Temple Secrets: Southern Humorous Fiction: (New for 2015) For Lovers of Southern Authors and Southern Novels (24 page)

He looks at Queenie and then back at Violet. “I thought you knew,” he says to Violet.

“You thought I knew what?” Violet says. She looks at Queenie, too, who is somehow in on this.

“What is it Queenie?” Violet asks.

Without answering, Queenie bows her head as if the moment calls for serious prayer. Violet looks back to the lawyer for an explanation. He hesitates. He doesn’t strike Violet as someone who is at a loss for words very often.

“Well, since I’m the Temple family attorney, it isn’t a breach of confidentiality to tell you, Violet,” Bo Rivers begins. “Can I call you Violet?” he asks, turning up the volume of his southern charm.

“But I’m not a Temple,” Violet says.

“Actually, you are,” he says. He speaks softer, as if wanting to avoid another call to the paramedics.

“I don’t understand,” Violet says. “How could I be a Temple?”

Spud takes her arm, as if also anticipating the worst.

“Let me explain,” Bo Rivers begins. “My father, Rutledge Rivers, was the Temple attorney for many years, which included Iris Temple’s husband, Oscar Bell. After my father’s death earlier this year, the client files passed to me. Upon reviewing the files a few weeks ago—when all those lawsuits started showing up because of the secrets in the newspaper—I found a letter written by Oscar Bell in the back of one of the files,” he continues. “I immediately called Iris Temple to the office to view the letter and she confirmed that it was indeed from Oscar Bell. In this letter, Violet, he confirmed that you were his biological daughter.”

“But that’s not possible,” Violet says. “My mother didn’t even work for the Temples.”

Rose and Spud look just as confused as she is. Everyone looks at her except Queenie, who is digging in her large purse as though making room to crawl inside

“Someone, please tell me what’s going on,” Violet says to the group. “If this is true, why am I just now finding out?” Violet hates that her voice is shaking.

Silence.

“I have no idea why the letter came to light so late,” Bo Rivers says, “except that it was simply misplaced all these years. It’s amazing we found it at all. Like I said, if it hadn’t been for all the fallout over the
Temple Book of Secrets
, I might never have found it.”

Violet remembers Mister Oscar coming into the kitchen when she was a girl and him bringing her small gifts after he returned from business trips. Sometimes it would be a pink diary with a lock and key, or a book. She never questioned why she might receive a gift. She just thought he was a nice man.

“But this doesn’t make sense,” she says, to no one in particular. She wishes Jack were here. She could use some of his ceaseless optimism right now.

“Certain facts and requests were revealed in the letter that Iris Temple took to be true,” Bo Rivers continues. “It seems that Oscar Bell is your biological father. And upon Iris’s death, he specifically wanted the house to go to you. Per his deathbed request, Iris Temple changed the will that day.”

Violet rubs her forehead to help her brain take it all in. “Oscar Bell was my father?” she asks. “But that still doesn’t make me a Temple.”

“There’s more,” Bo Rivers begins again. “The letter also reveals your biological mother.”

“But I know who my mother was,” Violet says. “She died in a car crash on Tybee Island when I was a baby.”

“Not according to Oscar Bell,” Bo Rivers says. He pauses and glances at his watch, as if happy hour cannot come soon enough.

“According to Oscar Bell my real mother didn’t die?” Violet asks. She’s never felt so confused. Bo Rivers glances at Queenie again, who has given up on her purse and is staring into the palms of her hands on her lap, as though reading her fortune and the news isn’t good.

“Violet,
I’m
your mother,” Queenie says, finally looking at her.

For the second time that day, Violet feels like she might faint.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Rose

Rose lingers in the hallway of the attorney’s office after Violet leaves in tears.

“I had no idea the secret was going to come out like this,” Queenie says, close to tears, herself. “My fear was that it would show up in the newspaper some morning. I never dreamed it would come out this way.”

“Queenie, why didn’t you tell Violet you were her mother?”

“It’s complicated,” Queenie says. She pulls a box of tissues from her purse. She offers one to Rose, who declines.

Rose is certain Queenie must have had her reasons for sitting on this secret. She isn’t the type to be cruel.

