Sweet Karoline (21 page)

"
I told you about the huge fire that destroyed Vryheid."

I
nod as flames pass my vision. I smell the acrid, overwhelming smoke and almost cough.

"
You must try to understand that people around here were backward and isolated in the 50's. They were a culture unto themselves, pretty much ignored by the rest of society for decades. A native and black mix who didn't know what to believe. They straddled two sets of histories and philosophies. They had very few tools for dealing with the encroachment of the town and its laws and so on. Over their history they were often incestuous, too, since few of them moved out to get married or mate. So they passed on some very weak genes in a lot of cases. I'm not sure of the original evolution of Vryheid, but it had something to do with Joseph Brant. If you get time, you should talk to Mary Lou West. She's the curator in the new Burford museum and has worked very hard on the archives."

I
nod, my breath normal again as Dee drones on. She's probably rambling on purpose, gently leading me to the real nuggets of information that I need. I am calmer so her method works.

"
I'm setting the background to try and get you to understand the atmosphere in 1954. Everything was changing rapidly. The towns were forcing change on Vryheid. The ownership of the land was in question. The Johnstons had evolved into drunkards and troublemakers. No one policed them very carefully. Brawls were so commonplace that someone had to be hospitalized before the law took any interest. But with the amalgamations of some counties and enforcement agencies, that hands-off policy was changing.

"
In the village itself the people were poor, miserable, discontent and superstitious. They refused help from outside agencies, distrusted anyone outside, but didn't like each other much either. Around them the towns were booming with post-war affluence. The Vryheid residents were starting to talk about selling out to a subdivision development, while the Johnstons fought to keep the status quo. There was a rumor that all the land belonged to them anyway, but that wasn't substantiated until much later."

I
flash to the Vryheid book and the wealth of information it holds.

"
Anyone who wasn't related to the Johnstons hated them with a passion. And some who were related, too, I suppose. Stories went around about how they believed in voodoo and witchcraft. Strange rituals were supposedly carried out in the compound. None of this was ever proven. There was never any evidence of such goings-on. But the fear was wild. When the fire burned the village to the ground, the death of the Johnston men drove everyone away. The incident was blamed on witchcraft."

I
conjure up the vine-choked, tree-hidden paths of the old village. The beautiful drawings in the book. The penciled outlines of Dembi's treasure map. The stone church still perched on the hillock. Safe from the hell fire. Now a bird sanctuary. A keeper of secrets. An orange glow lights up the darkness of my memory. I see my own face reflected in the pops and flashes as the fire eats its prey. I am smiling.

"
And I was the witch," I say.

Dee
leans closer to me. I can feel the heat of her body, the warm motherly quality that oozes from her naturally. Her eyes are kind and wise.

"
Yes. Someone reported that they saw you with a torch of some kind, similar to a smudging stick. You walked around and lit piles of straw and paper. Supposedly you tipped over a couple of gasoline cans and lit them up, too. Personally, I adhere to the theory that there was an illegal distillery.

"
Regardless, the village was a tinderbox, everything made of wood, everything crudely put together. It went up in seconds. No one contacted the fire department for hours. By then all the houses and much of the forest had burnt to the ground.

"
But, Anne, you were a little girl. You were four years old. How could you have done that? I have never believed it and you shouldn't either. There were plenty of people who hated the Johnstons and had reasons for getting rid of them. It's also pretty suspicious that they were the only ones who died."

"
I think Memé believed I did it. That's why she sent me away. Probably so did my adoptive mother."

Perhaps
this explains Vera's wariness, her distance. I am a being to be feared.

Dee
pushes her chair closer to me. I almost flinch when her arm drapes over my shoulder, pulling me to her. Instead, I allow the heat of her sympathy to drift over my skin. I'm not sure what I will do if she doesn't hold me upright.

"
Remember that Libby was, and still is, limited in her understanding. She was the product—and the victim—of incest. Despite her beauty and gentleness she was not very smart. She couldn't help but believe in the superstitions and tales of witchcraft."

"
So she called her sister to come and get me."

"
Yes, I think so. Of course I wasn't here, so I don't know for certain. No one but Libby and Larue would know."

"
And Vera."

Dee
takes in a large breath and cuddles me closer. I don't resist. I can't sit up.

"
Maybe. You will have to ask her some day, poor child. The important thing for you to remember is that you were little more than a baby back then. It's extremely doubtful that you could have done such a thing of your own accord."

I
think of the pampered, oblivious, selfish, icy Anne. The 'me' who walked through life with her haughty self-aggrandized attitude. Could that person have lit a fire that killed two people? I believe she could and would. She murdered her best friend. She could easily eliminate those abusive uncles from her life.

And
who am I now? Can a monster of such epic rage transform into a loving, beloved creature?

"
But what if I did do it?" I ask Dee, my voice tremulous against her breast as she holds me.

She
grasps my chin and forces me to look straight at her. "You were four. A little girl in a terrible situation. Most of Libby's brothers were cruel drunks. Who knows what they did to you or to Dembi? Maybe you had reasons to burn down that cesspool."

On
some level, she too thinks I did it. She believes I was justified. But wonderful, generous, kind-hearted Dee will never know what it's like to feel responsible for the death of three people. To experience a rage so deep and uncontrollable that it turns you into a raving maniac. To not know who you are. She is a wife, a mom, a caregiver. Who is Anne? Which Anne can I trust?

