“I thought I’d give you a head’s up,” Regina says, before offering a quick goodbye.
It seems Edward’s widow has enjoyed dropping this latest family secret in Rose’s lap.
A surprise relative showing up is the last thing she expected, and she doesn’t want anything to take away from Queenie’s day. The wedding is scheduled to start in less than an hour. Rose pauses, unsure of what to do with this news. A young woman, claiming to be her brother’s daughter, is driving from Atlanta to their island today. A trip of just under 300 miles that usually takes about four and a half hours to drive. At this rate, she will miss the wedding, but the party afterward might still be going on.
When she looks up, her daughter Katie—petite, tan, and very pregnant—is staring at her.
“What is it, Mom? Your face has gone all white.”
“Nothing,” Rose says when what she wants to say is, Everything.
Katie drops the dishrag she was using to clean off the counters. When she can’t bend over to retrieve it, Rose picks it up. Didn’t Violet tell her earlier that dropping a dishrag means company is coming?
Rose will be a grandmother soon. Katie’s first attempt at artificial insemination ended in a miscarriage last August. A hard moment for all of them. But the second try worked. Something that Katie attributes to taking Old Sally’s root medicines. Rose imagines the rewards of grandmotherhood will quickly outweigh her insecurities of feeling ancient. Katie is two weeks from her due date and looks like she should have given birth a month ago.
But first, a thousand details need to be attended to in the next hour, including keeping the groom from collapsing into a nervous heap. And now a stranger named Heather is driving in from Atlanta?
Katie opens the refrigerator and devours a vanilla yogurt in six bites before excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Both are familiar scenes these days. Katie’s small white terrier, Harpo, follows her everywhere, his nails clicking softly on the wooden and slate floors. Only Rose and Spud remain in the kitchen.
“What was that phone call about?” Spud washes the cutting board in the sink.
“We have an unexpected guest arriving later this afternoon,” Rose says. His suit reminds her of an eggplant parmesan recipe she hasn’t made for a while and needs to find again.
“Well, as my beloved future wife would say, the more the merrier.” Spud pets his mustache thoughtfully as if struck with the realization that he will soon have a wife.
But Rose doesn’t feel merry. She feels stressed. She wants a smooth send-off to celebrate Spud and Queenie’s life together. No complications. How rare is it for two people who have never married before to say vows in their sixties? And these are two people she loves.
In the meantime, Regina’s phone call now has Rose angry. Why did Regina give Edward’s supposed daughter Rose’s address if she felt uncomfortable around her? Was this merely the next logical step, or was her intention more devious?
After glancing at her watch, Rose turns her attention to what she has left to do for the wedding. The rented white tent is already in place on the beach, and Max and Jack are setting up folding chairs. For weeks she questioned the wisdom of a beach wedding, given all the rain they have this time of year, but it is a sunny June day.
Angela, Katie’s girlfriend, enters the kitchen carrying flowers she picked from Old Sally’s garden in back. Daisies, irises, and lilies. The flowers are to go in large vases throughout the house. While Rose arranges the plates and silver for the reception, Angela cuts the stems and places them in four different jars for Violet to do the final arranging. Angela has proven to be the most surprising addition to their nontraditional family. An author and tattooed feminist, Angela is also quick to help in any situation, with the added bonus of having a way of managing Katie that allows Rose to relax.
When Rose and Angela first met at her mother’s funeral, Angela came across as thorny. A northerner with issues. But once Rose got to know her, Angela’s brusqueness fell away. Perhaps Angela should answer the door when the young stranger arrives from Atlanta. She could ascertain what the stranger wants and maybe even scare her away. In the meantime, how can she be confident that the young woman really is Edward’s child?
When Katie returns, Angela pats Katie’s stomach to say hello to the baby. Their relationship was hard for Rose at first, though she pretended it wasn’t. If given a choice, Rose would want a more mainstream lifestyle for her daughter, and therefore perhaps a safer lifestyle. But after 9/11 she wonders if anyone is truly safe, no matter what lifestyle they choose. Rose also thought she would have to give up her dream of being a grandmother someday. But it is incredible the medical procedures they can do these days that allow sperm donors—in this case, one of Angela’s male friends—and potential mothers to unite.
