Annie had been a baby, probably not yet able to walk or talk, and Aunt Juna had done nothing more than write a letter. She hadn’t bothered with a visit or a gift. Or maybe that wasn’t what made Annie put the letters away. Maybe those few lines, written by Aunt Juna’s own hand, had changed her from a legend to an ordinary person for maybe the first time in Annie’s life. Tomorrow, Annie will return the cards and letters to their envelopes and slip them back in Mama’s bedside table before she has a chance to miss them.
It’s not such a long walk from the end of the lavender field to the barn, but the ground isn’t plowed and smooth and the walking is harder. Several times, an ankle nearly gives way, and Annie stumbles twice before reaching the barn’s open door. Her breathing is heavier now, and she can’t hear as well as she’d like. She draws in one deep breath, holds it, and leans into the barn. Still no hint of a cigarette. Not a sound. She swallows and exhales.
“That Annie in there?”
Annie swings around but doesn’t step from the barn’s doorway. It’s a man’s voice. She remembers it well enough. Rough, like it’s rolling over gravel.
“Yes.”
She waits for something more. Her blood is racing, and her breath and her heartbeat too, and she can’t still any of it.
“Yes,” she says again.
She takes one step outside the barn, and she hears it. Down below, down near the house, a dog is barking. Maybe it just started, or maybe she just now heard it. She takes another step, looks across the rock fence, and sees nothing. It was Ellis Baine she heard calling out to her. It had to be, but he’s gone now.
That’s definitely a barking dog. Backing away from the rock fence, Annie lifts the hem of her nightgown up to her knees, turns, and starts to run. Halfway down the hill, the smell of lavender lifting up around her, the barking gets louder. It sounds like Abraham’s dog, but Abraham had unhooked her leash when he and Miss Watson left, lowered the gate on the back of his truck, and whistled for Tilly to hop on.
Annie runs faster, gets closer still. That’s Abraham’s truck parked on the far side of the drive. He’s come back. She would have heard him if he’d only now arrived, so he must have been parked there when she snuck out of the house. The porch light switches on. The drive brightens, and that’s Tilly in the front seat, jumping and barking. By the time Annie reaches the bottom of the hill, Daddy appears in the drive. He’s running from the house toward Abraham’s truck, a shotgun in one hand.
The barking dog woke Daddy. He’ll have heard it first, before Mama, and will have jumped out of bed, run down the hall, and thrown open Annie’s door. “You both here?” Daddy will have said, bracing himself with one hand on the door frame and leaning into the room. “Annie, you here?” Caroline will have sat up, looked at Annie’s empty bed, and known Annie lied. “She went to look for Aunt Juna,” Caroline will have said.
Daddy keeps a gun on the top shelf of the linen closet where no one but he and Annie are tall enough to see it. He’ll have grabbed the gun. Mama will have run after, calling out, “Please, John. It’s nothing. No guns, please.”
“Annie,” Daddy shouts as he runs toward Abraham’s truck.
Grandma appears next, running as best she can around the side of the house. “Annie,” she cries. The sound of her voice frightens Annie most. It’s a fear she’s not heard before. “Good Lord, Annie, where are you?”
“I’m here,” Annie says, running from the dark of the lavender field into the lit drive. “What is it? I’m here, Grandma.”
Daddy sees Annie first. He stops at the side of Abraham’s truck, looks Annie over long enough to know she’s well, and then pulls open the passenger door. Tilly leaps from the car and runs toward Annie.
“Grandma, I’m here,” Annie calls out again because Grandma has not stopped. Her long white hair hangs over her shoulders and in her face, and her robe flaps open, the thin belt hanging loose and trailing behind. “Stop, Grandma. I’m fine.”
Maybe it’s Tilly jumping up on Grandma, or maybe it’s that grandmas don’t run so well, but before Grandma can stop herself, she stumbles and falls, both hands flying out. She lands near Annie’s feet and cries out again, but it’s a different sort of cry.
Daddy pushes off Abraham’s truck, leaving the passenger door open, and runs toward Grandma. Mama comes running too.
“God damn, Annie,” Daddy says. “What in all hell are you doing out here?” He reaches down with both hands to lift Grandma. He gets her to her knees, squats, and looks up into her face. “You hurt?”
Mama runs up, seeming to float in her white nightgown, grabs for Tilly’s collar, and hollers at her to be still. When she has a good hold of the collar, Mama drops down next to Daddy.
Grandma looks from Daddy to Mama and then settles her eyes on Annie. She smiles and swats at Daddy’s hands so he’ll let loose of her. “Oh, good Lord,” she says, “I’m fine. But get that creature away from me.”
Mama stands and drags Tilly toward the tree where Abraham chains her.
“You’re cut here, Mother,” Daddy says, touching Grandma’s cheek. “And your hands.” He takes both and rolls them over. “You see here, Annie? See here what you done?”