Trueluck Summer: Southern Historical Fiction

Trueluck Summer: Southern Historical Fiction

<b>A hopeful grandmother. A sassy young girl. Their audacious summer stunt could change their southern town forever. </b><p>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 whip-smart granddaughter Trudy. Ida makes it her top priority to give the girl a summer she'll never forget. </p><p>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. </p><p>With all of Southern society conspiring against them, can Trudy, Ida, and their friends pull off the impossible?</p><p><i>Trueluck Summer</i> 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.</p><br /><br />Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.<br /><br />At the corner of King Street, I wait for the traffic light to change, tapping my foot on the sidewalk. The pie is heavy and my fingers ache from the twine. Callie’s Diner is less than a block away. A dark cloud covers the sun and momentarily softens the heat. For about the hundredth time that day I wish for a summer adventure.<br /><br />In the next second, a Sunbeam Bread truck barrels down Broad Street from the opposite direction. Something about it seems off. The truck weaves into the other lane, and a car veers out of the way. The driver of the car sits on his horn. A moment later the truck comes straight for me. I freeze, my legs refusing to move as danger prickles up my spine. Brakes squeal, and I hold my breath. An instant before I am smashed flatter than one of Nana Trueluck’s pralines that she always makes at Christmas, a brown hand jerks me out of the way and the truck crashes into a streetlamp right where I was standing. The engine sizzles, and a cloud of steam rises from the hood. <br /><br />“Are you okay?” the boy asks. <br /><br />In that moment, I realize I have never seen a colored boy up close. He is about my age, though shorter and skinnier, and is much stronger than he appears, given he just pulled me out of the path of a runaway truck.<br /><br />“You saved my life,” I say. <br /><br />He blinks like he is as surprised as I am.<br /><br />“My name is Trudy Trueluck.” I extend my hand.<br /><br />He hesitates, like maybe he has never touched a white girl before. But then he shakes my hand. <br /><br />“Paris Moses,” he says. “No relation.” <br /><br />“No relation?” I ask. <br /><br />“No relation to the guy in the Bible,” he says.<br /><br />“Oh,” I say. <br /><br />The lemon meringue pie I was to deliver to Callie’s Diner is a gooey mess on the sidewalk.<br /><br />“That could have been me,” I say to Paris, “except there would be blood and guts instead of yellow filling.”<br /><br />He offers a quick grimace followed by a smile. At that moment I know that Paris Moses and I will become friends.