Temple Secrets: Southern Humorous Fiction: (New for 2015) For Lovers of Southern Authors and Southern Novels (12 page)

Lynette’s white face turns even whiter.

I shouldn’t enjoy shocking people this much,
Violet thinks.

Yet she has to admit, as the mother of teenagers and the wife of a busy husband, she doesn’t always have the gift of a captive audience.

When the doorbell rings, Lynette jumps as if goosed by Oscar himself. Before excusing herself to get the door, Violet reassures Lynette that everything is fine. On her way downstairs, she glances at her watch long enough to wonder who would be visiting after nine o’clock.

Violet opens the door and a very-much-alive Edward Temple brushes past her, entering with so much authority that Violet is surprised that he even rang in the first place.

I prefer spirits to men like Edward any day,
she thinks.

“I want to see my mother,” Edward Temple says.

“Weren’t you just here this afternoon?” Violet asks, wondering what Edward is up to now.

“Did you see this?” Edward asks. He holds a placard he found in front of the gate that has a big red X over a photograph of Miss Temple taken at a fundraiser.

“No I didn’t,” Violet says, although she and Queenie have been busy for days taking down dozens of signs with even stronger sentiments.

Edward towers over her and has a habit of always standing too close. Although Violet hasn’t seen him in several years, he looks the same, except his dark hair has begun to gray. He wears a look of superiority he’s had since adolescence. His gray suit—probably worth six months of Violet’s salary—is accessorized with a charcoal gray shirt and a tie that matches to perfection.

Edward twists a large gold ring on his right hand that contains a red stone.

He cools his gruffness and flashes a smile that Violet believes is intended to charm her. Instead, it makes her more uneasy.

“I just thought I’d give the old broad a proper send off,” Edward says, as if crassness is the only language she might understand. “Bet you’ll be glad when she finally kicks off.”

Violet debates whether to tell him that nobody should talk about their mother this way. From her perspective, people are fortunate to have mothers at all, even if that mother is Miss Temple.

When Violet doesn’t respond, Edward rolls his eyes and adds a smirk at the end, as though to say,
we can play it that way if you want.
He isn’t usually this crass and she wonders if he is worried about the
Temple Book of Secrets
going public.

Edward steps into the living room and glances around as if taking a mental inventory of the antiques in the room. Inheritance, in families like these, means a great deal. But he isn’t giving any clues as to what he might be scheming.

“The old place hasn’t changed much. It still has as much charm as a funeral parlor.” Edward smiles and twists his ring again.

Is he nervous?
Violet wonders if he might lose his fortune if all these threatened lawsuits come to pass.

She tries to remember the last time Edward visited. It was probably Mother’s Day, three or four years ago. Before that he came more often. Now he’s here for his third visit of the day. A record by any means.

While Violet stands in the center of the large Oriental rug in the hallway, Edward surveys his father’s study and then walks into the dining room. On the dining room table are a stack of photographs Rose brought of her ranch in Wyoming. He picks them up and studies each photograph, as if to assess the ranch’s net worth.

“Surely you realize she’s shown up again just in time to cash in,” he says.

“That doesn’t sound like Rose,” Violet says.

“She’s not who you think she is,” Edward says, his tone soft now, as if this softness might convince Violet of its truth. “She’s taking advantage of the situation.”

“Not everyone is like you, Edward,” Violet says.

“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” he asks.

She has never had much patience with him, or anyone who looks at her like a landowner overlooking his property. This is exactly why she will never let her daughters do domestic work.

“You’re not my boss, Edward, Miss Temple is.”

“At least for now,” Edward says with a grin.

It occurs to Violet that if Edward inherits the Temple mansion after his mother dies, she’ll for sure be looking for a new job.

Seconds later, he moans, bends over and holds his stomach.

“Damn ulcers,” he says. He takes a bottle of antacid tablets from his jacket pocket and pops two into his mouth. He crunches them while Violet waits. She seems to always be waiting these days, and she’s not sure for what.

