“It’s almost time,” Caroline says. She walks from the barn, leaving Annie alone in the dark, and makes her way to the fence. Once there, she lays the flashlight on top of the flat stones. The yellow glow travels down the long rock fence and eventually fades into darkness. “You want to go first? Or should I?”
Caroline skipped the better part of childhood, never cared about sneaking off to go swimming when she was supposed to be hanging out the laundry. She never begged for seconds of Grandma’s banana pudding or lied about brushing teeth. It would seem, however, that the chance to see her future husband is the one thing to give Caroline some gumption because before Annie can grab hold of Caroline’s arm or sweater or any part of her, Caroline has pressed her palms on top of the fence, jumped, plopped her hind end on the flat rocks, lifted her legs, and dropped down on the other side.
“Hurry up,” Caroline whispers, wrapping both hands around the lit end of the flashlight to douse it.
Taking one last look into the dark barn, Annie backs away from the open doorway, feeling certain she ought not turn her back on it, and follows Caroline over the fence.
As if walking through the snow that drifts up alongside the house every winter, Annie high-steps it through the weeds that have taken over on this side of the fence. Without her boys to help, Mrs. Baine has let the land go to seed. With both hands, Annie parts the tall, bristly stalks and takes one last look at the dark barn. The rustling she thinks she hears is only her imagination, or it’s likely the work of some critter caught in the barn’s upper rafters. The shifting shadows in the doorway are surely the work of thin clouds drifting across the dark sky and playing with the moonlight. At the sound of Caroline’s voice calling out for Annie to hurry up, Annie turns away from the barn and follows the yellow glow that bounces on ahead.
The well stands no more than twenty feet from the Baines’ house. If Annie had a stone in hand, she could throw it and have a good chance at hitting the front door. It hadn’t looked so close from the other side of the fence. Grandma would have called it wishful thinking, and she always says nothing causes a person more harm than wishful thinking. Standing on the near side of the well so she can keep an eye on the dark porch outside Mrs. Baine’s house, Annie pulls out her candle and her last two matches.
“Put that thing out,” she says to Caroline again, this time in a hiss. “You’re going to wake Mrs. Baine.”
Caroline slides around the well to Annie’s side and switches off the silver-handled flashlight just as Annie draws her match across the jagged rocks laid along the top of the well. The flame jumps, flickers, and dies out. She tosses the match aside, turns her back to shield the flame this time, and strikes her last one. The flame catches, steadies, and Annie touches it to her candle. Holding it such that the wax will drip into the well and not down her arm, she leans over the dark hole. The air is cooler here and smells of the shallow water along the river’s edge.
“You got no business here,” Annie says, lowering her candle into the well. The flame’s glow cuts a small hole in the darkness. “There ain’t nothing for you down there.”
Hooking one hand over the edge of the flat top, Annie leans into the hole and slowly, so the flame doesn’t get snuffed, lowers the candle. Through the thin cotton of her nightgown, the rock wall is cool and rough against her thighs. She hopes to see a handsome brown-haired boy, because brown-haired boys grow into brown-haired men and brown-haired men make the best husbands. And he’ll be tall. Surely he’ll be tall, taller than Annie. The yellow glow swells and glistens on the well’s smooth, dark insides.
“This’ll work better,” Caroline says, and like Annie, she tips over the well. She wraps both hands around the silver handle, points the flashlight in the black hole, and switches it back on. The light wobbles and bounces as she leans forward to rest on her forearms. Once she has settled on a comfortable position, her feet most certainly firmly on the ground, the light steadies.
“It’s midnight,” Caroline whispers. “Now, Annie. Now’s the time.”
Annie shakes her candle until its flame goes out, takes three deep breaths, and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she’ll see him, and she’ll know he’ll be her husband, and by summer’s end, she’ll kiss him full on the mouth. Their kiss won’t be sloppy like the ones the girls at school warn of, but this future husband will keep his tongue in his mouth, exactly where it belongs. Their kiss will be sweet, dry, pleasing, and Annie will be a new kind of girl after it’s over, and not a single kid at school will have one thing to say to Annie Holleran about husbands-to-be or first kisses.
“I see him,” Caroline says.
It’s little more than a whisper.
Again.
“There. I see him, right there. Do you see?” And in an even quieter voice, Caroline says, “I see my husband.”