Let Me Die in His Footsteps

24

IN AN HOUR or so, folks will begin to arrive. As Annie and Mama walk out the door, Grandma fusses at them for running off, but Mama says they’ll be back in plenty of time and motions for Annie to climb into Daddy’s truck. Mama never drives Daddy’s truck, but today she will.

At first, Annie thinks they’re headed to town because they drive down the hill same as always. But then Mama takes a hard right and starts back into the hills again. She’s wearing her new dress. It’s pale green, and Lessie Collins in town stitched it up so the top is molded to Mama’s body. It shows her every curve and valley such that Daddy couldn’t help rubbing that stubbly chin of his against her neck.

Daddy is sleeping in his own bed again for the first time in two weeks. After Daddy carried Annie home from the Baines’ place-taking care she never saw what had become of Ellis Baine-Daddy, the sheriff, and Abraham talked for a good long time while Miss Watson sat in the back of the sheriff’s car. Once Abraham and the sheriff left, Daddy and Annie waited at the kitchen table until Mama came back from town. When her car pulled up outside, Daddy told Annie again that when he finally drew his last breath in this life, he’d still not have forgiven himself for raising a hand to her but would she please take Caroline and Grandma upstairs and give him and Mama some privacy.

At first, Grandma wouldn’t let Annie eavesdrop from the top of the stairs, but after sitting on the beds and hearing nothing but quiet in the house, Grandma said it wouldn’t do no harm and told Annie to go have a listen.

There wasn’t much to hear from the top of the stairs either. Mostly just Mama crying, not hard crying, but the kind of crying that stuck in the back of her throat and choked off every third or fourth word. Daddy said Abraham had no choice but to fire his gun. Likely Ellis Baine wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, but likely wasn’t good enough. That was Annie up there, and likely wasn’t good enough.

Mama doesn’t stop the truck outside what’s left of her childhood home. Annie never knew her granddaddy on her mama’s side, the man who built this house where the sun rarely shines. That’s what Mama always talks about when she talks about her childhood. No sunshine, she says. Can you imagine? Lord, our socks and shoes never dried. Grandma says Granddaddy’s history sizzles underfoot, but Annie doesn’t ever feel him.

Annie knows now why they drove the truck. She presses a hand to the dashboard as Mama drives up the hill behind her old house. At the top, she stops, yanks off the leather gloves she slipped on so as to not ruin her nails, throws open her door, and climbs out. Annie does the same. Giving Annie a wave to join her, Mama walks to the front of the truck.

There’s sun here. Mama shields her eyes, looks off to the left and to the right. Small mounds of dirt, light brown and each with a hole at its center, litter the ground. Each hole is a spot where the cicadas broke through. Back home, the mounds have mostly been trampled over. The cicadas are singing still, though they’ve dwindled in number. Soon enough, the summer will be a quieter place. There will be more of the critters next summer, but not of this same kind. These cicadas won’t come again for seventeen more years.

“There,” Mama says when she sees it, whatever she’s looking for. Taking long, quick, sure-footed steps because she exchanged her white heels for a pair of boots before setting off, she starts walking.

It’s the fourth Sunday in June. Abraham was supposed to be married by nightfall. Miss Watson never found her something new and something blue, though her dress had been twice altered. But that wedding won’t happen. Instead, Abraham will move south of Lexington, where his daddy got his start. Sheriff Fulkerson thought it might be best for everyone if Abraham put some distance between himself and Miss Watson. The man deserved a fresh start. Like Daddy, Sheriff Fulkerson knew he had no choice but to do what was done. When next Abraham stepped into Grandma’s kitchen, clutching his hat and looking small again for only the second time in his life, Mama wrapped him up in a hug as best she could seeing as how big he was and how small she was. He might well be Annie’s daddy, her real daddy, but mostly he’s still just Abraham.

Annie and Mama walk toward a cluster of trees. Must be water running nearby for such a cluster to grow so thick. Mama stops before she steps into the shade of those trees, and with one hand still shielding her eyes, she points with the other.

“You been wondering what’s become of your Aunt Juna,” Mama says. “She’s there. Somewhere in there.”

“Ma’am?”

“It’s the best I can tell you, Annie. Don’t know who was up there that night, who left those cigarettes you found, though I do believe you found them, but it wasn’t your Aunt Juna.”

“You been writing those letters every Christmas?” Annie asks.

Mama nods. That’s why Aunt Juna knew Caroline and Annie were precious as little girls and then lovely as young women.

“I thought one day you’d learn about Juna being your mama and that it would comfort you to know she loved you. Thought it would comfort you to think she was still out there, somewhere. But you’re my daughter. No more to say about it. She was your Aunt Juna, that’s all. I was the one to first hold you when you came into this world. You’re mine and your daddy’s. That’s who you are.”

