate and silverware. A deck of cards in a wooden box—the box he had carved himself. A layer of white seashells was created on top of the grave to look like the ocean. The ocean that brought him here and the ocean that would return him to the ancestors.”
This morning, Old Sally visited the graveyard. Jack drove her over there first thing. Several markers had washed away when Iris came ashore, but last winter Violet hired someone to return it to how it looked when Sally was a girl.
Space is saved for Old Sally, overlooking the ocean, under the live oak in the back that survived Hurricane Iris. She will be next to her husband, who died in the war, and both her parents and her beloved grandmother on the other side of the tree. Close enough to hold hands if they wanted to. This morning when Old Sally walked among the simple graves, she was aware that she wouldn’t exist if not for the people who came before her. To those people she owes everything.
“I don’t expect you to do all that for me, Violet, but when the times comes, hopefully very soon, Sally Rose must be passed over my grave. And you must put this on my grave.” Old Sally hands her the piece of cloth with her baby’s embroidered A.
Tears spring to Violet’s eyes, and Old Sally reaches over and takes her hand.
“Please don’t be sad, sweet girl. It be a celebration.”
“But, I’m going to miss you so much.”
“I know you will,” Old Sally says, squeezing Violet’s hand. “But we can still talk to each other. And when it’s your time, I’ll be right there to help prepare the way.”
Old Sally thinks how lucky they are to get to say goodbye. Not everyone does.
Violet leaves the rocking chair and gets down on her knees in front of Old Sally. She puts her head on her lap, her tears making Old Sally’s dress wet. Salty tears by the salty sea. Old Sally caresses Violet’s face and wipes her tears like she used to do when Violet was a little girl.
“I know a lot about grief,” Old Sally tells her, her voice soft. “When someone you love dies, grief comes like a hurricane and threatens to destroy you. But grief isn’t bad,” she continues. “Grief means you’ve loved someone with your whole heart. Love and grief go hand in hand. There’s no other way.”
Old Sally was right to pass the mantle of Gullah secrets to Violet, and perhaps Tia or Leisha will be the next to carry the secrets. Or maybe even Sally Rose. Everyone else has died off. Families have left the island. But it is important to remember the history. We stand on the shoulders of our ancestors. Those known to us and those unknown. Some we can be proud of and others we would like to forget. But all are important. And our job is to always try to do better.
“Last night, I dreamed of my grandmother again,” Old Sally says to Violet.
“You’ve been doing that a lot.” Violet takes a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose before returning to her own rocking chair.
“Would you like to hear the dream?” Old Sally asks.
Violet nods.
“My grandmother was walking down the beach toward this house,” Old Sally begin
s. “She was as real as anything, and she was wearing the indigo-colored dress she wore whenever she had reason to celebrate. She was buried in that dress.”
Before the hurricane, Old Sally still had indigo plants out behind the cottage that her grandmother had cultivated to make dye. But since the storm, those plants are gone.
“In the dream, I realized how much I had missed her,” Old Sally says.
“I wish I could have known her,” Violet says.
“You’ll know her someday,” Old Sally says. “When it’s your turn to celebrate.”
Violet retakes her hand. “I need to tell you something.”
“Yes?” Old Sally says, looking into Violet’s eyes.
“It has been a great honor to learn the Gullah secrets from you.”
Now it is Old Sally’s turn to use a tissue. “It has been my great pleasure to teach them to you.”
For several seconds they sit together in silence. A moment of grace by the sea. Then Violet glances at her watch and apologizes for having to get to the tea shop.
“I can send Katie and Sally Rose to sit with you if you’d like,” she says to Old Sally.
“No, no, I’m fine. I like sitting out here alone sometimes. Did you know that I was born almost exactly in this same spot? It was back when babies were born at home.”
“I never knew that,” Violet says. “But come to think of it, I was born in this spot, too.”
“You were indeed,” Old Sally says.
A Gullah person wants to die in their place of birth. Even if they move away, many want to come back home to die and be buried there if they can. Old Sally is lucky that she never had to leave.
I love you, Violet, Old Sally says in their unspoken way of conversing.
I love you, too, Violet answers. She leans over and kisses Old Sally on the cheek before walking away. Can we talk more when I get home? she asks.
Of course, Old Sally says, knowing how important this will be.
* * *
Alone again, Old Sally overlooks the vast ocean. Waves rise and fall and break gently on the shore. After months of staying away after the storm, dolphins have finally returned to the inlet. One swims now in the distance, its fin gracing the surface of the water, and then it is joined by another. The sky is a vibrant blue. It reminds her of the bluebird singing on the porch before the storm. A sign of company coming.
The June day feels somehow new. It reminds Old Sally of the eye of the storm and the feeling of absolute calm that came over her on that dark night. All the chaos ceased. Millions of stars embraced her, along with a full moon, and she felt part of the entire universe.
Violin music begins to play. A lilting, floating melody. Fiddle, her love from long ago, stands in the dunes. It reminds her of Queenie’s wedding. Sweet Queenie. Old Sally is so glad she finally found love. Her daughter will be fine now. As will the others. They will continue on as we all do, risking love and risking grief.