“Tell Rose I know what she’s up to,” Edward begins again. “And tell her she won’t get away with it. She gave up her right to any Temple money when she moved to that Godforsaken place.” He tosses the photographs back on the table before going into the sun room. Then he opens a drawer to the wicker table Miss Temple uses as a desk and shuffles through his mother’s papers, as if looking for something he’s lost.

“I don’t think you should be doing that,” Violet says.

“Who’s going to stop me?” Edward asks. “You?” He winks at her.

A cold chill ignites a memory that haunts Violet as surely as the Temple ghosts. At fourteen, she was making a little money helping her grandmother during one of the Temple’s charity events. Edward was home from college and she had stepped outside to take a break from serving. It was hot and the peepers were croaking their little hearts out in the fountain on the other side of the garden. She didn’t even realize Edward was there until he grabbed her and pulled her into the garden shed. When she screamed, he covered her mouth and she bit him hard, until she tasted his blood in her mouth. Edward pushed her aside and cussed her all the way to the kitchen.

Violet inhales sharply and reminds herself that the event was twenty years ago.

“What is it?” he asks, stepping back into the foyer.

“Ghosts,” Violet says. She forces herself to look him in the eye. She will bite him again if she needs to. All the way to the bone.

“Call an exterminator,” Edward says with a laugh. He goes into the study that was his father’s office. She can hear him going through the desk drawers and wonders if she should tell Queenie.

That night, twenty years ago, was the first time Violet realized the role women in her family played with the Temples. Edward acted entitled to her and seemed surprised when she fought back. In a way, it was like they were both actors playing the roles their ancestors played.

Right after, her grandmother had known what happened without Violet saying a word. She’s always been like that. She knows things without being told. That night her grandmother doctored the bite on Edward’s hand and used an ointment that she laced with chili pepper. Edward’s scream was just as loud as Violet’s had been in the garden shed. He left Violet alone after that. She always wondered if her grandmother put one of her spells on him to keep him away. If so, she hopes the spell is still working.

Clearly agitated, Edward returns to the foyer. Whatever he is looking for, he hasn’t found. He smells of expensive musky cologne. Has he forgotten about his mother’s aversion to scents? Or perhaps he doesn’t care.

“I guess I’ve put off seeing her as long as I can,” Edward says. He makes a grimace that seems almost boyish.

Edward follows Violet upstairs and they enter Miss Temple’s bedroom.

“Well hello, Mother, how are you feeling today?” he asks cheerfully.

Does he not realize she’s in a coma?
Violet wonders.

Edward walks past Lynette like she is invisible and kisses his mother on the forehead before sitting at the foot of the bed. He crosses his hands on his lap as though a position honed and polished at a school for deathbed etiquette. Violet feels certain Edward will play the good son until he gets what he wants, which seems to be whatever he was looking for downstairs.

“Mother, are they treating you all right?”

He glances at Violet and talks to his mother like they are having polite dinner conversation. He fills Miss Temple in on his work and tells her how horribly busy he has been. He asks if she received the flowers he sent to the hospital and waits a beat for her to answer.

A crowd has gathered that has nothing to do with a ghost tour. Someone rattles the gate. Who knew secrets could get people so riled. Violet wonders if she should call the police, and she and Lynnette exchange concerned looks. The ad in this morning’s paper questioned the wrongful conviction of a long-ago murder. None of the parties are still alive, except for a few descendants who seem to want revenge.

Edward describes to his mother in detail about what is going on outside. Something Queenie had suggested they never mention to Miss Temple in case she can hear. Every few minutes Edward reaches over and pats his mother’s hand with four quick taps, as though patting the head of a bunny at a petting zoo.

Surely, even comatose, Miss Temple can see through her son’s performance,
Violet thinks.

Meanwhile, Lynette hovers over Edward like he might turn off the life support machines while she isn’t looking. She also looks occasionally out the window where the crowd is building.

“Well, Mother, I must be going,” Edward says finally. “I need to go outside and deal with the rioters. They’re very upset about those secrets in the newspaper. Whoever is doing this must be very angry with you,” he adds. “There’s certainly plenty of people that fall into that category.” He leans over and kisses Miss Temple on the cheek.

