And while Grandma sews and Annie stuffs, Caroline stitches up the small holes, but only when she isn’t off with Jacob Riddle. A half dozen times, Daddy has allowed Jacob to take Caroline for a walk down the road and back, but only after Mama reminded Daddy that a good many years separate them too. Jacob has been to supper and talked about life with his aunt in Louisville and how being a deputy isn’t as good as being a pitcher but he’ll make a solid living for himself and his family. That made Caroline smile and the thought of a family turned her cheeks red, which made Daddy tap his fork on the table until she stopped that smiling.
Besides making the sachets she’ll hand out to all the ladies who come the fourth Sunday in June, Grandma has been scrubbing the linen tablecloths that have been in storage all year. She hangs them on the line, and when they dry and are still spotted or stained, she tells Annie they will try again tomorrow. Once they are finally declared presentable, Annie is put to work doing the pressing and folding. Daddy hoses down tables and chairs that have been stacked in the attic all winter, Mama bakes cornbread muffins to freeze ahead of time, and Caroline makes faces as she molds handfuls of ground beef into patties Daddy will throw on the grill. Twice during all the cleaning and preparing, Caroline has smeared Annie’s head with mayonnaise and worked it into the ends of her hair, and she trimmed a good inch with Mama’s help. Mama says it looks real nice. Annie can’t much see a difference.
“I’m going to meet Miss Watson,” Mama says on a Monday morning, the last Monday before the fourth Sunday.
Annie is working the tip of an iron around the edge of a linen napkin, being careful to cover over the small bluish stain in the napkin’s center so Grandma won’t send it back to the laundry. Besides having been burned by the iron a good many times, Annie’s fingers are raw, the skin having cracked on the tips of a few, from spending so much time in warm, soapy water. Caroline is dabbing at her thumb with a cotton ball doused in lavender oil—nursing a pinprick from all that sewing she’s been doing.
“You girls should come along,” Mama says, tugging on her white gloves as she walks through the living room.
Mama must be meeting Miss Watson at the dress shop for her final alterations. No other reason Mama would wear her white gloves. She smiles and rocks her hips from side to side so her pale-blue skirt puffs up and twirls. She has rolled and pinned her hair and is wearing the same hat she wore this past Easter.
“You look real nice, Mama,” Caroline says, sticking her sore finger in her mouth.
Annie folds the napkin over, presses the seam with the hot iron, folds again, presses again, and adds it to the pile, taking care the stain doesn’t show. She has barely left the house since sneaking out to find Aunt Juna, not only because she feels like punishing herself is the thing to do but also because she promised Grandma. That’s one good reason not to go to town. Fear of seeing Ryce Fulkerson is another good reason. Mama is always saying time has a way of healing, and while there has been some scabbing over, it hasn’t been nearly enough.
“Caroline’s right, Mama,” Annie says, the memory of Ryce standing over her, his cool skin brushing against her arm revisiting her as if it happened yesterday. “You look real nice. But I think maybe I shouldn’t go.”
Behind Mama, Daddy walks down the stairs in his stocking feet, passes her by without kissing her cheek or swatting her hind end the way he usually would.
“I’d like some company,” Mama says, watching the back of Daddy as he crosses through the kitchen on his way outside. If she was meaning to talk to him, he makes no sign of having heard.
As if she thinks no one is watching, Mama’s smile fades and a sadness settles in her eyes, the same sadness she takes on when she stares out the living room window at the Baines’ place. She thinks no one is watching then too. Mama must be fighting off a memory same as Annie. The screen door slams closed behind Daddy, and it reminds Mama she isn’t alone and her lips snap back into a smile.
“I’ll drop you girls at the café,” she says. “You can have a cinnamon roll while you wait. Do you good to get out of the house. I think we’ve kept you cooped up long enough.”
“That’d be real nice, Mama,” Caroline says, already halfway up the stairs. “I’ll just change and be right down.”
“What’ll Grandma say?” Annie says, glancing at Grandma’s closed bedroom door.
Instead of an answer, Mama gives Annie a wink and touches the stack of napkins still warm from the ironing Annie gave them. Mama runs a finger over a small blue stain Annie hadn’t noticed and presses a finger to her lips.
“We won’t be gone long at all. Need to be back by lunchtime because Abraham will be stopping by with more chairs. Thought to have him some food ready.”
Since the night Mama and Daddy lugged Abraham into the living room, he hasn’t been back for whiskey or cards, but he stops by every day to talk with Daddy or to borrow a shovel or rake of some kind. He’ll have a glass of tea, visit with Mama while she peels carrots or snaps the ends off a bowlful of pole beans, and always he lingers long enough to see Annie.
“You seen anything more of her?” he’ll ask when no one else is nearby to hear.