“Don’t you suppose she just died, Daddy?” Caroline says, offering cream to Abraham the same way Grandma offered salt. “Died from being so old?”
While everyone else in the house, most especially Annie, is ruffled and unkempt after a long night, Caroline is shining like she always does, maybe more. Her hair is glossy and tied off with a white ribbon that likely saw an iron before being wrapped around her ponytail. Her pale-green dress is equally pressed, and her eyes are bright and wide open, her lids not hanging heavy like they are on the rest of the family. From this day forth, Caroline will be ever prepared for the moment she finally meets her husband-to-be. People will be expecting the same of Annie, for her to be readying herself for her intended. On this particular morning, Annie is not yet ready.
Again, Abraham shakes his head at Caroline’s offer and pats his stomach. Pulling back from the kitchen window, Grandma gives another grunt, slips a finger through the handle on the small white pitcher, and pours a hearty dose of cream in Abraham’s coffee.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” Grandma says. “It’s Juna Crowley. She’s the one killed Cora Baine.”
“Mother, please,” Mama says, turning from her toast. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Mrs. Baine was awful old,” Caroline says, starting to tap one toe the way she does on the mornings she has a history test. “Don’t you suppose that’s all it was?”
“Buell ain’t much for supposing,” Daddy says, crossing his arms.
“Ain’t nothing to suppose,” Grandma says.
Because Daddy’s still watching Mama watching that toaster, he must not be angry about Sheriff Fulkerson or the salt and cream forbidden by Abraham’s fiancée. He must be angry with Mama.
“He’ll need to be sure,” Daddy says. “Got to ask questions to be sure.”
“Couldn’t even remember the last time I saw Cora,” Mama says. “You tell Buell that. It ought to be enough.”
“The toast, Sarah,” Grandma says, resting a hand on Mama’s shoulder same as Daddy did.
This time Mama doesn’t pull away, but it’s too late. Even though she was standing right there, her finger at the ready, the toast burned. Daddy stands and stares at the two charred pieces of bread peeking out of the silver toaster.
“Person might wonder what’s filling your thoughts this morning, Sarah,” Daddy says, and without taking a single bite of eggs or sip of his coffee, he pushes open the screen door and stomps across the porch, leaving the door to slam closed, which rankles Grandma almost as much as footprints on her kitchen floor.
Mama watches Daddy go, apologizes for ruining breakfast, and then excuses herself because she has a terrible headache. Caroline follows her with a damp cloth and two aspirins, and Grandma butters the charred toast.
The kitchen falls silent except for the sips Grandma takes from her coffee cup. Abraham Pace eats Daddy’s eggs and then nudges Annie and asks if he can have hers too, seeing as how she’s letting them go cold. Annie pushes her plate across the table, tells Grandma a spiced cake for dessert at tonight’s supper would be just fine, though Annie doesn’t much like spiced cake even when Grandma makes it at Christmas. But there is no cocoa in the pantry and Grandma would just as soon not ask anyone to go to town. Like Annie, Grandma must figure folks will be talking.
“Did you see him?” Grandma asks, reaching up and cupping Annie’s face with her tiny hands after Abraham has left the kitchen. Those hands are cool and will probably leave behind a smear of flour. As she often does, Grandma smells of lavender, salty butter, and freshly brewed coffee.
“He was brown-haired with blue eyes,” Annie says, stealing back the vision Caroline stole. “I seen him clear as day. But I didn’t know him, don’t know who he is.”
“But you will,” Grandma says. “You’ve a lifetime to find him, and when you do, you’ll know him.” Then Grandma winks. “He’ll know you too. A lifetime, you understand?”
Annie nods. Grandma is still worried about Annie being the one to die, and she thinks Annie is worried too.
“It’s all foolishness,” Grandma says, lowering her hands. “All that rocker nonsense, it’s mountain-grown foolishness.”
“So you don’t think Aunt Juna’s coming home?”
Grandma wipes her hands on her apron, pushes open the screen door, and shoos Annie through.
“Oh, no, child. Juna will come home now. I’m certain of that.”
“I don’t think I want her here,” Annie says, wondering if Grandma will scold her for speaking such a thought. “I don’t think she should come.”
“You’re wise for thinking such a thing,” Grandma says, smiling instead of scolding. “Juna Crowley is a person best forgotten.”
GRANDMA COMES FROM deep in the hills, and that’s why she has the know-how. Ever since Daddy, Mama, Caroline, and Annie came to live with Grandma, she has been single-minded about passing on the gift as she has no daughter of her own. She tried passing it on to Caroline, but she was only interested in hair brushing and fine manners. Mama refused any part of the know-how, and Grandma never bothered trying to teach Daddy. Men don’t have a knack. In the end, Grandma said Annie was the only one with any real facility for the gift, and so she would be the one to carry it on. You best know how the world works, Grandma has been telling Annie since she was nine years old, if you’re going to make your way in it.
Mostly, it’s difficult to remember it all. In the beginning, before she started feeling sparks in the air and before the yearning and the coming of the lavender, it wasn’t a matter of believing or not. Annie never gave that much thought, just like she never gave much thought to why the Lone Fork River only runs one direction and the weather always turns in late September. Having the know-how made her special. Only she knew not to brush her hair after dark and what it meant if her left foot itched and how to drink up the moon. Caroline would always be the pretty one and the smart one and the kind and considerate one. But Annie would have the know-how, and in that one thing, she would be special too.
For the better part of the morning, Annie has been sitting here on this step and wondering when and how Aunt Juna will come home. The longer she’s sat here, the more she’s found her eyes scanning the road and the fence line and Daddy’s shed and the far corner of the house, and she’s started to wonder if Aunt Juna is already here, out there, somewhere.
She knew Ryce would come back today, though she hadn’t expected him so early. When she hears that squealing again and knows Ryce Fulkerson will pop over the hill any moment, she knows why he’s come and she can only hope Lizzy Morris isn’t with him. For an entire week after Lizzy looked down into the well, the boys of Hayden County bunched around her in a pitiful fashion. She made herself up extra nice that whole week, brushing her hair over lunch and at the afternoon break. Twice, she wore dresses she would usually only wear to church and did not open a single door for herself the entire week. Pitiful. Annie kept track, even wrote herself a list of names, and swore she’d never have any part of any of those boys who might as well have pleaded on hand and knee.
Ryce was the only one who didn’t sniff around Lizzy all day every day, waiting to hear who she saw down in that well. And when finally Lizzy Morris pronounced that Ryce was the boy she saw, he had said he figured he had to marry someone and she might as well be Lizzy. He swears, even now, they haven’t had a first kiss or any other kiss. He swears it like it should matter to Annie.
“So?” Ryce says, that front wheel of his bike drawing another crooked line down the drive.
Rolling to a stop, he props himself up with one leg, holds on to the handlebars with both hands, and stares at Annie. He’s come straight from church, because he’s wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and smells of his daddy’s cologne and his mama’s green hair gel. Annie knows it’s green because Mama uses the same when she sets her curlers. Ryce’s mama has combed it through his hair, making it shiny and slick so it would look decent for at least the length of the sermon.