Annie steps closer, but like Mama, she doesn’t step into the shade. She might come here again, if there’s a sizzle in the air or something claws at her, but otherwise, she thinks not.

“We’d better get on,” Annie says. “Grandma’ll be wondering.”

ANNIE DOESN’T HAVE to wait long for Ryce Fulkerson to arrive. He comes alone, riding his bike instead of coming with his parents in his daddy’s patrol car. Annie promised Caroline she’d tell Ryce straightaway about not seeing Jacob Riddle down in that well, but before Annie can finish cutting the lavender bread the way Grandma likes it cut and make her way out to Ryce, Lizzy Morris has arrived too.

More and more folks arrive, all of them wandering through the lavender Daddy and Annie haven’t yet cut. Many of them wander to the top of the hill where they’ll see the Baines’ place and the well and the spot where Ellis Baine died. Annie wants to yell at them to get away and give the man his peace, but Mama says there’s no need for yelling because their curiosity will pass in good time. The legend will die now, Mama says, but she’s wrong. Even though Joseph Carl Baine didn’t kill anyone and he isn’t Annie’s daddy, for these folks, Aunt Juna lives on. Joseph Carl being an innocent man makes Juna Crowley’s legend all the bigger.

But Mama was right about curiosity. It’s short-lived, and as folks fill their arms with bundles of the fresh-cut flowers, each one tied off with a satin ribbon, hug them close, and bury their noses in the blossoms that have finally burst wide open, they begin to forget about the Baines and the well. They take pictures, spin so their skirts puff up like Mama’s sometimes does. Lizzy Morris drags Ryce along as she follows after all the other ladies. And like all the other fellows, Ryce tags after.

Upstairs, Annie sits with Miss Watson. Tending her on her wedding day was always meant to be Annie’s job. She was meant to sit with Miss Watson as she readied herself while Grandma greeted the guests, Mama took their bags and wraps, and Caroline served the food.

Miss Watson arrived right on time for the wedding, except there’s no wedding to be had. She wouldn’t have Abraham in the room because him seeing her before they said “I do” would be bad luck, so he’s standing outside the door while Daddy fetches the sheriff. After Miss Watson arrived, Daddy whispered to Mama and Annie that Miss Watson likely didn’t mean no harm but there was no telling what she might do once she realized there would be no wedding. Best to have the sheriff see to her.

From her upstairs window, Annie watches the people below as Miss Watson steps into the wide skirt of her white dress, pulls the bodice up and over her narrow hips, and slips her arms through the lace sleeves. By this hour, folks have stopped taking pictures and hugging the bundles of lavender. Already they’re accustomed to the sweet smell and the beauty of it all, and they’ve turned to sipping whiskey and listening to Grandma instruct them on the proper uses of lavender.

Miss Watson sits on the edge of Caroline’s bed, her back straight, one hand holding her veil so it doesn’t slip out of place, the other holding a cigarette to her mouth.

“It was you up there,” Annie says, “wasn’t it?”

Miss Watson snubs out the cigarette, rubbing it until it snaps at the filter. Same as all those cigarettes Annie saw by the tobacco barn. It’s Miss Watson’s way of being careful. She’s always been a careful sort, so Annie must have scared her that night for her to drop the butt that was still smoldering.

“You going to tell Abraham?” she says, poking at the pins in her veil. Miss Watson used a dozen or more when securing that veil to her head, but still she’s afraid it’ll come loose. “I’m always fussing at him for smoking. It ruins the paint and dirties up the windows, you know. Wouldn’t do for him to find out I indulge myself. I’ll quit once we’re married.”

“Why?” Annie says, though she already knows why.

Growing older apparently doesn’t ease a person of self-doubt.

“He was always here,” she says. “More and more he was spending the night here. What man does that? Sleeps on another family’s sofa, lets another woman cook his meals? I just wanted to know why. I wanted to know he wasn’t going to leave me.”

“You didn’t see Aunt Juna at your house either,” Annie says. “Did you?”

“I was afraid,” Miss Watson says. “That’s true enough. All your talk of Juna coming home again. I was afraid she’d come for Abe or maybe come for me too. She was evil, you know? Evil through and through. That’s true enough.” She stops fussing with her veil and looks up at Annie. “I even started being afraid of you. Saw you with Ryce that day at the field, and I thought he was looking at you like my Abe used to look at Juna.” Then Miss Watson points one of her hairpins at Annie. “You know she’ll come back one day, that aunt of yours. And I’ll be happy not to be living here when she does. Abe and I, we’re moving to Lexington, did you know?”

“And Mrs. Baine?” Annie says.

“Didn’t even see her,” Miss Watson says, standing at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Could have been dead the whole time I was up there. I didn’t even see her.”

