Lessons of a Lowcountry Summer

by Rochelle Alers

  She patted Kyle’s shoulder. “We’re going to have to work out a schedule for sharing the bathroom.”

  “No problem, Mom.”

  Lee crowded into the small space and put Kyle’s bag on the rocker. He glanced at his watch, then his wife. “Is there a place on the island where we can get an early lunch?”

  “I know the perfect place.” She would take her family to The Fish Net.

  Rebecca sat on the porch next to Lee, her gaze fixed on her son and daughter as they waded in the surf. They had yet to change into their swimsuits.

  Eating lunch at The Fish Net had been a pleasurable experience for her and her children. Ashlee and Kyle had been amenable to sampling dishes they’d never eaten before, but not Lee. He’d complained that the restaurant was too small and noisy, there were too many dishes cooked with pork, and that he couldn’t understand a word the servers were saying. She had held her tongue, because his complaint made her aware of how opinionated she’d been before coming to the island.

  “I want to buy this house.” The notion she had been entertaining for more than a week was finally verbalized.

  Lee shifted on the kitchen chair and stared at his wife. “You what?”

  “You heard what I said, Lee.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You want me to spend my money on this place? It’s one step up from shack status. It should be condemned.”

  Rebecca sat up straighter, her confidence increasing. She had changed—inside and out—since coming to McKinnon Island. She was no longer the Rebecca Leighton-Owens Lee knew, but someone who was aware of who she was and what she wanted for herself and her children.

  “If you’d listened, you would’ve heard me say that I want to buy this house. You, of all people, should know that I have my own money.” She had been sole beneficiary of her maternal grandparents’ life insurance policies. After they’d died, Rebecca had put the money in tax-free municipal bonds.

  “But… but why would you want to buy property that will eventually be condemned once developers come with cash in hand to longtime residents the way they’ve done on the other Sea Islands?”

  “That’s just it, Lee. I don’t want this island to look like all of the other Sea Islands.”

  She told him about volunteering as research assistant to Ezra as he toured and gathered information on McKinnon Island. She stepped out of her role as wife and mother into that of teacher as she told him of a culture unique only to the Sea Island African-American. The passion in her voice matched the deep color in her face. Her hazel eyes glowed with an excitement that hadn’t been there since she’d come face-to-face with Lee Owens for the first time during her college freshman year.

  “Why can’t McKinnon Island become another Williamsburg, Virginia, Lee? Why can’t we preserve our culture for future generations?”

  “But it’s not your culture, Becky. You’re nothing like these people—these Gullahs who are more African than they are American.”

  “What are we, Lee?”

  “Americans.”

  “Wrong! You’re deluding yourself. We are African-Americans. As long as we look like we do, we will never be Americans. Not in this country. You and I are only Americans once we leave these shores. Our passports read United States. The world views us as Americans, while America identifies us as African-Americans.”

  Lee stared at Rebecca as if she were a stranger. She was talking about being African, yet the Massachusetts Leightons claimed more Euro-American blood than the South Carolina Owenses.

  “Where are you going with this, Rebecca?” he asked. There was a gentle softness in his voice.

  She leaned closer. “I want to preserve the Gullah culture.”

  “How?”

  “By setting up a not-for-profit McKinnon Island historical preservation society, and purchasing abandoned or vacant properties and restoring them. I don’t want the Gullah language, basket weaving and quilt making skills to die with this generation like the oyster industry did in the 1950s on Daufuskie Island after industries along the Savannah River polluted many of the marshes and creeks there. The health officials closed most of the valuable oyster beds, so many folks left the island. Of course, the exodus impacted on many of the businesses.”

  “Which impacted on the island’s economy,” Lee added. Eyes wide, Rebecca nodded. “What do you want from me?”

  Rising, Rebecca moved over and sat on her husband’s lap. His arms went around her waist. “I want nothing from you but your support.”