“Oh, Rose, I’m such an idiot,” Queenie says.

At this moment, Rose is inclined to agree. “Violet’s very upset,” Rose says. Should she be comforting Violet instead of Queenie?

“She has every right to be upset.” When Queenie blows her nose it sounds like the honk of the Canada geese that migrate to their field back home. Rose wishes she was on her way there right now.

The events of the last hour have shaken her. Her father is also Violet’s father? Queenie is Violet’s mother? Not to mention the biggest shock of the meeting. Is she really being offered twenty million dollars to move back to Savannah?

One crisis at a time,
she tells herself, as her thoughts return to Violet.

“I always wanted a sister,” Rose says, deciding to look at the positives. “But you have to admit, you don’t usually find out that you have one after forty years.”

“I need to find Violet and explain,” Queenie says, biting her bottom lip. “There’s reasons for all of this.”

Rose has never seen Queenie this off-balance. Her mother always had a knack for making a mess of things. What Rose didn’t expect was that she could create such a mess after her death.

“I’ve got to make this right,” Queenie says, giving Rose a quick hug. She takes the elevator in search of Violet.

Alone now, Rose thinks to call Max, but then decides to wait. It is still early in Wyoming and he will be out checking the cattle. Besides, she needs time to think about what just happened.

She walks through the parking garage grateful that she was running late this morning and drove her rental car. Riding home in a car with Queenie and Violet and all this drama is the last thing she needs. But what to do next? Her flight is later tonight. She has hours to wait before she can make a proper escape. Since she doesn’t know when she’ll be back on the coast again, Rose decides to take a walk on the beach to clear her thoughts.

Her heels click across the concrete parking lot. She can’t get the look on Edward’s face out of her mind. His cold expression makes her shiver in the Savannah heat even now. It isn’t news that her brother hates her, she just didn’t realize how much.

Mother must have been livid when she found out about Daddy and Queenie
, Rose thinks.

If her mother had known beforehand, she would never have let Queenie live in the house, nor would she have ever hired Violet. Not to mention that if her father had been faithful to her mother, none of this would be happening anyway. She tends to forget his culpability in all this. Yet, if she’s honest with herself, she must have known something was going on. Once, when she was around twelve, she walked into her father’s office and found him and Queenie there. Nothing was going on, but they were startled by her intrusion.

After pulling the rental out of the parking lot, Rose drives toward the shore. Even though she drives the speed limit, her mind races to process the last hour. She stops at a convenience store to get a cup of coffee and grabs a newspaper to read on the plane. It’s too hot for coffee, but it’s what she drinks when she really wants a glass of wine.

“How’s life treating you?” the cashier asks, who is barrel-chested and middle-aged. A space between his teeth offers a view of his pink and gray tongue.

Rose forgets how friendly people are in the South, even strangers, and decides to answer truthfully. “Well, my father’s been dead for twenty-seven years, but I just found out that he had an affair with our housekeeper’s daughter and fathered the girl that became my best friend while I was growing up. So I now have a half-sister that I never knew I had.”

“I’ve had days like that, too,” he chuckles and hands Rose her change.

She thanks him, thinking how nobody in Cheyenne would have been so understanding. Things happen in the south that don’t happen anywhere else. This is one of the things that makes her birthplace interesting.

With no idea of where she wants to go, Rose returns to her car and just drives. Before long, she finds herself on the way to Old Sally’s house. Even though it is hot and humid and the coffee is making her hotter, she has the windows down so she can smell the sea.

The island has changed dramatically since she was a girl, but when she turns onto Old Sally’s road everything looks the same. Rose parks at the back of the house and gets out of the car. She isn’t exactly dressed for the beach—she’s wearing the same dress she wore to the funeral—but being here feels right.

Despite all the history, Rose has come to the conclusion that her time back in Savannah has been good for her. She hasn’t realized how much she missed the coast. After she married Max she left all that was familiar to start a new life. She succeeded in that part, at least. Moving from Savannah to Cheyenne is about as different as a person can get without leaving the country. Until now, it never occurred to her that she might not spend the rest of her life in the West.