“I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” Katie says to Rose.
“Everything’s fine,” Rose says, not wanting to worry her daughter, who worries way too much for someone in her twenties. But as an only child, she has always seemed older and more responsible than most people her age.
In the meantime, something about the stranger coming has Rose on edge. Spud turns up the volume on the small television sitting on the counter in the kitchen. The latest weather forecast reveals clear, sunny skies for today—perfect weather for a wedding—and a tropical storm has formed in the Caribbean. Rose sighs with relief that it won’t rain on Queenie’s wedding.
Seconds later the weatherman pauses for breaking news, explaining that a tropical storm becomes a hurricane when the wind speed reaches 74 miles per hour. He goes on to explain that every year the National Weather Service starts the naming of storms with the letter A, and since it has already been an active storm year, they are already up to the letter I.
Upon hearing the name of the hurricane, Rose gasps, and Spud looks like he might faint. Is the universe playing a joke on them? A joke that her dead mother somehow fashioned?
In an ironic—if not uncanny—turn of events, a hurricane named Iris has materialized and is spinning out in the Atlantic, as though she is late for Queenie and Spud’s wedding.
CHAPTER FOUR
Violet
Violet returns to the kitchen to find Spud beset with citrus and Rose looking worried. While they spent decades apart, Violet’s best friend from her childhood is back. When they were young and Old Sally brought Rose to the beach, she had Rose and Violet do a Gullah charm of washing their hands together in the kitchen sink. This supposedly ensured that they would be best friends forever. For further assurance, Old Sally burned onion peelings on the stove to strengthen the bond. It was a time when little black girls and little white girls—one poor and one rich—weren’t allowed to be friends at all, and most certainly not best friends. But that didn’t stop them. It seems the Gullah charm is still working.
Over the last few months, Violet has evolved from feeling like an orphan to being part of a large, extended family. To have this many people living together has taken some getting used to. But the house they designed to expand on Old Sally’s has two stories and plenty of room, with large porches and floor-to-ceiling windows, as well as a cottage out back for Rose and Max. She has moments when, surprisingly, she misses working for Miss Temple and having time alone, but otherwise, this living arrangement makes her feel more alive. Whole. Useful.
For the first time, Violet notices Spud’s purple suit. Perhaps this confirms he and Queenie are meant for each other. At the same time, she wonders briefly if Queenie can be trusted to be left alone. If she adds any more color, she will look like she’s leading a gay pride parade. Yet, it appears there are other concerns.
“What’s going on?” Violet asks. “Why is everybody looking so strange? We’ve got a wedding soon.”
Rose’s pale complexion is even more pale. Come to think of it, Spud looks whiter than usual, too.
“Someone may be crashing the party,” Spud says, his eyebrows raised.
“Who?” Violet asks.
“Iri
s.”
Spud loosens his bow tie as though Iris’s delicate fingers are choking him from the grave.
“I don’t understand.” Violet didn’t get enough sleep last night and her morning started at dawn with Old Sally. Grouchiness is next if she isn’t careful.
Meanwhile, the color returns to Rose’s face, and there is a hint of magic in her eyes. “It seems Mother’s ghost has finally found us,” she says to Violet. “She’s hitched a ride on a hurricane!”
Violet smiles, her irritation gone in an instant. However, her confusion is gaining ground. The last time Violet felt this clueless was at the reading of Miss Temple’s will two years ago. The day she found out that Queenie wasn’t her aunt, but her mother, who had been threatened and sworn to secrecy by her father, Mister Oscar, Miss Temple’s husband. Violet isn’t in the mood for surprises. At least not until this wedding is over.
For over a week, the spirit of Miss Temple has felt somehow close. After the fire, Violet wasn’t sure what happened to the displaced Temple ghosts. Did they disperse to other mansions and find new places to haunt? Or invest in retirement condos in the world’s most haunted cities, Savannah being one of them?