Meanwhile, Fiddle looks the same age as the night she last saw him. His smile makes her feel young again.
A sense of deep joy washes over her like a gentle tide. Seconds later, her grandmother approaches, wearing her indigo dress. The one reserved for celebrations. Old Sally takes her grandmother’s hand as she leaves her old body behind. She always knew it would be her grandmother who came for her.
* * *
Dear Reader,
* * *
Even before I began writing this sequel to Temple Secrets, I knew that Gullah Secrets would end with Old Sally’s death and that the character wouldn’t fear it, but welcome it. Perhaps I wanted to believe that it is possible to leave this life—as we all must —with gratitude and a sense of completion.
I began writing Gullah Secrets in 2016. Since then several hurricanes have impacted the United States, most recently Hurricane Florence which devastated the eastern part of my state of North Carolina. My heart goes out to everyone who has suffered in those storms. In 1989 I was living with my two young daughters in Charleston, SC when Hurricane Hugo hit the area. My experiences in that storm greatly informed Gullah Secrets.
I am grateful to you, dear reader, for taking the time to read this book and others that I have written. It is an honor to create stories for you. I love hearing from readers, and I welcome your emails. Feel free to let me know what you think of Gullah Secrets. I will not be writing another book with these characters, because of other stories waiting for my attention, so I will trust you to imagine their lives continuing on with peace, love, and integrity.
Next, I will be writing the third and final book of the Wildflower trilogy. (God willing and the creek don’t rise!) The first book, The Secret Sense of Wildflower, is followed by Lily’s Song. The third book is yet to be titled.
Thank you again for spending time with me and these characters I create. I hope this story somehow helps you keep your courage fires burning.
* * *
With every good wish.
Susan Gabriel
* * *
P.S. If you enjoyed Gullah Secrets, I am always grateful for reviews! They help other readers discover my books.
* * *
P.P.S. Also, to be notified when my next book comes out, you can sign up at susangabriel.com/new-books.
Trueluck Summer
A hopeful grandmother. A sassy young girl. Their audacious summer stunt could change their southern town forever.
* * *
Charleston, 1964. Ida Trueluck is still adjusting to life on her own. Moving into her son's house creates a few family conflicts, but the widow's saving grace is her whipsmart granddaughter Trudy. Ida makes it her top priority to give the girl a summer she’ll never forget.
* * *
When a runaway truck nearly takes her life, Trudy makes fast friends with the boy who saves her. But since Paris is black, the racism they encounter inspires Trudy’s surprising summer mission: to take down the Confederate flag from the South Carolina Statehouse. And she knows she can’t do it without the help of her beloved grandmother.
* * *
With all of Southern society conspiring against them, can Trudy, Ida, and their friends pull off the impossible?
* * *
Trueluck Summer is a Southern historical women’s fiction novel set in a time of great cultural change. If you like courageous characters, heartwarming humor, and inspirational acts, then you’ll love Susan Gabriel's captivating tale.
* * *
Buy Trueluck Summer to live the courage of youth today!
Get Trueluck Summer here!
Praise for Trueluck Summer
“Having read three previous captivating books by this author I was afraid this book may disappoint. In the first chapter I knew I was in for a treat. Once again, I fell in love with the richly drawn characters. I could not wait to find the time to read this treasure. The courage shown by these characters portrays how real change evolves. It is a book you will not forget!” - Cheryl Quinn
* * *
“Trueluck Summer is a thoughtful, excellently written adventure. I am a big fan of Susan Gabriel's books and this one may just be one of her best. She brought Charleston and the characters to life. I felt like I laughed and cried with Trudy, Ida and Paris. Was scared with them and proud of them. I will reread.” - Molly
* * *
“WOW what a book. Even though it is written about what was going on in the southern states in the late 1950's, unfortunately it still exists. I have read several books by this fantastic writer, and thought each one was the best, until I read the next one. It is truly a book worth reading and then look forward for her next book. Great job Susan Gabriel....this historical fiction really shows what it was like in that time period.” - Ro
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“Just finished Trueluck Summer and I loved it. Such an important message for these troubled times…Not only was the subject matter of the story poignantly written, the aura brought back so many good memories from my childhood during this era.” - Joan Meyerhoefer Roddy
> * * *
“Simply fantastic!! The emotions of this story are as relevant today as in the timeframe in which the story was written. I didn't want it to end and hope there may be a sequel in the future that will continue the fascinating story of the characters.” - Mary
* * *
“This is a coming of age story, for all ages. A story of the 60's when not only people in that era had difficult choices to make, but of a country, stretching and becoming more, finding its footing as much as any adolescent. If you didn't live through the sixties, then this book will speak to you of things on a large scale, and on smaller ones. It shows you the sweeping changes, and the fear that people battled as they dealt with all the volatile situations. The book has heart. And soul.” - Loretta Wheeler
Get Trueluck Summer here!
The Secret Sense of Wildflower
“A quietly powerful story, at times harrowing,
but ultimately a joy to read.”
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
(for books of remarkable merit)
Named to Kirkus Reviews’ Best Books of 2012.
Small southern towns have few secrets. But when a grieving daughter confronts the local bad boy, she exposes a dark history.
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