Rose leaves her black pumps in the car and walks barefoot through the dunes to Old Sally’s house. She didn’t anticipate that her quick trip to get closure with her mother would stretch into a week. She needed more clothes for a longer stay, including shorts and sandals. At the same time, she’s ready to be home. Ready to be with Max.

The Atlantic Ocean stretches into the horizon. Rose stands at sea level, as opposed to roughly 6,000 feet in the high plains of Wyoming. The sun feels much softer here than on the plains. The temperatures in Wyoming can easily hit one hundred degrees for several weeks every summer. But it is dry heat, where a hundred degrees feels very different due to 10 percent humidity, not 90 percent. Coastal summers are sticky and steamy. The winters are chilly, yet mild.

When she turns toward the house, Old Sally is waiting at the door. Though this should surprise her, it doesn’t. Old Sally gives a brief wave and Rose returns the greeting. For some reason this simple welcome makes Rose’s eyes mist.

“I was expecting you,” Old Sally says, as Rose climbs the steps.

“I know you were,” Rose says.

She opens her arms and Rose lets Old Sally hold her. Her embrace is as solid and strong as ever and Rose sobs as if it is the most natural response in the world to all that has happened. Old Sally rubs Rose’s back like she did when Rose was upset as a girl and says Gullah words that Rose doesn’t understand, but that comfort her nonetheless.

Finally empty of tears, Rose pulls out several unused tissues she stuck in the pocket of her dress for her mother’s funeral. She blows her nose. “I’m a mess,” she says.

“You be a beautiful mess,” Old Sally says, as she smoothes Rose’s hair.

Old Sally directs Rose to sit on the top step and then joins her, her body slower and more careful. For several seconds, Rose stares at Old Sally’s bare feet—her long, brown wrinkled toes. Strong, sturdy feet that have served Old Sally for a hundred years.

What must it be like to be this old, in a culture where people half her age are given senior discounts?

“I’ve just come from the attorney’s office,” Rose says. “Mother’s trying to get me back to Georgia. In her will she offered me a lot of money if I live here again.”

Old Sally listens like this is no big surprise.

“I would dismiss her offer just on the principal of the thing,” Rose says, “if I hadn’t noticed these last few days how much I miss Savannah.”

Old Sally leaves plenty of room for Rose to talk.

“The last time I was here it was just so awful,” Rose continues. “Mother and I had this horrible fight and she accused me of only visiting because I wanted her money.” Rose sniffs back new tears that threaten to come. “Then she said that she wished I’d never been born. Can you believe that?” Rose asks. “What kind of mother wishes their kid had never been born?”

“A very angry and bitter one,” Old Sally says, her voice soft. “But you need to know that no matter what kind of person you turned out to be, you mother would have felt the same way about you.”

“But she wasn’t hateful to Edward,” Rose says. “She worshiped the ground he walked on.”

“Edward paid a high price for that,” she says. “He still be paying.”

Rose pauses while her shoulders slowly relax. “I guess I never thought of it that way,” she says.

“Let’s take a walk,” Old Sally says. “The wind be good for blowing away muddy thoughts.” Her toes wiggle as if ready to go.

Rose helps her stand and holds her arm as they go down the steps. Old Sally is frailer than Rose wants to admit. When they reach the beach, Rose continues to hold her arm, not knowing if it is Old Sally who needs the support or her. As they walk, Rose tells Old Sally the details of what happened in Bo River’s office, although she doesn’t seem surprised by any of it.

When Rose tells her about Violet finding out about her real parents, Old Sally stops walking and turns to look at the sea, like she’s seeing something play out in the past.

“Secrets be no good for anybody,” Old Sally begins, still staring at the horizon. “It’s the truth that sets people free. I just wish I’d been brave enough to tell the truth when I could.”

She lowers her head as though disappointed in herself. For a second Rose wonders if it is Old Sally who is releasing the secrets to the newspaper. But the thought seems so far-fetched, she doesn’t entertain it for long.

“I lied to Violet,” Old Sally continues. “It was wrong to let her think that my daughter Maya was her mother. But Queenie be convinced we’d all lose our jobs if people knew.”

“You mean you knew, too?” Rose never thought Old Sally capable of lying.