  He buried his face in her curly hair. He wanted to support her, but he also did not want to lose her. Setting up a preservation foundation and hosting fund-raisers for her cause would take her away from her home and her children.

  “If I tell you that I can’t give you my support, will you change your mind?”

  Easing back, Rebecca stared at him for several seconds before slipping off his lap. She stood over him, her eyes widening until he could see their golden depths. “You can’t or you won’t?”

  He met her direct stare. “I can’t. Not now, Rebecca.”

  She folded her hands on her hips. “When, Lee?”

  “Give me time.”

  “How much time do you want?” she shot back.

  Lee stood up, his hands going to her shoulders. “I’ll let you know before the end of the summer.”

  Rebecca’s forehead furrowed in a frown. “Why the wait? Why can’t you give your answer now?”

  His fingers tightened on the cotton T-shirt over her delicate shoulders. “Because I don’t want to lose you now,” he said softly.

  “What do you mean? You’re not going to lose me.”

  He lowered his head. “I am losing you, baby. Every day we spend apart, we grow apart.”

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  Lee stared out over her head, certain Rebecca could hear his heart pounding in his chest, smell his fear. “I don’t know why I keep thinking that you’re punishing me for cheating on you.”

  “I’ve forgiven you. What you have to do is find the strength to forgive yourself. I needed some time away from Charleston to see myself for who I am, and for who I’ve become. What I found out was that I didn’t like myself. I used to be Rebecca Owens, wife to Lee, mother to Ashlee and Kyle.”

  “What are you now?”

  “I’m still Rebecca, wife and mother, but I also have another reason for getting up every morning other than to make breakfast. Growing up in Lowell, I always felt disconnected from black people. Whenever I wanted to see more than fifty black folks at one time, I had to go to Boston. That’s why before I graduated high school I decided to apply to historically black colleges.

  “I cried the first time I walked into this shack as you call it, because it was nothing like I was used to back in Charleston or even Lowell. But after going out with Ezra and listening to him interview native islanders, people whose African descendants were brought to the Sea Islands to work the rice and cotton plantations to make their European owners fat and wealthy, I felt nothing but shame. All you have to do is take a look at several of the large plantation properties with the tiny outbuildings that made up the slave quarters, and you’ll never complain again about not having air-conditioning.

  “Now real estate developers are looking at McKinnon as the perfect place for exclusive resorts, private roads, spas, golf courses, tennis courts, and riding stables. All of these things mean two words: big profits. They profited off us four hundred years ago when the first African was brought to these shores, and even though I am not Gullah I will fight and make certain they will not rape our people again. They cannot turn McKinnon Island into another Hilton Head. Daufuskie, as well as Edisto, Wadmalaw and Johns Islands, are the latest to lose to developers. There’s a famous Gullah proverb that says: ‘If oonuh ent now weh oonuh dah gwine, oonuh should kno weh oonuh come f’um.’ ”

  Lee saw tears in his wife’s eyes. “What does it mean?”

  “If you don’t know where you’re going, you should kno
w where you come from.”

  A muscle quivered at his clean-shaven jaw. “Do you know where you’re going, Becky?” His voice was calm, his gaze unwavering.

  She blinked once. “Yes, I do, Lee. I know where I’m going with or without you.”

  He stiffened as if she had struck him, his hands falling away from her body. “I’m going to ask the kids if they want to go back to Charleston with me.”

  Her heart lurched in her chest, making it difficult for her to breathe. “You can’t,” she said, once she recovered her voice.

  The joy she’d felt when seeing her husband again after a three-week absence dissipated like wisps of moist breath on a frigid day. “Why are you doing this, Lee? Do you resent me so much that you’d try to drive a wedge between me and my children?”

  “Why do you keep saying they’re your children, Rebecca? When are they ever going to be our children?”

  Her nostrils flared in fury, and in that instant she hated Lee more than she had when she’d found out that he had been sleeping with another woman. “You low-down, controlling son of a bitch.”