Yet, it feels like old times to speak of ghosts. She always knew that funerals attracted them, and now it seems that weddings do, too.
“That hurricane is an interesting coincidence,” Rose says.
“I always knew your mother was a force of nature,” Violet says, remembering how Miss Temple left critiques in the kitchen in the mornings. Critiques of meals, and initially, critiques of her housekeeping abilities, until Violet figured out exactly what she wanted. To work there, Violet had to grow a thicker skin and not take anything personally, though Miss Temple’s critiques were always personal. Telling Violet that she wasn’t smart enough to comprehend her needs, or that Violet’s cooking skills lacked finesse.
With a white monogrammed handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his purple suit, Spud wipes a smattering of perspiration from his brow. He is right to worry. How will Queenie take this news? She can get stormy herself if she thinks the fates are messing with her.
Katie returns to the kitchen to eat a banana, her latest snack. “What are you guys talking about?”
Violet, Rose, and Spud exchange a look. An entire book is needed to tell this story instead of a sentence or two. It appears Violet has been elected to offer a summation.
“Iris and Spud were an item many years ago,” she begins, “and while we initially thought that your Grandmother Temple’s ghost was finally resting in peace, now there’s a genuine concern that she may be crashing Queenie’s wedding.”
“At least metaphorically,” Rose says.
Angela laughs, as though entertained by hearing about ghosts crashing a wedding.
“That’s what you get for moving to the South, sweetheart,” Katie says with a playful southern accent, all the while holding her belly.
Everyone joins in the laughter before things turn serious again.
“Do we know when the storm is due?” Violet asks.
“The hurricane is a long shot,” Rose says. “It may never materialize.”
“That’s right,” Spud says. “Hurricanes never hit Savannah. The big storms head north or south of us, to Charleston or Florida.”
Violet is relieved that she hasn’t heard a peep out of her left shoulder, her early warning system for bad things.
“There’s something else you should know about,” Rose says to Violet. “We have yet another unexpected visitor coming.”
“Ghost or real person?” Violet asks.
“I’m assuming real,” Rose says.
“Good,” Violet says. “I prefer real. Who?”
“It seems Edward has a daughter that he didn’t tell anybody about.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I kind of wish I were,” Rose says. “She’s been giving Regina a hard time, so Regina sent her here.”
“Here?” Violet can’t believe how much has happened while she fought with Queenie’s zipper.
“She’s driving here from Atlanta this very minute. Evidently, she wants to meet us.”
The day is getting more complicated by the minute. While the others scatter to do different tasks, Violet glances at the kitchen clock and speeds up her process. She adds water and sugar to the three large glass pitchers with cut lemons on the bottom, to make lemonade the way Old Sally always makes it.
Violet pauses. Where is Old Sally? By this time of day, she is usually in the sunroom at her window seat, but with the wedding, she is probably taking a short nap. She already dressed hours ago, so now all that’s left is showing up.
After finishing the lemonade and arranging the flowers, Violet sprinkles water around the house to keep evil spirits away like Old Sally taught her. A precaution. As far as she knows this ritual doesn’t work with hurricanes. But she will welcome any help she can get. Gullah folk magic has proven to be more complicated than she initially imagined. Roots. Spells. Medicines. Rituals. Stories. Spirits. Subtle yet powerful. As with anything, it takes a belief that it will work for it to be effective. And Violet believes.
Many traditions fade away with modern times. However, thanks to Old Sally, the Gullah traditions aren’t dying away, they are changing form. To survive, Gullah folk magic is becoming more secretive and protected.
In coming years Violet plans to pass these traditions along to Tia and Leisha, who already spend a lot of time with their great-grandmother now that they all live here on the beach. But first, Violet reheats the gumbo, a meal with an okra base and a host of other vegetables, spices, and meats. The Frogmore stew is on simmer in Rose’s kitchen. Violet combined the sausage, shrimp, corn, and potatoes this morning. It will be brought out and served steaming hot at the reception. Both recipes were passed down to her from Old Sally and those who came before her.