I
am suddenly too tired to think. A blanket of exhaustion washes over me. Slowly I extricate myself from Dee's embrace and sit up.

"
I have to lie down, Dee. I can't even think."

"
You rest, love. We'll talk again soon."

The
big woman lifts herself gracefully from the chair and leans over a cupboard. She pours something into a small glass.

"
I found some very nice Scotch in the cupboard just now," she says with a smile. "This will calm your nerves."

I
smile back, remembering my binge the other day and take a satisfying sip. "Thanks, Dee."

"
I'll see you in the morning, dear."

I
traipse a little further into the hallway, past the route to my room, and listen near Memé's door. I can hear the soft voices of my siblings though I can't tell what they're saying. The cadence is excited and joyful, held quiet out of respect alone. The puff, puff of the oxygen machine is our mother's only reply. I take a sip of the scotch and feel a burning sensation in my stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Guilt
churns its way through my intestines. I am, for the first time, truly sorry. I'm sorry for telling you I hate you, Memé. I'm not sorry for the feeling, only for the selfish act of saying it out loud.

I
slip quickly past the doorway to the parlor where I curl up in a chair and dial Ethan's number.

He
sounds sleepy when he says "Hello."

"
Are you okay?" I ask, and suddenly he's awake.

"
Anne," he breathes, as though he has just discovered me.

I
picture him falling asleep in his chair, hair sticking straight on end, big eyes blinking without the glasses to focus them.

"
I'm okay. Just bushed. That case kicked the shit out of me. I'm glad you can't read the L.A. papers."

I
listen to his voice for a while as he outlines his harrowing experiences. Try hard not to imagine how dangerous it must have been. In mid sip, he suddenly asks me how I am doing. I swallow quickly and a hiccup bursts into the receiver, which makes him laugh. I love the sound of his laugh, so I giggle, too. I decide to leave out a few details of my own narrative, keep the conversation light.

"
I assume you're imbibing again this evening, milady."

"
Yes. I'm becoming quite the lush, kind sir. I shall return to LA LA Land with several new habits."

He
laughs again. "You'll fit right in. But seriously, how's it going? I can't imagine how strange all of this must be."

"
I'm okay, really." I feel the reverberations of truth. "I can't believe how easily Miriam and Dembi and I have bonded. They're so…good, Ethan. Easy to love. I can't wait for you to meet them."

"
You say the word, my sweet, and I will be on the next plane. I'm getting sick of the smog and the crime. L.A. and I are not on good terms right now."

"
Wow, I don't think I've ever heard you so down about the job. Don't tell your parents."

He
laughs again, even heartier than before. "They would be thrilled if they knew how I was feeling. But I think L.A. is just missing a spark or something. Or maybe a beautiful body snuggled up to mine. Something like that, anyway."

"
Aha! You're not depressed, you're just horny."

Now
we both laugh and it feels great.

"
I mean it, though. If you want me up there, I have weeks of vacation coming to me. And if that doesn't work, we can take a trip when you come home."

"
A trip sounds wonderful. As for coming up here, I think not just yet."

I
struggle to put it into words for him.

"
We've hired a nurse for Memé and she's terrific. Dembi and Miriam and I hung out together all day. Ethan, I think I'll be here longer. I want to see how Memé progresses with the new help."

How
can I tell him that the real reason I don't want him here is because I haven't yet discovered whether or not I am a monster? That I cannot trust myself, as a friend, sister or lover?

"
And we've been invited to a huge powwow near Vryheid next Saturday," is what I do say.

"
What's a powwow?"

I
explain the celebration in general terms, the way Miriam told it to me. At first Ethan sounds intrigued but a yawn soon betrays him.

"
I'll let you go, babe. You sound so tired."

"
I hate to admit it but I can barely stay awake. At least things are back to normal around here, if there is such a thing as normal in L.A. My hours won't be so long. We can talk more often."

We
say good night. I am left with an unsatisfactory, empty feeling. Despite the scotch I am no longer relaxed.

Out
in the hallway I hear my sister and brother laugh as they prance toward the family room next door. I join them in front of the television. We watch a movie that I've never even heard of. Something Canadian I think. I mostly watch Miriam and Dembi. They think it's hilarious, can repeat some of the lines and love tossing popcorn at one another.

I
try very hard to loosen up but I am tense and uncomfortable. Ice Queen Anne rears her ugly head and wants to comment haughtily on the poor quality of the hick film. I override her voice with a hearty guffaw. I feel apart from my siblings right now. The newbie. Removed from some of the quirks they have learned about one another. I have not been given this gift of knowing through time. Both Memé and Karoline robbed me of that. Ice Queen Anne laughs at me.

Miriam
stretches and yawns as she reaches over to grab my stockinged toes. Next she pats Dembi's arm. I am enthralled with the way she does this so naturally. She touches us constantly. Her love is reassuring and physical.

"
I'm sorry, guys, I'm so tired. I'm going to bed to read and fall asleep forever."

Dembi
frowns at her. "If you fall asleep forever, you die," he says, his voice serious and worried.

"
Sorry, Dembi, I was just exaggerating. I think hunting all day has made me very, very tired. But don't worry, I will wake up tomorrow."

"
Okay." He nods, walks over and turns off the television.