  Rebecca’s angry retort hardened Lee’s features. His near-black eyes seemed as flat as his cheekbones. “Have you listened to what you’ve been saying, Rebecca? You haven’t mentioned Ezra Smith’s name once, you’ve mentioned it at least a dozen times. You’re not taken with a cause, but with a man.”

  Turning on his heel, he stalked down the porch and to the beach. Rebecca could not hear what he was saying to Kyle and Ashlee, but whatever it was, they did not agree. They shook their heads at him. They stood close together, watching their father retreat to where he’d left his sport-utility vehicle.

  He started up the engine, backed out of the driveway and drove away in the direction of the landing for the ferry. Ashlee and Kyle returned to the porch, their questioning gazes fixed on their mother’s face.

  Kyle was the first one to break the silence. “Is Dad okay?”

  Turning her head slowly, Rebecca stared at him. “I believe he will be.”

  Ashlee wound her arm through her mother’s. “He said he’ll be back tomorrow night to pick us up.”

  “I think he’s mad because we didn’t want to go back with him,” Kyle explained.

  Rebecca smiled. “He’ll get over it.” She pressed her palms together. “We can either spend the rest of the afternoon here, or go into Savannah to do some shopping and sightseeing. It’s your call.”

  “Savannah,” Kyle and Ashlee chorused.

  Rebecca nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow afternoon my neighbor is having a cookout, and we’re invited. There will be kids there who are about your ages for you to hang out with.” She smiled. “As soon as you change out of those wet clothes, we’ll be off.”

  She reclaimed her chair on the porch and waited for her son and daughter to change their clothes. She and Lee had disagreed, but this time it did not bother her. There had been a time when she never would have challenged her husband, but that was in the past. Now, all she looked forward to was her future—with or without Lee Baxter Owens.

  Twenty-two

  Speak softly; sun going down. Out of sight. Come near me now.

  —Kenneth Patchen

  Hope had been up for hours, basting, slicing, dicing, mixing, and sautéing, when the clang of the cowbell joined the slapping sound of a whisk beating egg yolks. She put the whisk aside and went to answer the bell. Rebecca stood on the porch cradling two large foil-covered pans to her chest. Her curly hair was held off her forehead by a headband covered with black grosgrain ribbon. She looked cool in a pale blue, loose-fitting sundress and a pair of matching leather sandals. Her attire and petite figure made her appear a lot younger than her actual years.

  Hope opened the door, smiling. “Good morning. Please, come in.”

  Rebecca walked in and sniffed the air. “Mmm-mmm. Something smells good. What are you cooking?”

  “You must smell the sweet potato pies. I just took them out of the oven.”

  “I made brownies. One pan is double chocolate without nuts, and the other is covered with chopped peanuts, filberts, pecans, walnuts, and macadamia.”

  Hope walked back to the kitchen, Rebecca following. “I suppose no one is going to count calories today.”

  “I’ve stopped monitoring everything I put in my mouth since coming here.” Rebecca placed the pans on a countertop next to the sink.

  Wagging her net-covered head, Hope sucked her teeth loudly. “It’s always the skinny ones who are on a constant diet. Right now I’m hovering around one sixty, and it’s the thinnest I’ve been in years.”

  “One sixty looks good on you because you’re tall. When I was pregnant with Kyle I went from one twelve to one fifty-seven, and I couldn’t see my toes or bend over. At five-two I looked like the Michelin man.”

  Hope went back to whisking eggs for homemade ice cream. “Did your children come down?”

  Rebecca sat on a high stool, watching Hope as she poured a portion of hot liquid into the beaten egg mixture before she stirred it back into the saucepan over a double boiler. “Yes, they did. They got up a little while ago. We hung out rather late last night in Savannah.”

  “They’ve never been to Savannah?”

  “No.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting them and your husband.”

  “Lee isn’t coming to eat. He’ll be back sometime tonight to pick up Ashlee and Kyle. They’re committed to working one more week at the summer day camp.” She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep her emotions in check. “I think I fucked up.”