“I guess I need to break the news to Queenie,” Spud says to Violet. “I wouldn’t want her to find out about Iris without me.”
Violet wishes him luck. “And tell her that my shoulder isn’t concerned,” Violet adds.
He says he will.
“Oh, is my bow tie straight?” he asks, before walking away. “It won’t be long until I become Mister Queenie Temple.” Spud gives a short, nervous laugh.
Violet steps in front of him and tenderly tightens the bow tie of the kindest man she has ever known.
“Where did you find this one?” Violet asks.
“Queenie had it made for me in Charleston,” Spud says.
The bow tie is yellow and dotted with purple saxophones. A couple of years ago, Spud would have never worn custom-made ties, and Violet would have never lived in a big, fancy home on the beach, even if it was an expansion of her grandmother’s much smaller house.
Before the reading of Miss Temple’s will, Spud was a butcher at Piggly Wiggly, and Violet was Miss Temple’s housekeeper and cook. Everything they now possess is thanks to Miss Iris Temple of the Savannah Temples. Naming a hurricane after her seems appropriate. She was an extra-large personality. While Violet hasn’t missed dealing with a mansion full of Temple ghosts every day—along with the eccentricities of a living Miss Temple—what she did in leaving Violet the estate in her will changed her life, and she is forever grateful. Although the mansion burned to the ground shortly after, the insurance money helped them build this current house, as well as open Violet’s long-dreamed-for tea shop in downtown Savannah.
As for Miss Temple, may she finally rest in peace, as well as quietly blow out to sea.
CHAPTER FIVE
Old Sally
While everyone prepares for Queenie’s wedding, Old Sally walks down to the breaking tide. Weddings are essential rituals, a moment of light in a family. She pulls her summer shawl tight around her shoulders. Born in the year 1900, Old Sally has stayed on this earth much longer than she thought she would. The only way she can make sense of it is to believe that her Gullah ancestors still have plans for her.
A whirlwind dances up the beach, tossing loose circles of sand, and Old Sally admires the outfit Rose found for her to wear. The cotton dress is the color of sand with red and purple flowers stitched around the collar and hem. If Old Sally had her way, this would be her funeral dress, too. The cemetery at the far end of the island is where her ancestors are buried. All her life Old Sally has known her body would end up there, too, when her spirit rejoins her ancestors. This thought comforts her. No fear involved. Like a story, every life on earth has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Sometimes a life story lasts only hours. Sometimes days, years, or decades. A few last over a century, like Old Sally’s, with no rhyme or reason for who goes first or last. It is not about the lucky or the unlucky. The good or the evil. Old Sally knows better than to think she can figure out this mystery. It is not a crime novel, after all. Life and death are in an eternal dance just like that whirlwind. Wind and sand. Sand and wind. A dance across time.
We might as well try to enjoy the dance and the story that goes with it.
Someone calls her from the dunes. It is Jack, Violet’s husband, who reminds her of a man from her past she loved with her whole heart. A man nicknamed Fiddle. Someone she has been thinking about more and more, now that the time draws near for her passing.
“Violet asked me to check on you,” Jack says as he joins her.
“That sounds like our Violet,” she says with a smile.
Jack is a good match for her granddaughter. He is thoughtful and kind and an excellent father to their two daughters. He teaches at the community college and sometimes invites his students to visit with her. With the group of young people gathered around her, she will tell them how things used to be for black people.
Old Sally likes having her great-granddaughters around more now that they are all living here in this great big house. After the Temple mansion was destroyed, Violet presented the idea of adding on to her small home here on the beach, where they could all live together. Old Sally was hesitant at first. Her mind was trapped in a little box of how things had to be. But the Lord’s ways are mysterious. Now she has a house full of family again. Family that is related by blood, and the added family that a person chooses. Soul family, she calls them. People found in a moment of grace, while that whirlwind keeps dancing up the beach.
Gullah Secrets Page 3