Annie will never know why Mrs. Baine was out there with that gun the night Annie ascended. She may have been waiting for Annie like the sheriff suspected. Or maybe, and this is how Annie will choose to remember it, Mrs. Baine had thought it was Juna standing there in the barn’s doorway, smoking those cigarettes, and she meant to protect the Holleran family.

The door opens, and Mama sticks her head in. “It’s time, Abigail,” meaning the sheriff is here. He’ll take Abigail home, that’s what Mama said, and see to her until she’s well again.

“Hold up,” Annie says.

Miss Watson stands and brushes at the pleats of her white dress while Annie pulls open her top dresser drawer. It’s still there behind her Sunday stockings, exactly like the one Ryce Fulkerson had brought for her. The chalky white frog is wrapped in a white kerchief. She lifts it gently, cradles it with both hands, and steps up to Miss Watson.

Miss Watson believes. Like Abraham, Miss Watson believes in Annie’s know-how.

“You might find yourself worrying about Juna Crowley again one day or feeling somewhat lonely,” Annie says, laying the kerchief and its contents in Miss Watson’s outstretched hand. “Grind this up if you do and sprinkle it on your head. Maybe right before you go to sleep. You’ll feel well by morning and never have another worry about Juna Crowley because you’re probably right. She’ll come back one day.”

Annie says that last part so Miss Watson will never want to come here again.

Miss Watson repeats Annie’s directions so she’ll be sure to do it right and tucks the kerchief in the white satin handbag hung from her forearm.

“You won’t tell about the cigarettes, will you?”

RYCE’S HAND IS warm on Annie’s arm. And as quick as he gets a hold, Lizzy Morris is at his side.

“Where you been?” he says to Annie.

Maybe that’s what he meant to say, or maybe it’s all he can say with Lizzy hanging from his arm.

Lizzy wears a nearly white dress with just the slightest hint of lavender to it. So perfect for such a day, and with her coloring and her perfectly normal size, it does look nice. On a girl Annie’s size, nearly as tall as Ryce, though not quite because somewhere along the way, he took her over, it would look silly. Instead, Annie wears dark blue, a nicer shade for her, more to her liking.

“You get your truck yet?” Annie asks.

“Nah,” Ryce says, dropping the arm Lizzy had latched onto so her hand falls loose. It’s a move that must make Lizzy angry because she crosses her arms and walks off. “Not going to buy one. Decided to put it all toward college again. Think I might want to do something other than be sheriff. Excuse me a minute,” he says and steps up to the porch to help his grandmother with the steps.

Walking on ahead of Ryce and his grandma, Annie pulls out the rocking chair so its runners won’t knock up against the house. It’s the rocker Grandpa made for Grandma. Daddy says it’s all fixed up, won’t squeak and squeal no more. After folks go home, it’ll come back in the house and sit in the living room again. Annie pats on the seat so Ryce will know his grandma is welcome to have a seat. Ain’t nothing wrong with this rocker.

Before Ryce’s daddy was sheriff, his grandma was sheriff. Sheriff Irlene. No one is meant to tell her that Miss Watson lied all those years ago. Ryce’s grandma isn’t much longer for this life, and no sense in her spending her last days with guilt and regret. She’s not such an old woman, not nearly so old as Mrs. Baine had been, but life is harder for some folks and it takes its toll. Irlene Fulkerson has had a harder calling than most, that’s what Grandma says.

After lowering herself onto the rocker, Mrs. Fulkerson grabs hold of the iced lavender tea Annie pours for her. Her white hair is wound up and pinned off at the crown of her head and she wears a pale-pink lipstick. Ryce’s mama probably helped her to put it on. She pats Annie’s hand and gives a wink, and for a moment, Ryce’s grandma doesn’t look so old.

“I didn’t see Jacob Riddle in that well,” Annie says, following Ryce down the porch steps.

It really doesn’t need saying. Jacob and Caroline have not parted since the day began. Already folks are teasing that their wedding will come with next year’s harvest, though Daddy thinks differently. Caroline will damn sure finish school. That’s what Daddy said at the supper table. With all these folks around, he says the same, though he doesn’t curse and he smiles as he says it.

“Didn’t see no one,” Annie says. It’s easier to say it when Ryce isn’t looking at her.

Ryce stops, turns, and nods like maybe he already knew.

And because Grandma says there is nothing wrong with yearning, though it will twist a girl’s insides this way and that, and because the lavender is done for this year and because she doesn’t so much mind being nearly as tall as Ryce Fulkerson, Annie steps up to him and kisses him full on the mouth. It’s not like the first kiss Caroline talked about, and it’s not like her third. It’s somewhere in between. Annie kisses Ryce long enough that he’ll want her to do it again. She kisses him long enough that he’ll damn sure know he’s been kissed.