“I did think of that.” Her hair smells like rose petals, which is altogether unexpected on a lavender farm. “They were blue when he was born. That’s what he said. Blue until he got older, and then they turned brown.”
“Did they ask you about last night?” Annie rolls on her back and lays her head off to the side so she can see Caroline. The moonlight coming through the window throws a tiny glare in her blue eyes. “Daddy and Sheriff Fulkerson, did they ask you questions?”
Caroline lays her head off to the side too so their noses nearly touch.
“Yes,” she whispers, her breath sharp and salty with the smell of the baking powder she uses to brush her teeth.
“What did you tell them?”
“Truth.”
“Which is?”
“That I followed you up there when you told me not to.”
“Why’d you tell them that?”
Annie hadn’t wanted Caroline to follow because she always gets the better of things. She doesn’t mean any harm, doesn’t have the gumption to be harmful, but she has a way. Sheriff Fulkerson and other folks wouldn’t understand about sisters who have a way and always get the better of things. They’d think Annie asked her not to come because Annie’s evil like Aunt Juna and had evil things in mind.
“Because it was true,” Caroline says. “Told them I followed you anyway. Even told them I stole from you, took your flashlight.”
There she goes again, even trying to get the better of Annie’s guilt.
“They don’t care about no stolen flashlight,” Annie says. “You tell about the cigarettes?”
“I did, but Daddy said they didn’t find any. Said maybe we saw something else. Asked was I sure.”
Annie shifts around until she’s looking at the dark ceiling. “And?”
“Said I was sure. Said maybe I was sure.”
“I’m going again,” Annie says.
Caroline rolls on her side, lifts up on one elbow, and looks down at Annie. “Going where?”
“I think it was Aunt Juna up there,” Annie says. “Thinking she’s the one who left those cigarettes.”
The smile Jacob Riddle had put on Caroline’s face fades. “You shouldn’t be wishing for something like that, for Aunt Juna to come home.”
Mama and Daddy didn’t have to sit Caroline down the way they sat Annie down. The next year, when Caroline reached the third grade, Mrs. Johansson called her off the playground, walked with her to a shady spot near the swing sets no one used because the bolts were nearly rusted through, and after that, Caroline didn’t jump rope anymore.
“Ain’t wishing for it,” Annie says.
“Then why would you go? Why do you care? Tell Mama and Daddy. They’ll see to it.”
“Mama would tell her to stay,” Annie says. “I’m going to tell her to leave.”
“You can’t go,” Caroline says, sitting up. “I won’t let you. I’ll wake Mama right now. I’ll wake Daddy too.”
Only one time did Mama say those nasty cigars of Daddy’s reminded her of her own daddy. She waved a hand as if to rid the house of the sweet, smoky smell, and when that didn’t work, she walked out the door, letting it slam behind. Daddy had snubbed out the cigar and hollered after her that he was sorry. That smell in Mama’s own kitchen brought something to mind, brought it too near. Whatever memories Mama had of her childhood, she could manage them until they were resurrected by the smell of that cigar. That’s how it is with Aunt Juna. Annie can manage the thought of her when she is at a distance, is strong enough to keep her own evil nature from taking root, but if Aunt Juna were to get too close, she’d be like the sweet, smoky cigar. She’d bring to life things Annie would rather leave dead and buried.
“Do you promise?” Caroline asks. “Do you promise you won’t go?”
“Sure, Caroline,” Annie says, knowing Caroline never suspects folks of lying. “I promise.”
Caroline keeps staring at the side of Annie’s face, waiting for her to say something more. Or maybe she knows Aunt Juna is Annie’s real mama too. Annie never thought about that. Caroline doesn’t like hearing about the pigs Abraham slaughters every year or the chicken on the table being so fresh it practically walked itself into the oven. Instead she likes the smell of lavender and cleaning the bristles of her best hairbrush. But because of the way she’s staring at the parts of Annie just like Ellis Baine did when he was sitting at the kitchen table, because her eyes travel from the top of Annie’s head down to her chin and back up to her yellow hair, if Caroline hadn’t considered it before, she’s considering it now. She’s thinking about Ellis Baine’s visit to the house and understanding now why he came to see Annie. Caroline is being forced to see what’s behind the supper being served. Annie and Caroline aren’t real sisters.
“It wasn’t Jacob Riddle I seen in that well,” Annie says, tired of trying her best to be angry at Caroline. As much as Annie can’t help being taller than most any other girl, Caroline can’t help that life is so much easier for her. “But I expect he’s the boy you seen.”