  Hope lifted her eyebrows at the expletive. She never would have guessed that her very proper, straitlaced neighbor would ever say that four-letter word aloud. “What about?” she asked as she strained the thickened mixture into a large bowl.

  Rebecca’s hands shook slightly as she told Hope about her confrontation with her husband. “I said things to him I didn’t mean to say. They just came out because he more or less accused me of being involved with Ezra.”

  “Are you?” Hope’s voice was low and coaxing.

  A rush of color darkened Rebecca’s cheeks. “Of course not,” she replied quickly. “I’m not saying I’m not attracted to him, but I am not involved with him the way you think.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “I don’t, Hope. He’s a brilliant historian, and he has helped me see things I never would’ve seen before if I hadn’t met him. He’s helped me open my eyes to a different kind of world where people don’t measure their importance by the make of their cars, bank balances, or the number of carats on their wrists, fingers, or necks.”

  Hope stared at her neighbor as a chill of silence surrounded them. “Are you certain you don’t want to set up a preservation foundation out of guilt? Because you feel sorry for the poor McKinnon Island Gullah who probably will never have one-tenth of what you have unless they sell their land and precious legacy to a greedy developer?

  “Do you actually think these people will welcome you with open arms once you drive up to their door in your Mercedes with a Rolex on your wrist, Manolo Blahnik on your feet, and wearing enough bling-bling for a Harry Winston print ad? I may be Dr. Hope to the outside world, but to longtime islanders I’m still Queenie Robinson’s grandbaby girl. And that’s all I ever want to be here on McKinnon.

  “But, on the other hand, I like what you’re proposing, Rebecca, and if you want my support, then you have it. I’m certain Janie and Thomas Smith will volunteer to help, because they’re committed to preserving Gullah culture. If you need other names, then I’ll give them to you.”

  The tense lines in Rebecca’s face relaxed as she breathed in shallow, quick gasps. “You think it will work?”

  “Why shouldn’t it work? All you have to do is use Williamsburg as your model, and it’s guaranteed to work. I believe there are two abandoned plantations that should be purchased before the developers get to them.”

  “We’re going to need money—and a lot of it.
” The words tumbled from Rebecca’s lips.

  “How much do you think you’re going to need?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I suggest you talk to Janie and Thomas. They should be able to give you an idea of how much it cost them to restore their property.”

  Pressing her palms together, Rebecca did not want to acknowledge the inevitable. She would have to go back to Lee, apologize, and then ask for his help. After all, he was president of a bank and had direct contact with businesspeople who could possibly invest in a venture to preserve McKinnon Island’s Gullah culture.

  “I’ll ask them, and I will also ask my husband.”

  Hope measured the vanilla mixture into three bowls, adding honey and pecans to one, and pistachios and dried cherries to the second. She did not add anything to the third, knowing some people preferred their dessert without the fruit or nuts.

  “I thought you said your husband refused to support you.”

  A mysterious smile curved Rebecca’s mouth. “Lee is president of a bank, and at this juncture in my life I’m not above seducing my husband to get exactly what I want. And what I want is to set up the McKinnon Island Historical Society before the end of the year.”

  “Well damn, Sophie Lady, you’re something else,” Hope drawled, as she gave Rebecca a high five handshake.

  Nodding her head, Rebecca smiled. “I won’t be the first woman to do it, and I’m certain I won’t be the last.”

  Hope had showered and pulled a white, man-tailored shirt over a pair of black capris when the cowbell clanged for the second time that day. Slipping her feet into a pair of mules, she made her way to the door. Theo and his family had arrived. Opening the screen door, she stepped out onto the porch.

  “Good afternoon. Welcome. I’ve planned for us to eat on the beach.” Rebecca had helped her carry a long wooden picnic table with two matching benches down to the beach. A tent with a canopy of sailcloth suspended from four poles provided protection from the rays of the sun in an overcast sky. A gas grill sat a few feet away.