As soon as Edward steps away from his mother’s side, Lynette double checks the machines.

“Would you like me to show the gentleman out?” Lynette asks Violet, sounding like one of the bouncers at the jazz clubs she and Jack went to before the girls were born.

Edward turns and looks at Lynette like he’s just now noticing her. He wastes no charm on her. “I can show myself out,” he says. “I used to live here.” He then stops in front of a full-length antique mirror to straighten his tie before leaving, perhaps to irk Lynette. Violet and Lynette follow him to the second floor landing where they watch the door to make sure he leaves. Without looking back, Edward crosses the foyer, walks out the door and then slams it.

“Who died and made him king?” Lynette stands, her hands on her wide hips.

“That was Edward Temple, Miss Temple’s son,” Violet says.

“I know,” Lynette says. “When he was in here before, he was absolutely rude to his sister. Didn’t even speak to her. Just laughed and stared.” She scoffs. “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think he cared one bit about his mama laying there. I think it was all just a show for us.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Violet says.

The lights in the old house flicker as if the ghostly Temples agree, too.

“Is that them?” Lynette asks, looking more than a little alarmed.

Violet nods.

All day the house has been more psychically alive than usual. Like the people outside, the former Temples are riled. Violet glances at her watch again. She is ready to be home, where the only spirits in their apartment is a single bottle of rum in the kitchen cabinet used to mix with honey, garlic and lemon whenever she and Jack are getting colds.

The noises outside grow, as Miss Temple’s energy builds. The whole house is humming along like a Hoover vacuum cleaner. In the meantime, Violet’s shoulder confirms that something big is about to happen.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Old Sally

Old Sally stops her rocking and listens to the message on the wind. Except for the light of the full moon, the beach is completely dark.

“It’s time,” she tells Rose and Queenie. “We best be going now.”

Old Sally stands, ignoring the pain in her hip, and walks inside. Urgency accompanies her movements as she gathers items in the cloth bag she uses to tote ingredients for her spells.

“What is it, Mama?” Queenie asks, following her inside.

“You two wait in the car. I’ll be right there,” Old Sally says. She needs to not forget anything. Every ritual requires certain sacraments.

Queenie and Rose return to the car. A few minutes later Old Sally joins them.

“Tonight, Iris crosses over into the next world,” Old Sally says to them, “and I’ll do my best to help her.”

As they drive into Savannah, Rose is quiet in the back seat. Even Queenie isn’t talking much. When death is close, people often get quiet. Life’s biggest mystery requires respect.

Rose leans forward with a question Old Sally has been expecting. “Have you used Gullah magic on my mother?” she asks.

“Mostly protection spells so others don’t get hurt,” Old Sally says. She always knew she would never lie to Rose. “Whenever your mother gets puffed up with meanness it doesn’t sit right in her belly.”

“You mean Iris could have stopped all that stomach upset herself, if she’d just been nice?” Queenie asks.

Old Sally nods.

“Lord, have mercy,” Queenie says. “I wish Iris had figured that out. Then Violet wouldn’t have to carry those tinctures around to cover the smell of her stomach upsets.”

“What most people don’t know,” Old Sally begins again, “is that Iris has her reasons for being the way she is. Your mama was a sweet thing at first,” she says to Rose. “She was a good girl and tried to do everything right so her mama and daddy might praise her. But they be too busy to even notice her. The only thing that got their attention was meanness,” she continues. “That’s when they sat up and noticed, because they be worried that Savannah’s rich folk might judge them. Edward inherited this meanness, too, just as sure as if it had passed down like the Temple family china.”

“I forget Mother has her reasons for being the way she is,” Rose says.

“That be true,” Old Sally says. “But just like any of us, your mama could have chosen to be something different if she wanted. She had a heart of gold, too. She just lost track of it.”

“Is that the only spell you used on her?” Rose asks.

Heaviness sits in Old Sally’s chest. Sadness older than her, passed on from an earlier time. “There be another spell,” she begins, her tone softer. “This spell be started by my grandmother, Sadie, against the old slave master Temple for sending away the children of the slaves to work other places, never to be seen again.”